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THE 


POETICAL  WOUKS 


OF 


THOMAS    MOORE. 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE   VOLUME. 


ILLUSTRATED    WITH    ENGRAVINGS, 
jyvom   33vntoinfls   bv  Eminent   ^[rtfsts. 


NEW-YORK: 
I).  APPLETON  &  COMPANY,  200  BROADWAY, 

1853. 


^   .r^l 


TO  THE 

MARQUIS   OF   LANS  DOWN  E, 

IN    GRATEFUL   REMEMBRANCE    OF 

NEARLY  FORTY  YEARS   OF   MUTUAL   ACQUAINTANCE 

AND   FRIENDSHIP, 

THIS    VOLUME 

IS   INSCRIBED, 

WITH   THE   SINCEREST  FEELINGS   OF  AFFECTION 

AND  RESPECT, 


BY 


THOMAS   MOORE 


m  MEMORIAM 


CONTENTS. 


E  CoLtECTED   EDITION  IN  Tes  VOLUMES,  rUBLISHBD  IN  1841,  1842. 


PaKFACEa  TO  TH 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 

TBiKSLiTED   INTO    ENGLISH   VERSE,    WITH   NOTES. 

P. 

Dedication  to  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  VVftles . 

Adverliseinent 

Index  to  the  Odes 

An  Ode  by  tlic"  Translator 

Corrections  of  the  preceding  Ode,  suggested  by  an  emi- 
nent Greek  scholar 

Remarks  on  Anacreon 


I'age  15. 


ODES. 

1.  I  saw  the  smiling  bard  of  pleasure 

11.  Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song 

III.  Listen  to  the  Muse's  lyre 

IV.  Vulcan!  hear  your  glorious  task 

V.  Sculptor,  vvouldst  thou  glad  my  sonl 

VI.  As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers 

VII.  Tlic  women  tell  me  every  day 

VIII.  I  care  not  for  the  idle  state 

IX.  I  pray  thee,  by  the  gods  above 

X.  II"W  am  I  to  punish  thee 

XI.  "Tell  me,  gentle  yotith,  I  pray  thee" 

XII.  Tliey  tell  how  Atys,  wild  with  love 

XIII.  I  will,  I  will,  the  conflict's  past 

XIV.  Count  nie,  on  the  summer  trees 

XV.  Teil  me,  why,  my  sweetest  dove 

XVI.  Thuu,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues 

XVII.  And  now,  with  all  thy  pencil's  truth 

XVIII.  Now  the  star  of  day  is  high 

XIX.  Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid 

XX.  One  day  the  Muses  twined  the  hands 

XXI.  Observe  when  mother  earth  is  dry- 

XXII.  The  Phrygian  rock,  that  braves  the  storm.. 

XXIII.  I  often  wish  this  languid  lyre 

XXIV.  To  all  that  breathe  the  air  of  heaven 

XXV.  Once  in  each  revolving  year 

XXVI.  Thy  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms 

XXVII.  We  read  the  flying  courser's  name ... 

XXVIII.  As,  by  :'s  Lcmnian  forge's  flame 

XXIX.  Yes— loving  is  a  painful  UiriU 

XXX.  'Twas  in  a  mocking  dream  of  night 

XXXI.  Arin'd  with  hyacinthine  rod 

XXXII.  Sirew  me  a  fragrant  bed  of  leaves 

XXXIII.  'Twas  noon  of  night,  when  round  the  pole. 

XXXIV.  Oh  thou,  of  all  creation  blest 

XXXV.  Cupid  once  upon  abed 

XXXVI.  If  hoarded  gold  possess'd  the  power 

XXXVII.  'Twas  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl  — 

XXXVIII.  Let  us  drain  the  nertar'd  bowl 

XXXIX.  Howl  love  the  festive  boy 

XL.  1  know  that  Heaven  hath  sent  Hie  here — 

XLI.  When  Spring  adorns  the  dewy  scene 

XLll.  Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  niiue 

XLIll.  While  our  rosy  fillets  shed 

XLIV.  Duds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers 

XLV.  Within  this  goblet,  rich  ard  deep 

XLVI.  Behold  the  yonng,  the  rosy  Spring 


64 
65 
65 
65 
66 
6G 
67 
67 
67 
68 
68 
69 
69 
70 
71 
72 
73 
74 
75 
75 
76 
76 
77 
78 
78 
79 
79 
79 
80 
81 
61 
81 
S3 
83 
83 
84 
84 
85 
86 
86 
86 
86 
87 
87 
.     88 


XLVIL 

XLVIH. 

XLIX. 

L. 

LL 

LII. 

LllL 

LIV. 

LV. 

LVI. 

LVII. 

1  VIIL 

:.!X. 

I.X. 

LXI. 

LXH. 

LXIIL 

LXIV. 

LXV. 

LXVI. 

LXVU. 

LXVlil. 

LXIX. 

I.XX. 

LXXI. 

LXXII. 

LXXIII. 

LXXIV, 

LXXV, 

LXXVI 

LXXV  II 

LXXVIII. 


fiOE 

. .     89 


'Tis  true,  my  fading  years  decline 

When  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep 89 

When  Bacchus,  Jove's  inmiortal  boy 69 

When  wine  I  quaff,  before  my  eyes 90 

Fly  not  thus,  my  brow  of  snow 90 

Away,  away,  ye  men  of  rules 91 

When  I  behold  the  festive  train 91 

Melhinks,  the  pictured  bull  we  see 92 

While  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spring 92 

He,  who  instructs  the  youthful  crew 93 

Whose  was  the  artist-hand  that  spread  ....  94 

When  Gold,  as  fleet  as  zephyr's  pinion  —  95 

Ripen'd  by  the  solar  beam 95 

Awake  to  life,  my  sleeping  shell 96 

Youth's  endearing  charms  are  fled 97 


Fill  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  draught 97 

To  Love,  the  soft  and  blooming  child 98 

Haste  thee,  nymph,  whose  well-aim'd  spear    98 

Like  some  wanton  filly  sporting 98 

To  thee,  the  Queen  of  nymphs  divine 98 

Rich  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn 99 

Now  Neptune's  mouth  our  sky  deforms  —     99 

They  wove  the  lotus  band  to  deck 99 

A  broken  cake  with  honey  sweet 100 

With  twenty  chords  my  lyre  is  hung 100 

Fare  thee  well,  perfidious  maid 100 

Awhile  I  blooni'd.  a  happy  flower 100 

Monarch  Love,  resistless  boy 100 

.  Spirit  of  Love,  whose  locks  unroll'd 100 

Hither,  gentle  Muse  of  mine 101 

.  Would  that  I  were  a  tuneful  lyre 101 

.  When  Cupid  sees  how  thickly  now 101 


Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray 101 

Let  me  resign  this  wretched  breath 191 

I  know  thou  iov'st  a  brimming  measure 101 

I  tear  that  love  disturbs  my  rest 101 

From  dread  Lcucadia's  frowning  steep 102 

Mix  me,  child,  a  cup  divine 102 


EPIGRAMS  FROM  THE  ANTHOLOGIA. 

Notice 

AvrtTTarpttv  Tt6icviov,  F.IS  Avaxpcovra 

Tun  avTov,  c(S  TOV  aVTOv 

Tov  avTOVf  £is  TOf  avrov 

Tou  auror,  eis  tov  aVTOv 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 

Preface,  by  the  Editor 

Dedication  to  Joseph  Atkinson,  Esq.  •  •• 

Fragments  of  College  E.vercises 

Is  there  no  call,  no  consecrating  cause  ... 


102 
102 
103 
103 
104 


105 
106 
107 
107 
107 


9844. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Reuben  and  Rose.    A  Tale  of  Romance 109 

Did  not 110 


To 

To  Mrs ,    on  some  calumnies  against  her 

chanicter 

Anacreontic 

To 

To  Julia,  in  allusion  to  some  illiberal  criticisms 

To  Julia 

ThcShrine.    To   . 

To  a  Lady,  with  some  manuscript  Poems,  on  leavlag 

the  country 

To  Julia 

To    

Nature's  Laliels.    A  fragment 

To  Julia.    On  her  birthday 

A  Reflection  at  Sea 

Cloris  and  Fanny 

The  Shield 

To  Julia,  weeping 

Dreams.    To 

To  Rosa.    Written  during  illness 

Song 

The  Sale  of  Loves 

To     

To    


On  the  Death  of  a  Lady 

Inconstancy 

The  Natal  Genius.  A  dream.    To ■ . ,  the  morn- 
ing of  her  birthday 

Elegiac  Stanzas,  supposed  to  be  written  by  Julia,  on  the 

death  of  her  brother 

To  the  large  and  beautiful  Miss  ...    ,  in  allusion 

to  some  partnership  in  a  lotterj' share.  Impromptu. 

A  Dream 

To 

Anacreontic 

To  Juiia 

Hymn  of  a  Virgin  of  Delphi,  at  the  tombof  her  mother. 

Sympathy.    To  Julia 

The  Tear 

The  Snake 

To  Rosa 

Elegiac  Stanzas 

Love  and  Marriage 

Anacreontic 

The  Surprise 

To  Miss ,  on  her  asking  the  author  why  she 

had  sleepless  nigh  s 

The  Wonder 

Lying 

Anacreontic 

The  Philosopher  Aristippus  to  a  Lamp,  which  had 

been  gi^en  him  by  Lais 

To  Mrs. ,  on  her  beautiful  translation  of  Voiture's 

Kiss 

Rondeau 

Song 

To  Rosa 

Written  in  a  commonplace  book,  called  "The  Book  of 

Follies" 

To  Rosa 

Llgiit  sounds  the  Harp 

From  the  Greek  of  Meleager 

Song 

The  Resemblance 

Fanny,  dearest 

The  Ring.    To    .  .  

To  the  Invisible  Girl 


110 

110 
110 
110 

111 
111 
111 

111 

112 
112 
112 
113 
113 
113 
113 
114 
114 
114 
115 
115 
115 
116 
116 
116 


PAGE 

The  Ring.    A  tale J28 

To ,  on  seeing  her  with  a  white  veil 

and  a  rich  girdle  131 

Written  on  the  blank  leaf  of  a  Lady's  commonplace 

hook 131 

To  Mrs.  Bl— ,  written  in  her  album 131 

ToX^ara,  after  an  interval  of  absence 132 

ToXara,  on  the  dawning  of  a  new-year's  day 132 

To ,  1801 132 

The  Genuisof  Harmony.    An  irregular  ode 133 

I  found  her  not — the  chamber  seem'd 135 

To  Mrs.  Henry  Tighe,  on  reading  her  "Psyche" 135 

From  the  High  Priest  of  Apollo  to  a  Virgin  of  Delphi. .  136 

Fragment 137 

A  Night  Thought 137 

The  Kiss 137 


Song 


137 


TheCatalogue 138 

Imitation  of  Catullus  to  himself 138 

Oh  woman,  if  through  sinful  wile 138 

Nonsense 139 

Epigram,  from  the  French 139 

On  a  squinting  Poetess 139 


To 


139 


To  Rosa 139 

ToPhillis 139 

To  a  Lady  on  her  singing 139 

Song.    On  the  birthday  of  Mrs. .    Written  in  Ire- 
land, 1799 140 

Song.. 


140 

Morality.    A  familiar  epistle.    Addressed  to  J.  Atkin- 
son, Esq..  M.  R.  L  A 140 

The  Tell-tale  Lyre 141 

Peace  and  Glorj*.    Written  on  the  approach  of  war 142 


Song 


142 


Love  and  Reason 143 

Nay,  do  not  weep,  my  Fanny  dear 143 

Aspasia 144 

The  Grecian  Girl's  Dream  of  the  Blessed  Islands.    To 

her  lover 144 

To  Cloe.    Imitated  from  Martial 146 

The  Wreath  and  the  Chain 140 

To 146 

To 's  Picture 147 

Fragment  of  a  Mythological  Hymn  to  Love 147 

To  his  Serene  Highness  the  Duke  of  Moncpensier,  on 

his  portrait  of  the  Lady  Adelaide  Forbes 148 


The  Fall  of  Hebe.    A  dithyrambic  ode  . 

Rings  and  Se?.l3 , 

To  Miss  Susan  B — ckf— d.    On  her  singing. 
Impromptu,  on  leaving  some  friends 


148 
150 
151 
151 

A  Warning.    To 152 

To    152 

Woman 152 

To    153 

A  Vision  of  Philosophy 153 

ToMrs 156 

To  Lady  Heathcote,  on  an  old  ring  found  at  Tunbriilge 

Wells 156 

The  Devil  among  the  Scholars.    A  fragment 157 

POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 

Dedication,  to  Francis,  Earlof  Moira 100 

Preface 160 

To  Lord  Viscount  Strangford.     .Ahmrd  the  Phaetoii 

frigate,  off  the  Azures,  by  moonlight 161 

Stanzas 162 

To  the  Flying-ash Iti3 

To  Miss  Moore.    From  Norfolk,  in  Virginia,  Nov.  1803.  163 


CONTENTS. 


PAOK 

A  Ballad     The  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp.    Written 

at  Norfolk,  in  Virginia 164 

To  the  Marcliioness  Dowager  of  Donegal.    From  Ber- 
muda. January,  1604 1C5 

To  George  Mnrgiin,  Esq.,  of  Norfolk,  Virginia.    From 

Bermuda,  January.  1S04 IGfi 

Lines  written  in  a  storm  at  sea 1G8 

Odes  In  Nea  : — 

Nay.  tempt  nie  not  to  love  again 108 

I  pray  you,  let  us  roam  no  more 169 

You  read  it  in  these  spell-bound  eyes IG'J 

A  Dream  of  Antiquity 170 

Well — peace  to  thy  heart,  though  another's  it  be----  171 

If  I  were  yonder  wave,  my  dear 171 

The  Snow  Spirit 172 

I  stole  along  the  flowery  bank 172 

A  Study  from  the  Antique 173 

There's  not  a  look,  a  word  of  thine 173 

To  Joseph  Atkinson,  Esq.    From  Bermuda 174 

The  Steersman's  Song.  Written  aboard  the  Boston  frig- 
ate. 2Sth  of  .April 175 

To  the  Fire  fly 175 

To  the  Lord  Viscount  Forbes.    From  the  city  of  Wash- 
ington     175 

To  Thcmias  Hume,  Esq.,  M.D.  From  the  city  of  Wash- 
ington    178 

Lines  written  on  leaving  Philadelphia 179 

Lines  written  at  the  Cohoes,  or  Falls  of  the  Mohawk 

river 180 

Song  of  the  Evil  Spirit  of  the  Woods 180 

To  the  Honorable  W.  R.  Spencer.    From  Buffalo,  upon 

Lake  Erie 181 

Ballad  Stanzas 183 

A  Canadian  Boat  Song.    Written  on  the  river  St.  Law- 
rence    183 

To  the  Lady  Charlotte  Rawdon     Frtaii  the  banks  of 

the  St.  Lawrence 184 

Impromptu,  after  a  visit  to  Mrs ,  of  Montreal 186 

Written  on  passing  Deadman's  Island,  in  the  Gulf  of 

St.  Lawrence,  late  In  the  evening,  September,  1804.  180 
To  the  Boston  frigate,  on  leaving  Halifax  for  England, 

October,  1804 187 

CORRUPTION,  AND  INTOLERANCE: 

Two  Poems.     Addressed  to  an  Englishman  by  an 
Irishman. 

Preface 163 

Corruption 189 

Intolerance.    A  Satire 104 

Appendix 197 

THE  SKEPTIC :    A  Philosophical  Satire 199 

TWOPENNY  POST-B.\G. 
Bv  Thomas  Brown  the  Younger. 

Dedication.    To  Stephen  Woolriche,  Esq 203 

Prelace 203 

Preface  to  the  Fourteenth  Edition.    By  a  Friend  of 
the  Author 204 

INTERCEPTED    LETTERS,    ETC. 

Letter  I.    From  the  Pr — nc — ss  Ch— rl — e  of  W — 1 — s 

to  the  Lady  B— rl>— a  Ashl— y 205 

Letter  11.    From  Col.  M'M— h— n  to  G— Id  Fr— nc— s 

L— ckie,  E^q 200 

Postscript 207 

Letter  HI.    From  G— ge  Pr— ce  R— gt  to  the  E— of 
Y th 207 


PAGX 

Letter  IV.    From  the  Right  Hon.  P— tr— ik  D— gen— n 

to  the  Right  Hon.  Sir  J— hn  N— ch— 1 208 

Letter  V.    From  the  Countess  Dowager  of  C — rk  to 

Lidy • 2011 

Postscript 210 

Letter  VI.    From  Abdallah  ui  London,  to  Mohassan 

in  I:<pahan 210 

Gazel 211 

Letter  VII.     From    Slessrs.    L — ck — gt — n    and    Co. 

to ,  Esq. 211 

Letter   VIIL      From  Colonel  Th — m — s  to 

S— ff— ngt— n,  Esq. 212 

Appendix 213 

Letter  IV.     Page  208 213 

Letter  VII.     Page  211 214 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 

The  Insurrection  of  the  Papers.    A  Dream 216 

Parody  of  a  celebrated  Letter 217 

Anacreontic  to  a  Plumassier 219 

Extracts  from  the  Diary  of  a  Politician 219 

Epigram 220 

King  Crack  and  his  Idols.  Written  after  the  late  nego- 
tiation for  a  new  M — n — stry 220 

What's  my  Thought  like  7 220 

Epigram.    Dialogue  between  a  Catholic  Delegate  and 

His  R— y— 1  H— ghn— ss  the  D— e  of  C— b— 1— d.-.  221 

Wreaths  for  the  Ministers.     An  Anacreontic 221 

Epigram.     Dialogue  between  a  Dowager  and  her  Maid 

on  the  night  of  Lord  Y— rm— th's  fete 221 

Horace.    Ode  XI.  Lib.  II.    Freely  translated  by  the 

Pr— ce  R— g— t 221 

Horace.    Ode  XXII.  Lib.  I.    Freely  translated  by  Lord 

Eld— n 222 

The  New  Costume  of  the  Ministers 223 

Correspondence  between  a  Lady  and  Gentleman,  upon 
the  advantjige  of  (what  is  called)  "  having  Law  on 

one's  side" 224 

Occasional  Address  for  the  Opening  of  the  New  Thea- 
tre of  St.  St — ph — n,  intended  to  have  been  spoken 
by  the  Proprietor  in  full  Costume,  on  the  24th  of 

November,  1812 ^4 

The  Sale  of  the  Tools 005 

Little  Man  and  Little  Soul.     A  Ballad 226 

Reinforcements  for  Lord  Wellington 226 

Horace.    Ode  I.  Lib.  HI.    A  Fragment 227 

Horace.  Ode  XXXVIU.  Lib.  1.  A  Fragment.  Trans- 
lated by  a  Treasury  Clerk,  while  waiting  dinner  for 

the  Right  Hon.  G— rge  R— se 227 

Impromptu.  Upon  being  obliged  to  leave  a  pleasant 
party  from  the  want  of  a  pair  of  breeches  to  dress 

for  dinner  in 237 

Lord  Wellington  and  the  Ministers 227 


IRISH  MELODIES. 

Dedication  to  the  Marchioness  Dowager  of  Donegal- .  223 

Preface 1 228 

Go  where  Glorj*  waits  thee 223 

War  Song.    Remember  the  glories  of  Brien  the  Brave..  229 

Erin!  the  Tear  and  the  Smile  in  thine  Eyes 229 

Oh  !  breathe  not  his  Name 229 

When  he  who  adores  thee 229 

The  Harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls -   230 

Fly  not  yet 2:iO 

Oh,  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light 230 

Though  tlie  last  glimpse  of  Erin  with  sorrow  I  see  —  £31 
Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore 231 


CONTENTS. 


PAOR 

As  a  beam  o'er  the  face  of  ihe  waters  iimy  glow 2:tl 

The  meeting  of  the  Waters 231 

How  dear  to  me  the  hour 232 

Take  hack  the  viryin  page.     Written  on  returning  & 

blank  buok 233 

Tlic  Legacy 232 

How  oft  has  the  Benshee  cried 233 

We  may  roam  thruugh  this  world 233 

Eveleen's  Bower 233 

Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old 234 

The  Song  of  Fionnuala 234 

Come,  send  round  the  wine 234 

Sublime  was  the  warning 235 

Believe  me,  if  all  [hose  endearing  young  charms 235 

Erin,  oh  Erin 235 

Drink  to  her 236 

Oh,  hiame  not  the  Bard 23G 

While  gazing  on  the  moon's  light 237 

HI  Omens 237 

Before  the  Bailie 237 

After  the  Battle 238 

•Tis  sweet  to  think 238 

The  Irish  Peasant  to  his  Mistress 238 

On  Music ^9 

It  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment  shed 239 

The  Origin  of  the  Harp 239 

Love's  young  Dream 240 

The  Prince's  Day 240 

Weep  on,  weep  on 240 

Lesbia  hath  a  beaming  eye 241 

I  saw  thy  form  in  youthful  prime 241 

By  that  lake,  whose  gloomy  shore 241 

She  is  far  from  the  land 243 

Nay,  tell  me  not,  dear 242 

Avenging  and  bright 243 

What  the  bee  is  to  the  floweret 243 

Love  and  the  Novice 243 

This  lite  is  all  chcker'd  with  pleasures  and  woes 243 

Oh,  the  shamrock 244 

At  the  mid  hour  of  night 244 

One  bumper  at  parting 245 

'Tis  the  last  rose  of  summer 245 

The  young  May  moon 245 

The  Minsiiel-boy 2-16 

The  Song  of  O'Ruark,  Prince  of  Breffni 246 

Oh,  had  we  some  Iriiht  little  isle  of  our  own 246 

Farewell !  but  whenever  you  welcome  the  hour 247 

Oh,  doubt  me  not 247 

Vnu  remember,  Ellen 247 

I'd  mourn  the  hopes 248 

Come  o'er  the  sea 248 

Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded 2'18 

No,  not  more  welcome 249 

When  first  I  met  thee 249 

While  history's  muse 250 

The  time  I've  lost  in  wooing 250 

Where  is  the  slave 250 

Come,  rest  in  this  bosom 251 

J  'Tis  gone,  and  forever 251 

I  saw  from  the  beach 251 

Fill  the  bumper  fair 252 

Dear  harp  of  my  country 252 

My  gentle  harp 253 

In  the  morning  of  life 253 

As  slow  our  ship ■•  •   253 

When  cold  in  the  earth 254 

Remember  thee 254 

Wreath  the  bowl 254 

Whene  'er  I  see  those  smiling  eyes 255 


PAGE 

If  thou'lt  be  mine 255 

To  Ladies'  Eyes 255 

Forgot  not  the  field 25C 

They  may  rail  at  this  life 256 

Oh  for  tlie  swords  of  former  time 257 

St.  Scnanus  and  Ihe  Lady 257 

Ne'er  ask  the  hour 257 

Sail  on,  sail  on 257 

The  Parallel 258 

Drink  of  this  cup 258 

The  Fortune-teller 259 

Oh,  ye  dead 259 

O'Donohue's  Mistress 259 

Echo 260 

Oh,  banquet  not 260 

Thee,  thee,  only  thee 260 

Shall  the  harp,  then,  be  silent SCO 

Oh,  the  sigiit  entrancing 261 

Sweet  Innislallen ; 262 

'T was  one  of  those  dreams 262 

Fairest!  put  on  awhile 262 

Quick!  we  have  but  a  second 263 

And  doth  not  a  meeting  like  this 263 

The  Mountain  Sprite 264 

As  vanquish'd  Erin 264 

Desmond's  Song 264 

They  know  not  my  heart 265 

1  wish  1  was  by  that  dun  lake 265 

She' sung  of  love 265 

Sing,  sing — Music  was  given 2CC 

Though  humble  the  banquet 266 

Sing,  sweet  Harp 267 

Song  of  the  Battle  Eve ..-■  267 

The  wandering  Bard 267 

Alone  in  crowds  to  wander  on 268 

I've  a  secret  to  lelt  thee 268 

Song  of  Innisfail 268 

The  Night  Dance 269 

There  are  sounds  of  mirth 269 

Oh!  Arranmore,  loved  Arranmore 269 

Lay  his  sword  by  his  side 270 

Oh,  could  we  do  with  this  world  of  ours 270 

The  wine-cup  is  circling 270 

The  dream  of  those  days 271 

From  this  hour  the  pledge  is  given 271 

Silence  is  in  our  festal  halls 271 

Appendix  ; — 
Advertisement   prefixed   to  the    First   and    ^^ccond 

Numbers 272 

Advertisement  to  the  Third  Number 272 

Letter  to  the  Marchioness  Dowager  of  Donegal,  pre- 
fixed to  iheTiiird  Number 273 

Advertisement  to  tlie  Fourth  Number 276 

Advertisement  to  the  Fifth  Number 277 

Advertisement  to  the  Siith  Number 278 

Advertisement  to  the  Seventh  Number 278 

Dedication  to  the  Slarchioness  of  Headfort,  prefixed 

to  Ihe  Tenth  Number 27^ 

NATIONAL  AIRS. 

Advertisement 279 

A  Temple  to  Friendship.     (Spanish  Air) 27D 

Flow  on.  ihou  shining  river.    (Portuguese  Air) 2fi0 

All  that's  bright  must  fade.    (Indian  Air) 280 

So  warmly  we  met.    (Hungarian  Air) 280 

Tliosc  evening  bells,    (Air.— The  Bells  of  St.  Peters- 

burgh) S80 

Should  those  fond  hopes.    (Portuguese  Air) 281 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Reason,  Folly,  und  Beauty.    (Italian  Air) ilSl 

Fiire  ihec  well,  thoii  lovely  one  !    (Sicilian  Air) 281 

D:ist  thou  remember.     (Portngucse  Air) 282 

Oh,  come  to  ine  when  daylight  sets.    (Venetian  Air) . .  282 

Ort,  in  the  stilly  night.     (Scotch  Air) 282 

U.iTk  ".  the  vesper  hymn  is  stealing.    (Russian  Air)  ...  282 

Love  and  Hope.     (Swiss  Air) 283 

There  conies  a  time.     (German  Air) 283 

My  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme.     (Swedish  Air).-  383 
Oh,  no— not  even  when  first  we  loved.  (Cnshmerian  Air)  283 

Peace  be  around  Ihee.     (Scotch  Air) 284 

Common  Sense  and  Genius.    (French  Air) 284 

Then  fare  thee  well.     (Old  English  Air) 284 

Gayly  sounds  the  Castanet.     (iMiiItese  Air) 285 

Love  is  a  hunter-boy.     (Languedociari  Air) 285 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear  away.     (French  Air)  ...  285 

Joys  of  Youth,  how  fleeting.     (Portuguese  Air) 285 

Hear  me  but  once.    (French  Air)  286 

When  Love  was  a  child.     (Swedish  Air) 386 

Say,  what  shall  be  our  sport  to-day'?     (Sicilian  Air)...  280 

Bright  be  thy  dreams.     (Welsh  Air) 28l> 

Go,  then — 'lis  vain.    (Sicilian  Air) 287 

The  Crystal  Hunters.     (Swiss  Air) 287 

Row  gently  here.     (Venetian  Air) 287 

Oh,  days  of  youth.    (French  Air) 287 

When  first  that  smile.    [ Venetian  Air) 288 

Peace  to  the  shiniberers  •     (Catalonian  .^ir) 283 

When  thou  Fhalt  wander.     (Sicilian  Air) 288 

Who'll  buy  my  Love-knots?    (Portuguc!-:e  Air) '288 

See,  the  dawn  from  heaven.    (To  an  Air  sung  at  Rome, 

on  Cliristmas  Eve) 289 

Nets  and  Cages.     (Swedish  Air) 289 

When  through  the  Piazzetta.     (Venetian  Air) 289 

<;a.  now,  and  dream.    (Sicilian  Air) 290 

Take  hence  the  bowl.    (Neapolitan  Air) 290 

Farewell,  Theresa!    (Venetian  Air) 290 

How  oft.  when  watching  stars.     (Savoyard  Air) 290 

When  the  first  summer  bee.     (German  Air) 291 

Though 'tis  all  but  a  dream.     (French  .4ir) 291 

When  the  winecup  is  smiling.     (Italian  Air) 291 

Where  shall  we  bury  our  shame  }    (Neapolitan  Air).-  291 
Ne'er  talk  of  wisdom's  gloomy  schools.   {M:jhralla  Air)  291 

Here  sleeps  the  bard.    (Hightond  Air) 292 

Do  not  say  that  life  is  waning 292 

The  Gazelle 292 

No — leave  my  heart  to  rest 292 

Where  are  the  visions 293 

Wind  thy  horn,  my  hunter-boy 293 

Oh,  guard  our  alTection 293 

Slumber,  oh  slumber 293 

Bring  the  bright  garlands  hither 293 

If  in  loving,  singing 294 

Thou  lov'st  no  more 294 

When  abroad  in  the  world 294 

Keep  tho^e  eyes  still  purely  mine 294 

Hope  comes  again 294 

O  say,  thou  best  and  brightest 295 

When  night  brings  the  hoar 295 

Like  one  who,  doom'd .  295 

Fear  not  tliat.  while  around  thee 295 

When  Lov*--  is  kind , 296 

The  garland  I  send  Ihee 296 

Uow  bh;ill  I  woo? 296 

Spring  and  Autumn 290 

Love  alone 297 

SACRED  SONGS. 

Dcdica'jnn  to  Edward  Tuite  Dal  ton,  Esq 297 

Thou  art,  O  God.     (Air. — Unknown) 297 


PAOtC 

The  bird,  let  loose.    (Air.— Beethoven) 298 

Fallen  is  thy  throne.     (Air.— Martini) 298 

Who  is  tlie  maid'i    St.  Jerome's  love.    (Air.— Beein 

oven) 298 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  sliow.     (Air.— Stevenson)-.  299 
Oh  Tliou  who   dry'st  the    mourner's   tear.     (Air.- 

Haydn) 299 

Weep  not  for  tliose.    (Air.— Avison) 299 

The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine.     (Air.— Steven- 
son)    300 

Sound    the    loud    timlirel.      Miriam's    song.      (Air. — 

Avison) 300 

Go,  let  nie  weep.     (Air, — Stevenson) 300 

Come  not,  O  Lord,     (Air. — Hadyn) 301 

Were  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears.    (Air, — Stevenson). .  301 

As  down  in  llic  sunless  retreats.     (Air. — Hadyn) 301 

But  who  shall  see.     (.\ir.— Stevenson) 301 

Almighty  God.    Chorus  of  priests.    (Air,— Mozart) 302 

Oh  fair!  oil  purest ;  St.  Augustine  to  his  sister.  (Air. — 

Moore) 302 

Angel  of  Charity.     (Air.— Handel) 302 

Behold  the  sun.     (Air. — Lord  Mornington) 303 

Lord,  who  shall  hear  that  day.     (Air.— Dr.  Boycc) 303 

Oh,  leach  me  to  love  thee.    (Air. — Haydn} 303 

Weep,  children  of  Israel.     (Air. — Stevenson) 304 

Like  morning,  when  her  early  breeze.     (Air.— Beeth- 
oven)   394 

Come,  ye  disconsolate.    (Air. — German) 304 

Awake,  arise,  thy  Light  is  come.    (Air. — Stevenson).  ■  304 

There  is  a  bleak  desert.     (Air.— Crescent ini) 305 

Since  first  Thy  word.     (.Air. — Nicliolas  Freeman) 305 

Hark!  'tis  the  breeze.     (Air. — Rousseau) 300 

Where  is  your  dwelling,  ye  sainted  1     (.Vir. — Ilasse^^  306 
How  lightly  mounts  the  muse's  wing.    (Air. — Anony- 
mous)    300 

Go  forth  to  the  mount.    (Air.— Stevenson) 307 

Is  it  not  sweet  to  think,  hereafter.    (Air. — Haydn) ....  307 

War  against  Babylon.     .'Air  — Novello) 307 

The  Summer  Fete 308 

Dedication  to  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Norton 303 

EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 

First  Eveuing 318    i 

Second  Evening 320 

LEGENDARY  BALLADS. 

Dedication  to  the  Miss  Fieldings 336 

The  Voice 330 

Cupid  and  Psyche 336 

Hero  and  Leander '. 337 

The  Leaf  and  the  Fountain 337 

Cephalus  and  Procris 333 

Youth  and  Age 338 

The  Dying  Warrior 333 

The  Magic  Mirror 339 

The  Pilgrim 339 

The  high-born  Ladye 339 

The  Indian  Boat 340 

The  Stranger 340 

A  Melologuc  upon  National  Music 34 1 

Ad\-criiscment 341 

SET   OF   GLEES. 

MUSIC  BY  MOORE. 

The  Meeting  of  the  Ships 343 

Hip,  hip,  hurrah! 343 

Hush,  hush! 343 


10 


CONTENTS. 


PAOE 

The  Parting  before  the  Battle 344 

The  Watchman.     A  Trio 344 

Say,  what  shall  we  dance  ? 344 

The  Evening  Gun 343 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  MISCELLANEOUS 
POEMS,  &c. 

To-day,  dearest!  is  ours 345 

When  on  the  Up  Ihe  sigh  delays 345 

Here,  take  my  heart 346 

Oh,  call  it  by  some  better  name 340 

Poor  wounded  heart 346 

The  E;isl  Indian 346 

Poor  broken  flower 346 

The  pretty  rose-tree 347 

Shine  out,  stars  ! 347 

The  young  Muleteers  of  Granada 347 

Tf^l  her.  oh,  tell  her 347 

Nights  of  music 348 

Our  first  young  love 348 

Black  and  blue  eyes 348 

Dear  Fanny 348 

From  life  without  freedom 340 

Here's  the  bower 349 

I  saw  the  moon  rise  clear.     (A  Finland  love  song) 349 

Love  and  the  Sun-dial 349 

Love  and  Time  349 

Love's  light  Summer-cloud ' 350 

Love,  wand'ring  throuKh  the  golden  maze 350 

Merrily  every  bosom  boundelh.     (The  Tyrolese  song  of 

liberty) 350 

Remember  the  time.    (The  Castilian  maid) 351 

Oh,  S(^  return 351 

Love  thee? 351 

One  dear  smile 351 

Yes,  yes,  when  the  bloom 352 

The  day  of  love 352 

Lusitanian  War  Song 352 

The  young  Rose 352 

When  'rnidst  the  gay  I  meet 352 

When  twilight  dews 353 

Young  Jessica 353 

How  Imppy,  once • 353 

I  love  but  thee 353 

Let  joy  alone  be  remember'd  now 354 

Love  thee,  dearest  1  love  thee  ? -• 354 

My  heart  and  lute 354 

Peace,  peace  to  him  that's  gnne 354 

Rose  of  the  desert 355 

'Tis  all  for  riiee 355 

The  son^;  of  the  olden  time  *  355 

Wake  thee,  my  dear 355 

The  Boy  of  the  Alps 356 

For  thee  alone 356 

Her  last  words,  at  parting 356 

Let's  take  this  world  as  some  wide  scene 357 

Love's  Victory 357 

Song  of  Hercules  to  his  Daughter 357 

The  Dream  of  Home 358 

They  tell  me  thou'rt  the  favor'd  guest 358 

The  young  Indian  Maid 358 

The  Homeward  March 358 

Wake  up,  sweet  melody .*  359 

Calui  be  thy  sleep 359 

The  Exile 359 

The  Fancy  Fair 359 

If  thou  wouldst  have  me  sing  and  play 360 

Still  when  daylight 3150 

The  Summer  Webs 360 


PAOK 

Mind  not  though  daylight 360 

They  met  but  once 381 

With  moonlight  bCHming 361 ' 

Child's  Song.    From  a  Masque 361 

The  halcyon  hangs  o'er  ocean 361 

The  world  was  hush'd 361 

The  two  Loves 362 

The  Legend  of  Puck  the  Fairy 3G2 

Beauty  and  Song 363 

When  thou  art  nigh 363 

Song  of  a  Hyperborean 303 

Thou  bidd'st  me  sing 363 

Cupid  unn'd 364 

Round  the  world  goes 364 

Oh,  do  not  look  so  bright  and  blest 364 

The  Musical  Box 365 

When  to  sad  music  silent  you  listen...  365 

The  Language  of  Flowers 365 

The  dawn  is  breaking  o'er  us 365 

SONGS  FROM  THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 

Here  at  thy  tomb.    (By  Meleager' 366 

SaleofCupid.    (By  Meleager) 366 

To  weave  a  garland  for  Ihe  rose.    (ly  Paul  the  Silen- 

tiary) 366 

Why  does  she  so  long  delay?     (By  Paul  the  Siton- 

tiary) 367 

Twin'ht  ihou  with  liifty  wreath  thy  brow,    (By  Paul 

the  Silentiary) 367 

When  the  sad  word.    (By  Paul  the  Silentiary) 367 

My  Mopsa  is  little.    (By  Philodemus) 3G8 

Still,  like  dew  in  silence  falling.    (By  Meleager) 368 

Up,  sailor-boy,  'tis  day 368 

In  Myrtle  Wreaths.     (By  Alcteus) 368 

UNPUBLISHED  SONGS,  &c. 

Ask  not  if  still  ]  love 3G9 

Dear?  yes 309 

Unbind  thee,  love 369 

There's  something  strange.     (A  buffo  song) 370 

Not  from  thee 370 

Guess,  guess 370 

When  Love,  who  ruled 370 

Still  thou  fliest 371 

Then  first  from  Love 371 

Hush,  sweet  lute 3/1 

Bright  moon 372 

Long  years  have  pass'd 372 

Dreaming  forever .j.  372 

Though  lighily  sounds  the  song  I  sing.    (A  song  of  the 

Alps) 372 

The  Russian  lover 373 

LALLA  ROOKH. 

Dedication 373  . 

The  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khorassan 376 

Paradise  and  the  Peri 406 

The  Fire-VVorshipI'ERs 415 

The  Light  ot  the  Harem 442 

POLITICAL  AND  SATIRICAL  POEMS. 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  P — re — v — 1 455 

Fum  and  Hum.  tlie  two  birds  of  royalty 455 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Sh— r — d — n 456 

Epistle  from  Tom  Crib  to  Big  Ben,  concerning  some 

tuul  play  in  a  late  transaction 457 


CONTENTS. 


11 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 

PAOK 

Preface 453 

Letler  I.  From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miss  Dorothy ,  , 

of  Clonliilly,  in  Ireland 458 

Letter  II.    From  Phil.  Fudge,  Esq.  to  the  Lord  Viscount 

C— St— r— gh 460 

Letter  III.    From  Mr.  Bob  Fudge  to  Richard ,  Esq.  402 

Letter  IV.    From  Phelim  Connor  to 464 

Letter  V.  Frnni  Miss  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miss  Dorothy 465 

Letter  VI.    From  Phil.  Fudge,  Esq.  to  his  brother  Tim 

Fudge,  Esq.,  barrister  at  law 407 

Letter  VII.    From  Phelim  Connor  to 470 

Letter  VIII.  From  Mr.  Bob  Fndge  to  Richard ,  Esq.  472 

I^etter  IX.  From  Phil.  Fudge,  Esq.  to  the  Lord  Viscount 

C— St— r— h 474 

Letter  X.    From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miss  Dorothy 

478 

Letter  XI.    From  Phelim  Conner  to 480 

Letter  XZI.  From  Misf  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miss  Dorothy  —  481 

FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 

Dedication.    To  Lord  Byron 483 

Preface 484 

Fable  I.    The  Dissolution  of  the  Holy  Alliance.    A 

dream 484 

Fable  H.    The  Looking-glasses 480 

Fable  IlL    The  Torch  of  Liberty 487 

Fable  IV.    The  Fly  and  llie  Bullock 488 

FableV.    Church  and  State 489 

Fable  VI.    The  Little  Grand  Lama 400 

Fable  VII.    The  Extinguishers 402 

Fable  VIU.    Louis  Fourteenth's  Wig 403 

RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Introductory  Rhymes 495 

Extract  1 497 

E.itract  II 497 

E.\tract  HI 498 

Extract  IV 499 

Extract  V 499 

Extract  VI 500 

Extract  VII 501 

Extract  VIII 502 

Extract  IX 503 

Extract  X 504 

Extract  XI 504 

Extract  XII 505 

Extract  XIII 500 

ExlractXIV 508 

Extract  XV 510 

Extract  XVL 511 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 
Occasional  Epilogue,  spoken  by  Mr.  Corrj',  in  the  char- 
acter of  Vapid,  after  the  play  of  the  Dramatist,  at   ' 

the  Kilkenny  Theatre ol'j 

Extract  from  a  Prologue  written  and  spoken  by  the 
Author,  at  the  Opening  of  the  Kilkenny  Theatre, 

October,  1809 513 

The  Sylph's  Ball 513 

Uc-monstrance 514 

My  Birthday 515 

Taney 515 

Song.     Fanny,  dearest ! 5]5 

Translations  from  Catullus 51g 

Tibuilus  to  Sulpicia 516 

Imitation.    From  the  French 517 


PAOS 

Invitation  to  Dinner,  addressed  to  Lord  Lansdowne  —  517 
Verses  to  the  Poet  Crabbe's  Inkstand.     Written  May, 

1832 517 

To  Caroline,  Viscountess  Valletort.    Written  at  Lacock 

Abbey,  January,  1832 518 

A  Speculation 519 

To  my  Mother.    Written  in  a  Pocket-book,  1822 519 

Love  and  Hymen 519 

Lines  on  the  Entry  of  the  Austrians  into  Naples,  1821.  519 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

Preface 520 

First  Angel's  Story 522 

Second  Angel's  Story 527 

Third  Angel's  Story 338 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

SkcpCt-'m 542 

A  Joke  Versified 542 

On  the  Death  of  a  Friend 542 

To  James  Corry,  Esq.,  on  his  making  me  a  Present  of 

a  Wine-strainer 542 

Fragment  of  a  Character 543 

What  shall  I  sing  thee  1    To 543 

Country  Dance  and  Quadrille 544 

Gazel 545 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Joseph  Atkinson,  Esq.,  of  Dublin  546 

Genius  and  Criticism ' 546 

To  Lady  J*r**y,  on  being  asked  to  write  something  in 

her  Album .547 

To  the  same,  on  looking  through  her  Album .')47 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 

To  Sir  Hudson  Lowe 

Amatory  Colloquy  between  Bank  and  Government..-. 
Dialogue  between  a  Sovereign  and  a  One  Pound  Kote. 

An  Expostulation  to  Lord  King 

The  Sinking  Fund  cried 

Ode  to  the  Goddess  Ceres.    By  Sir  Th— m— s  L— Ih- 

br — e 

A  Hymn  of  Welcome  after  the  Recess 

Memorabilia  of  Last  Week 

All  in  the  Family  Way.    A  new  Pastoral  Ballad 

Ballad  fur  the  Cambridge  Election 

Mr.  Roger  Dodsworlh 

Copy  of  an  Intercepted  Dispatch.   From  his  Excellency 

Don  Strepitoso  Diabolo,  Envoy  Extraordinary  to 

his  Satanic  Majesty 

The  Millennium.    Suggested  by  the  late  Work  of  the 

Rev.  Mr.  Irv — ng  "  on  Prophecy" 

The  Three  Doctors 

Epitaph  on  a  Tuft-hunter 

Ode  to  a  Hat 

News  for  Country  Cousins 

A  Vision.    By  the  Author  of  Christabel 

The  Petition  of  the  Orangemen  of  Ireland 

Cotton  and  Corn.    A  Dialogue 

The  Canonization  of  Saint  B — tt — rw — rth 

An  Incantation.     Sung  by  the  Bubble  Spirit 

A  Dream  of  Turtle.    By  Sir  W.  Curtis 

The  Donkey  and  his  Panniers.    A  Fable 

Ode  to  the  Sublime  Porte 

Corn  and  Catholics 

A  Case  of  Libel 

Literary  Advertisement 

The  Irish  Slave 

Ode  to  Ferdinand 

Hat  versus  Wig    


547 
548 
548 
549 
550 

550 
551 
552 

552 
553 
553 


554 

555 
555 
556 
556 
557 
558 
558 
559 
560 
561 
561 
562 
.562 
.563 
563 
564 
565 
566 
S«6 


12 


CONTENTS. 


PAQE 

The  Periwinkles  and  the  Locusts.    A  Salmagundian 
Hymn 567 

New  Creation  of  Peers.    Batch  the  First 568 

Speech  on  the  Umbrella  Question.    By  Lord  Eld — n..-  569 

A  Pastoral  Ballad.    By  John  Bull 569 

A  tale  Scene  at  Swanage 570 

Wo!  Wo! 570 

Tout  pour  la  Tripe 571 

Enicnia 571 

Do<;-day  Reflections.    By  a  Dandy  Icept  in  Town 572 

The  "Living  Dog"  and  the  "Dead  Lion" 573 

Ode  to  Don  Miguel 573 

Thoughts  on  the  present  Government  of  Ireland 574 

The  Lini  bo  of  lost  Reputations.    A  Dream 574 

Hnw  to  Write  by  Proxy 575 

Iniitaiion  olthe  Inferno  nf  Dante 576 

Lament  for  the  Loss  of  Lord  B — th — st's  Tail 577 

The  Cherries.    A  Parable 577 

Stanzas  written  in  Anticipation  of  Defeat 578 

Ode  to  the  Woods  and  Forests.    By  one  of  the  Board..  579 

Stanzas  from  the  Banks  of  the  Shannon 579 

The  Annual  Pill 580 

"If"  and  "Perhaps" 560 

Write  on,  Write  on.     A  Ballad 58*1 

Song  of  the  Departing  Spirit  of  Tithe 5S1 

The  Euthanasia  of  Van 582 

To  the  Reverend .    One  of  the  sixteen  Rernsition- 

ists  of  Nottingham 5?3 

Irish  Antiquities 583 

A  curious  Fact 584 

New-fashioned  Echoes 584 

Incantation.    From  the  New  Tragedy  of  *'  The  Eruns- 

wickers" 585 

How  to  make  a  good  Politician SHG 

Epistle  of  Condolence.    From  a  Slave  Lord  to  a  Cotton 

Lord 536 

The  Ghost  of  Miltiades 587 

Alarming  Intelligence— Revolution  in  the  Dictionary — 

One  Gait  at  the  Head  of  it 588 

Resolutions  passed  at  a  late  Meeting  of  Reverends  and 

Right  Reverends 588 

Sir  Andrew's  Dream 589 

A  Blue  Love  Song.    To  Miss 59U 

Sunday  Ethics.    A  Scotch  Ode 590 

Awful  Event 591 

The  Numbering  of  the  Clergy.    Parody  on  Sir  Charles 

Han.  Williams'  famous  Ode 591 

A  Sad  Case 592 

A  Dream  of  Hindostan 532 

The  Brunswick  Club 593 

Proposals  for  a  Gynaicocracy.    Addressed  to  a  late  Rad- 
ical Meeting 593 

Lord  H—nl—y  and  St.  Cecilia 594 

Advertisement 5115 

Missing 595 

The  Dance  of  Bishops  ;  or,  The  Episcopal  Quadrille.  A 

Dream 596 

Dick  ****.     A  Character 596 

A  Corrected  Report  of  some  late  Speeches 597 

Mural  Positions.     A  Dream 596 

The  Mad  Tory  and  the  Comet.   Founded  on  a  late  Dis- 
tressing Incident 598 

From  the  Hon.  Henry to  Lady  Emma 599 

Triumph  of  Bigotry ' 000 

Translation  from  the  Gull  Language COO 

Notmns  on  Reform.    By  a  Modern  Reformer COl 

Tory  Pledges 602 

Si.  Jerome  on  Earth.     First  Visit 602 

8l  Jerome  onKiirth.    Second  Visit C03 


PAOS 

Thoughts  on  Tar-barrels.    (Vide  Description  of  a  late 

F^le) 604 

The  Consultation 604 

To  the  Rev.  Ch— ri— s  Ov— rt— n,  Curate  of  Romald- 

kirk 605 

Scene  from  a  Play,  acted  at  Oxford,  called  "Malrirnla- 

lion" 60.^> 

Late  Tithe  Case COG 

Fool's  Paradise.    Dream  the  First 606 

The  Rector  and  his  Curate  ;  or.  One  Pound  Two 607 

Paddy'-!  Metamorphosis 608 

Cocker  on  Church  Reform.    Founded  upon  some  late 

Calculniions 608 

Les  Hommes  Automates 609 

How  to  make  One's  Self  a  Peer.  According  to  the  new- 
est Receipt,  as  disclosed  in  a  late  Heraldic  Work..  609 

The  Duke  is  the  Lad 610 

Epistle  from  Erasmus  on  Earth  In  Drero  in  the  Shades  610 
Lines   on   the  Departure   of  Lord-;   (,' — st — r — gh  and 

St— w— rt  for  the  Continent 611 

To  the  Ship  in  which  Lord  C— si— r— gh  sailed  for  the 

Continent 612 

Sketch  of  the  First  Act  of  a  new  Romantic  Drama  ••-•  613 

Animal  Magnetism 614 

The  Song  of  the  Box 614 

Announcement  of  a  newThalaba.  Addressed  to  Robert 

Soulhey,  Esq. 615 

Rival  Topics.     An  Extravaganza 616 

The  Boy  SUitesman.    By  a  Tory 616 

Letter  from  Larry  O'Branigan  to  the  Rev.  Murtagh 

O'IMulligan 617 

Musings  of  an  Unreforined  Peer 617 

The  Reverend  Pamphleteer.    A  Romantic  Ballad 618 

A  Recent  Dialogue 018 

The  Wellington  Spa 619 

A  Character 619 

A  Ghost  Story 620 

Thoughts  on  the  late  destructive  Propositions  of  the 

Tories.    By  a  Common  Councilman 620 

Anticipated  Meeting  of  the  British  Association  in  the 

year  2836 621 

Pongs  of  the  Church.    No.  1.  622 

Epistle  from  Henry  of  Ex — t — r  to  John  of  Tuam 623 

Song  of  Old  Puck 623 

Police  Reports.    Case  of  Imposture 624 

Reflections.    Addressed  to  the  Author  of  the  Article  of 

the  Church,  in  the  last  Number  of  the  Quarterly 

Review 625 

New  Grand  Exhibition  of  Models  of  the  two  Houses  of 

Parliament 625 

Announcement  of  a  new  grand  Acceleration  Company 

for  the  Promotion  of  the  Speed  of  Literature 626 

Some  Account  of  the  late  Dinner  to  Dan 627 

New  HospiUil  for  Sick  Literati 628 

Religion  and  Trade 628 

Musings,  suggested  by  the  late  Promotion  of  Mrs.  Neth- 

ercoat 629 

Intended  Tribute  to  tlie  Author  of  an  Article  in  the  hist 

Number  of  the  Quarterly  Review,  entitled  "  llo- 

iiianism  in  Ireland" G29 

Grand  Dinner  of  Type  and  Co.    A  poor  Poet's  Drearn*  •  630 

Churth  Extension 631 

Latest  Accounts  from  Olympus C32 

The  Triumphs  of  Farce G32 

Thoughts  on  Patrons,  PulTs,  and  other  Matters.    In  an 

Epistle  from  T.M.  to  S.K 633 

Thoughts  on  Mischief.     By  Lord  St— nl— y.     (His  first 

Attempt  in  Verse) 634 

Epistle  from  Captain  Rock  to  Lord  L— ndh- 1 635 


CONTENTS. 


13 


PAOE 

Captain  Rock  in  London.  Letter  from  the  Cuptain  to 
Terry  Alt,  Esq G3fi 

THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND; 

BEINO    A.   SEQUEL   TO   TUB    "FUDGE   FAMILY   IN   PARIS." 

Preface 637 

Letter  I.  From  Patrick  Magan,  Esq.,  to  the  Rev.  Rich- 
ard   ,  Curate  of ,  in  Ireland 637 

Letter  11.  From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge,  to  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth  •   C38 

Letter  III.  From  Miss  Fanny  Fudge,  to  her  cousin, 
Miss  Kitty .  Stanzas  (enclosed)  to  my  Sha- 
dow ;  or,  Why  ?— What  1— How  1 G41 

Letter  IV.  From  Patrick  Magan,  Esq.,  to  the  Rev.. 
Richard C43 

Letter  V.  From  Larry  O'Branigan,  in  England,  to  his 
wife  Judy,  at  Mullinafad 644 

Letter  VI.  From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge,  to  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth     640 

Letier  VII.  From  Miss  Fanny  Fudge,  to  her  cousin, 
Mi^s  Kitty .    Irregular  Ode 649 

Letter  VIII.  From  Bob  Fudge,  Esq.,  to  the  Rev.  Mor- 
timer O'Mulligan 6J0 

Letter  IX.    From  Larry  O'Branigan  to  his  wife  Judy-*  652 

Letter  X.  From  the  Rev.  Mortimer  O'Mulligan,  to  the 
Rev. 654 

Letter  XI.  Fro'?  Patrick  Magan,  Esq.,  to  the  Rev. 
Richard (T^'i 


SONGS  FROM  M.  P.;  or,  THE  BLUE  STOCKING. 

PAQC 

Songs 656.  657 

Boat  Glee 657 

Cupid's  Lottery 657 

Song 658 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

At  night 658 

To  Lady  Holland.    On  Napoleon's  Legacy  of  a  Snuff- 

boi 658 

Epilogue.    Written  for  Lady  Dacre's  Tragedy  of  Ina...  658 

The  Day-dream 659 

Song 660 

Song  of  the  Poco-curante  Society 660 

Anne  Boleyn.    Translation  from  the  metrical  "Histoire 

d'Anne  Boleyn" 660 

The  Dream  of  the  Two  Sisters.    From  Dante 661 

Sovereign  Woman.    A  Bal  lad 661 

Come,  play  me  that  simple  Air  again.    A  Ballad 661 

THE  EPICUREAN:  A  Tale 662 

ALCIPHRON:  A  Fragment 723 

GcxsRAL  Index 737 


j]!. 


PREFACES  \       ." 

TO  ■,,',..■ 

THE  COLLECTED  EDITION  OF  TEN  VOLUMES, 

PUBLISHED  IN  1841,  1342. 


PREFACE 

TO 

THE  FIRST  VOLUME. 

Finding  it  to  be  the  wish  of  my  Publishers 
that  at  least  the  earlier  volumes  of  this  col- 
lection should  each  be  accompanied  by  some 
prefatory  matter,  illustrating,  by  a  few  bio- 
graphical memoranda,  the  progress  of  my 
humble  literary  career,  I  have  consented, 
though  not,  I  confess,  without  some  scruple 
and  hesitation,  to  comply  with  their  request. 
In  no  country  is  there  so  much  curiosity  felt 
respecting  the  interior  of  the  lives  of  public 
men  as  in  England ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
in  no  country  is  he  who  ventures  to  tell  his  own 
story  so  little  safe  from  the  imputation  of  van- 
ity and  self-display. 

The  whole  of  the  poems  contained  in  the 
first,  as  well  as  in  the  greater  part  of  the 
seeon-'  -"oUime  of  this  collection  were  written 
between  the  sixteenth  and  the  twenty-third 
year  of  the  author's  age.  But  I  had  begun 
still  earlier,  not  only  to  rhyme  but  to  publish. 
A  sonnet  to  my  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Samuel 
Whyte,  written  in  my  fourteenth  year,  ap- 
peared at  the  time  in  a  Dublin  magazine, 
called  the  Anlhologii, — the  first,  and,  I  fear, 
almost  only,  creditable  attempt  in  periodical 
literature  of  which  Ireland  has  to  boast.  I  had 
even  at  an  earlier  period  (1793)  sent  to  this 
magazine  two  short  pieces  of  verse,  prefaced 

•  Some  confuted  notion  of  this  fact  has  led  the  writer  of  a 
Memoir  prefixed  to  the  "Pocket  Edition*'  of  my  Poems, 
printed  m  Zwicltau,  to  state  that  Brinsley  Sheridan  was  my 


by  a  note  to  the  editor,  requesting  the  inser- 
tion of  the  "  following  attempts  of  a  youthful 
muse ;"  and  the  fear  and  trembling  with  which 
I  ventured  upon  this  step  were  agreeably  dis- 
pelled, not  only  by  the  appearance  of  the  con- 
tributions, but  still  more  by  my  finding  myself, 
a  few  months  after,  hailed  as  "  Our  esteemed 
correspondent,  T.  M." 

It  was  in  the  pages  of  this  publication, — 
where  the  whole  of  the  poem  was  extracted, — 
that  I  first  met  with  the  Pleasures  of  Memory  ; 
and  to  this  day,  when  I  open  the  volume  of 
the  Anthologia  which  contains  it,  the  very 
form  of  the  type  and  color  of  the  paper  brings 
back  vividly  to  my  mind  the  delight  with  which 
I  first  read  that  poem. 

My  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Whyte,  though  amu- 
singly vain,  was  a  good  and  kind-hearted  man  ; 
and,  as  a  teacher  of  public  reading  and  elocu- 
tion, had  long  enjoyed  considerable  reputa- 
tion. Nearly  thirty  years  before  I  became  his 
pupil,  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan,  then  about 
eight  or  nine  years  of  age,  had  been  placed  by 
Mrs.  Sheridan  under  his  care  ;*  and,  strange 
to  say,  was,  after  about  a  year's  trial,  pro- 
nounced, both  by  tutor  and  parent,  to  be  "  an 
incorrigible  dunce."  Among  those  who  took 
lessons  from  him  as  private  pupils  were  several 
young  ladies  of  rank,  belonging  to  some  of 
those  great  Irish  families  who  still  continued  to 
lend  to  Ireland  the  enlivening  influence  of 
their  presence,  and  made  their  country-seats, 
through  a  great  part  of  the  year,  the  scenes  of 

tntor! — "Great  attention  was  paid  to  his  education  .y  his 
tutor,  Sheridan." 


16 


PREFACE. 


refined  as  well  as  hospitable  festivity.  The 
Miss  Montgomerys,  to  whose  rare  beauty  the 
pencil  of  Sir  Joshua  has  given  immortality, 
were  among  those  whom  my  worthy  preceptor 
most  boasted  of  as  pupils ;  and  his  description 
of  them,  I  remember,  long  haunted  my  boyish 
imagination,  as  though  they  were  not  earthly 
I  women,  but  souie  spiritual  "  creatures  of  the 
element." 

About  thirty  or  forty  years  before  the  pe- 
riod of  which  I  am  speaking,  an  eager  taste 
for  private  theatrical  performances  had  sprung 
up  among  the  higher  ranks  of  society  in  Ire- 
land ;  and  at  Carton,  the  seat  of  the  Duke  of 
Leinster,  at  Castletown,  Marley,  and  other 
great  houses,  private  plays  were  got  up,  of 
which,  in  most  instances,  the  superintendence 
was  intrusted  to  Mr.  V/hyte,  and  in  general 
the  prologue,  or  the  epilogue,  contributed  by 
his  pen.  At  Marley,  the  seat  of  the  Latouches, 
where  the  masque  of  Comus  was  performed  in 
the  year  1776,  while  my  old  master  supplied 
the  prologue,  no  less  distinguished  a  hand  than 
that  of  our  "  ever-glorious  Grattan,"*  fur- 
nished, the  epilogue.  This  relic  of  his  pen, 
too,  is  the  more  memorable,  as  being,  I  believe, 
the  only  poetical  composition  he  was  ever 
known  to  produce. 

At  the  time  when  I  first  began  to  attend  his 
school,  Mr.  Whyte  still  continued,  to  the  no 
small  alarm  of  many  parents,  to  encourage  a 
taste  for  acting  among  his  pupils.  In  this  line 
I  was  long  his  favorite  «/iouj-scholar ;  and 
among  the  play-bills  introduced  in  his  volume, 
to  illustrate  the  occasions  of  his  own  prologues 
and  epilogues,  there  is  one  of  a  play  got  up  in 
the  year  1790,  at  Lady  Borrowes's  private 
theatre  in  Dublin,  where,  among  the  items  of 
the  evening's  entertainment,  is  "  An  Epilogue, 
A  S(iuec:e  to  St.  PauVs,  Master  Moore."     • 

With  acting,  indeed,  is  associated  the  very 
first  attempts  at  verse-making  to  which  my 
memory  enables  me  to  plead  guilty.  It  was  at 
a  period,  I  think,  even  earlier  than  the  date  last 
mentioned,  that,  while  passing  the  summer 
holidays,  with  a  number  of  other  young  people, 
at  one  of  those  bathing-places,  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Dublin,  which  afford  such  fresh 
and  healtliful  retreats  to  its  inhabitants,  it  was 
proposed  among  us  that  we  should  combine 
together  in  some  theatrical  performance  ;  and 
*  Byron. 


the  Poor  Soldier  and  a  Harlequin  Pantomime 
being  the  entertainments  agreed  upon,  the  parts 
of  Patrick  and  the  Motley  hero  fell  to  my  share. 
I  was  also  encouraged  to  write  and  recite  an 
appropriate  epilogue  on  the  occasion  ;  and  the 
following  lines,  alluding  to  our  speedy  return 
to  school,  and  remarkable  only  for  their  having 
lived  so  long  in  my  memory,  formed  part  of 
this  juvenile  efl^ort : — 

Our  Pnntiiloon,  who  did  so  aged  look, 

Musi  now  resume  his  youth,  his  task,  his  book : 

Our  Harlequin,  who  skipped,  laugh'd,  danced  and  died, 

Must  now  stand  trembling  by  his  master's  side. 

I  have  thus  been  led  back,  step  by  step, 
from  an  early  date  to  one  still  earlier,  with  the 
view  of  ascertaining,  for  those  who  take  any 
interest  in  literary  biography,  at  what  period  I 
first  showed  an  aptitude  for  the  now  common 
craft  of  verse-making  ;  and  the  result  is — so 
far  back  in  childhood  lies  the  epoch — that  I 
am  really  unable  to  say  at  what  age  I  first  be- 
gan to  act,  sing,  and  rhyme. 

To  these  difi"erent  talents,  such  as  they  were, 
the  gay  and  social  habits  prevailing  in  Dublin 
afforded  frequent  opportunities  of  display ; 
while,  at  home,  a  most  amiable  father,  and  a 
mother  such  as  in  heart  and  head  has  rarely 
been  equalled,  furnished  me  with  that  purest 
stimulus  to  exertion — the  desire  to  please 
those  whom  we,  at  once,  most  love  and  most 
respect.  It  was,  I  think,  a  year  or  two  after 
my  entrance  into  college,  that  a  masque  written 
by  myself,  and  of  which  I  had  adapted  one  of 
the  songs  to  the  air  of  Haydn's  Spirit-Song, 
was  acted,  under  our  own  humble  roof  in 
Aungier  street,  by  my  elder  sister  myself, 
and  one  or  two  other  young  persons.  The 
little   drawing-room   over   the  shop   was   our 

grand  place  of  represent.ation  and  young , 

now  an  eminent  professor  of  music  in  Dublin, 
enacted  for  us  the  part  of  orchestra  at  the 
piano-forte. 

It  will  be  seen  from  all  this,  that,  however 
imprudent  and  premature  was  my  first  appear- 
ance in  the  London  world  as  an  author,  it  is 
only  lucky  that  I  had  not  much  earlier  assumed 
that  responsible  character ;  in  which  case  the 
public  would  probably  have  treated  my  nursery 
productions  in  much  the  same  manner  in  which 
that  sensible  critic,  my  Uncle  Toby,  would 
have  disposed  of  the  "  work  which  the  great 
Lipsius  produced  on  the  day  he  was  born." 


PREFACE. 


17 


Wliile  thus  the  turn  I  had  so  early  shown 
for  rhyme  and  song  was,  by  the  gay  and  so- 
ciable circle  in  which  I  lived,  called  so  en- 
couragingly into  play,  a  far  deeper  feeling — 
and,  I  should  hope,  power — was  at  the  same 
lime  awakened  in  me  by  the  mighty  change 
then  working  in  the  political  aspect  of  Europe, 
and  the  stirring  influence  it  had  begun  to  ex- 
ercise on  the  spirit  and  hopes  of  Ireland.  Born 
of  Catholic  parents,  I  had  come  into  the  world 
with  the  slave's  yoke  around  my  neck ;  and  it 
was  all  in  vain  that  the  fond  ambition  of  a 
mother  looked  forward  to  the  Bar  as  opening 
a  career  that  might  lead  her  son  to  honor  and 
affluence.  Against  the  young  Papist  all  such 
avenues  to  distinction  were  closed ;  and  even 
the  University,  the  professed  source  of  public 
education,  was  to  him  "a  fountain  sealed."  Can 
any  one  now  wonder  that  a  people  thus  WTonged 
and  trampled  upon  should  have  hailed  the  first 
dazzling  outbreak  of  the  French  Revolution 
as  a  signal  to  the  slave,  wherever  suflering, 
that  the  day  of  his  deliverance  was  near  at 
hand.  I  rem'ember  being  taken  by  my  father 
(1790)  to  one  of  the  dinners  given  in  honor 
of  that  great  event,  and  sitting  upon  the  knee 
of  the  chairman  while  the  following  toast  was 
enthusiastically  sent  round  : — "  May  the  breezes 
from  France  fan  our  Irish  Oak  into  verdure." 

In  a  few  months  after  was  passed  the  me- 
morable Act  of  1793,  sweeping  away  some  of 
the  most  monstrous  of  the  remaining  sanctions 
of  the  penal  code ;  and  I  was  myself  among 
the  first  of  the  young  Helots  of  the  land,  who 
hastened  to  avail  themselves  of  the  new  privi- 
lege of  being  educated  in  their  country's  uni- 
versity,— though  still  excluded  from  all  share 
in  those  college  honors  and  emoluments  by 
which  the  ambition  of  the  youths  of  the  ascen- 
dant class  was  stimulated  and  rewarded.  As  I 
well  knew  that,  next  to  my  attaining  some  of 
these  distinctions,  my  showing  that  I  deserved 
to  attain  them  would  most  gratify  my  anxious 
mother,  I  entered  as  candidate  for  a  scholar- 
ship, and  (as  far  as  the  result  of  the  e.xamina- 
tion  went)  successfully.  But,  of  course,  the 
mere  barren  credit  of  the  eflort  was  all  I  en- 
joyed for  my  pains. 

It  was  in  this  year,  (1794,)  or  about  the  be- 
ginning of  the  next,  that  I  remember  having, 
for  the  first  time,  tried  my  hand  at  political 
satire.     In  their  very  worst  times  of  slavery 


and  suflering,  the  happy  disposition  of  my 
countrymen  had  kept  their  cheerfulness  still 
unbroken  and  buoyant;  and,  at  the  period  of 
which  I  am  speaking,  the  hope  of  a  brighter 
day  dawning  upon  Ireland  had  given  to  the 
society  of  the  middle  classes  in  Dublin  a  more 
than  usual  flow  of  hilarity  and  life.  Among 
other  gay  results  of  this  festive  spirit,  a  club, 
or  society,  was  instituted  by  some  of  our  most 
convivial  citizens,  one  of  whose  objects  was  to 
burlesque,  good-humoredly,  the  forms  and 
pomps  of  royalty.  With  this  view  they  es- 
tablished a  sort  of  mock  kingdom,  of  which 
Dalkey,  a  small  island  near  Dublin,  was  made 
the  seat,  and  an  eminent  pawnbroker,  named 
Stephen  Armitage,  much  renowned  for  his 
agreeable  singing,  was  the  chosen  and  popular 
monarch. 

Before  public  aflairs  had  become  too  serious 
for  such  pastime,  it  was  usual  to  celebrate, 
yearly,  at  Dalkey,  the  day  of  this  sovereign's 
accession  ;  and,  among  the  gay  scenes  that  still 
live  in  my  memory,  there  are  few  it  recalls 
with  more  freshness  than  the  celebration,  on  a 
fine  Sunday  in  summer,  of  one  of  these  anni- 
versaries of  King  Stephen's  coronation.  The 
picturesque  sea-views  from  that  spot,  the  gay 
crowds  along  the  shores,  the  innumerable  boats, 
full  of  life,  floating  about,  and,  above  all,  that 
true  spirit  of  mirth  which  the  Irish  tempera- 
ment never  fails  to  lend  to  such  meetings, 
rendered  the  whole  a  scene  not  easily  forgotten. 
The  state  ceremonies  of  the  day  were  perform- 
ed, with  all  due  gravity,  within  the  ruins  of  an 
ancient  church  that  stands  on  the  island,  where 
his  mock  majesty  bestowed  the  order  of  knight- 
hood upon  certain  favored  personages,  and 
among  others,  I  recollect,  upon  Incledon,  the 
celebrated  singer,  who  arose  from  under  the 
touch  of  the  royal  sword  with  the  appropriate 
title  of  Sir  Charles  Melody.  There  was  also 
selected,  for  the  favors  of  the  crown  on  that 
day,  a  lad}'  of  no  ordinary  poetic  talent,  Mrs. 
Battier,  who  had  gained  much  fame  by  some 
spirited  satires  in  the  manner  of  Churchill,  and 
whose  kind  encouragement  of  my  early  at- 
tempts in  versification  were  to  me  a  source  of 
much  pride.  This  lady,  as  was  officially  an- 
nounced, in  the  course  of  the  day,  had  been 
appointed  his  majesty's  poetess  laureate,  under 
the  style  and  title  of  Henrietta,  Countess  of 
Laurel. 


18 


PREFACE. 


There  could  hardly  have  been  devised  an 
apter  vehicle  for  lively  political  satire  than  this 
gay  travesty  of  monarchical  power,  and  its 
showy  appurtenances,  so  temptingly  supplied. 
The  very  day,  indeed,  after  this  commemora- 
tion, there  appeared,  in  the  Dalkey  state- 
gazette,  an  amusing  proclamation  from  the 
king,  offering  a  large  reward,  in  cronclanes* 
to  the  finder  or  finders  of  his  majesty's  crown, 
which,  owing  to  his  "  having  measured  both 
sides  of  the  road"  in  his  pedestrian  progress 
on  the  preceding  night,  had  unluckily  fallen 
from  the  royal  brow.  ' 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  whatever 
natural  turn  I  may  have  possessed  for  the 
lighter  skirmishing  of  satire  should  have  been 
called  into  play  by  so  pleasant  a  field  for  its 
exercise  as  the  state  affairs  of  the  Dalkey 
kingdom  afforded  ;  and,  accordingly,  my  first 
attempt  in  this  line  was  an  Ode  to  his  Majesty, 
King  Stephen,  contrasting  the  happy  state  of 
security  in  which  he  lived  among  his  merry 
lieges,  with  the-"  metal  coach,"  and  other  such 
precautions  against  mob  violence,  which  were 
said  to  have  been  adopted  at  that  time  by  his 
royal  brother  of  England.  Some  portions  of  this 
juvenile  squib  still  live  in  my  memory  ;  but  they 
fall  far  too  short  of  the  lively  demands  of  the 
subject  to  be  worth  preserving,  even  as  juvenilia. 

In  college,  the  first  circumstance  that  drew 
any  attention  to  my  rhyming  poweis  was  my 
giving  in  a  theme,  in  English  verse,  at  one  of 
the  quarterly  examinations.  As  the  sort  of 
short  essays  required  on  those  occasions  were 
considered,  in  general,  as  a  mere  matter  of 
form,  and  were  WTitten,  invariably,  I  believe, 
in  Latin  prose,  the  appearance  of  a  theme  in 
English  verse  could  hardly  fail  to  attract  some 
notice.  It  was,  therefore,  with  no  small  anx- 
iety that,  when  the  moment  for  judging  of  the 
themes  arrived,  I  saw  the  examiners  of  the  dif- 
ferent divisions  assemble,  as  usual,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hall  for  that  purpose.  Still  more 
trying  was  it  when  I  perceived  that  the  rev- 
erend inquisitor,  in  wdiose  hands  was  my  fate, 
had  left  the  rest  of  the  awful  group,  and  was 
bending  his  steps  towards  the  table  where  I 
was  seated.  Leaning  across  to  nie,  he  asked 
suspiciously,  whether  the  verses  which  I  had 
just  given  in  were  my  own  ;   and,  on  my  an- 

*  Irish  halfpence,  so  called. 


swering  in  the  affirmative,  added  these  cheering 
words,  "  They  do  you  great  credit ;  and  I  shall 
not  fail  to  recommend  them  to  the  notice  of 
the  Board."  This  result  of  a  step,  ventured 
upon  with  some  little  fear  and  scruple,  was  of 
course  very  gratifying  to  me ;  and  the  premium  I 
received  from  the  Board  was  a  well-bound  copy  of 
the  Travels  of  .'Vnacharsis,  together  with  a  certi- 
ficate, stating,  in  not  very  lofty  Latin,  that  this  re- 
ward had  been  conferred  upon  me,  "propter  lau- 
dabilem  in  versibus  componendis  progressum." 
The  idea  of  attempting  a  version  of  some  of 
the  .Songs  or  Odes  of  Anacreon  had  very  early 
occurred  to  me  ;  and  a  specimen  of  my  first 
ventures  in  this  undertaking  may  be  found  in 
the  Dublin  Magazine  already  referred  to,  '•  here, 
in  the  number  of  that  work  for  Februaj  ~  1^14, 
appeared  a  "  Paraphrase  of  Anacreon's  Fifth 
Ode,  by  T.  Moore."  As  it  may  not  be  unin- 
teresting to  future  and  better  translators  of 
the  poet  to  compare  this  schoolboy  experiment 
with  my  later  and  more  labored  version  of 
the  same  ode,  I  shall  here  extract  the  specimen 
found  in  the  Anthologia  : — 

"  Let  us,  with  the  chistering  vine. 
The  rose,  Love's  blushing  flower,  entwine. 
Fancy's  hand  our  chaplet's  wreathing, 
Vernal  sweets  around  us  breathing. 
We'll  gayly  drink,  full  goblets  quaffing, 
At  frighted  Care  securely  laughing. 

"Rose  I  thou  balmy-scented  flower, 
Rear'd  by  Sjiring's  most  fostering  power. 
Thy  dewy  blossoms,  opening  bright. 
To  gods  themselves  can  give  delight; 
,  And  Cypria's  child,  with  roses  crown'd. 

Trips  with  each  Grace  the  mazy  round. 

"Bind  my  brows, — I'll  tune  the  lyre 
Love  my  rapturous  strains  shall  fire. 
Near  Bacchus'  grape-encircled  shrine. 
While  roses  fresh  iriy  brows  entwine. 
Led  by  the  winged  train  of  Pleasures, 
I'll  dance  with  nymphs  to  sportive  measures." 

In  pursuing  further  this  light  task,  the  only 
object  I  had  for  some  time  in  view  was  to  lay 
before  the  Board  a  select  number  of  the  odes 
I  had  then  translated,  with  a  hope, — suggested 
by  the  kind  encouragement  I  had  already  re- 
ceived,— that  they  might  be  considered  as 
deserving  nf  some  honor  or  reward.  Having 
experienced  much  hospitable  attention  from 
Doctor  Kearney,  one  of  the  senior  fellows,f  a 
man  of  inost  amiable  character,  as  well  as  of 
refined  scholarship,  I  submitted  to  his  perusal 

t  Appointed 'Provost  of  the  University  in  the  year  1799, 
and  made  afterwards  Bishop  of  Ossory. 


PREFACE. 


19 


the  manuscript  of  my  translation  as  far  as  it 
had  then  proceeded,  and  requested  his  advice 
respecting  my  intention  of  laying  it  before  the 
Board.  On  this  latter  point  his  opinion  was 
such  as,  with  a  little  more  thought,  I  might 
have  anticipated,  namely,  that  he  did  not  see 
how  the  Board  of  the  University  could  lend 
their  sanction,  by  any  public  reward,  to  writings 
so  convivial  and  amatory  as  were  almost  all 
those  of  Anacreon.  He  very  good-naturedly, 
however,  lauded  my  translation,  and  advised 
me  to  complete  and  publish  it ;  adding,  I  well 
recollect,  "  young  people  will  like  it."  I  was 
also  indebted  to  him  for  the  use,  during  my 
task,  of  Spaletti's  curious  publication,  giving 
a  facsimile  of  those  pages  of  a  MS.  in  the 
Vatican  Library  which  contain  the  Odes,  or 
"  Symposiacs,"  attributed  to  Anacreon.*  And 
here  I  shall  venture  to  add  a  few  passing  words 
on  a  point  wbich  I  once  should  have  thought  it 
profanation  to  question, — the  authenticity  of 
these  poems.  The  cry  raised  against  their 
genuineness  by  Robertellus  and  other  enemies 
of  Henry  Stephen,  when  that  eminent  scholar 
first  introduced  them  to  the  learned  world, 
may  be  thought  to  have  long  since  entirely 
subsided,  leaving  their  claim  to  so  ancient  a 
paternity  safe  and  unquestioned.  But  I  am 
forced,  however  reluctantly,  to  confess  that  there 
appear  to  me  strong  grounds  for  pronouncing 
these  light  and  beautifal  lyrics  to  be  merely 
modern  fabrications.  Some  of  the  reasons  that 
incline  me  to  adopt  this  unwelcome  conclu- 
sion ai>  thus  clearly  stated  by  the  same  able 
scholar,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  the  emen- 
dations of  my  own  juvenile  Greek  ode  : — "  I 
do  not  see  how  it  is  possible,  if  Anacreon  had 
written  chiefly  in  Iambic  dimeter  verse,  that 
Horace  should  have  wholly  neglected  that 
metre.  I  may  add  that,  of  those  fragments  of 
Anacreon,  of  whose  genuineness,  from  internal 
evidence,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  almost  all  are 
written  in  one  or  other  of  the  lighter  Horatian 
metres,  and  scarcely  one  in  Iambic  dimeter 
verse.  This  may  be  seen  by  looking  through 
the  list  in  Fischer." 

*  When  the  monument  to  Provost  Baldwin,  which  stands 
la  the  hall  of  the  College  of  Dublin,  arrived  from  Italy,  there 
came  in  the  same  packing-case  with  it  two  copies  of  this 
work  of  Sp;iletli,  one  of  which  was  presented  by  Dr.  Troy, 
the  Roman  Catholic  Archbishop,  as  a  gift  from  the  Pope  to 
the  Library  of  the  University,  and  the  other  (of  which  I  was 
iubsequently  favored  with  the  use)  he  presented,  in  like 


The  unskilful  attempt  at  Greek  verse  from 
my  own  pen,  which  is  found  prefixed  to  the 
Translation,  was  intended  originally  to  illus- 
trate a  picture,  representing  Anacreon  con- 
versing with  the  Goddess  of  Wisdom,  from 
which  the  frontispiece  to  the  first  edition  of 
the  work  was  taken.  Had  I  been  brought  up 
vi'ith  a  due  fear  of  the  laws  of  prosody  before 
my  eyes,  I  certainly  should  not  have  dared  to 
submit  so  untutored  a  production  to  the  criti- 
cism of  the  trained  prosodians  of  the  English 
schools.  At  the  same  time,  I  cannot  help 
adding  that,  as  far  as  music,  distinct  from 
metre,  is  concerned,  I  am  much  inclined  to 
prefer  the  ode  as  originally  written  to  its  pre- 
sent corrected  shape  ,  and  that,  at  all  events, 
I  entertain  but  very  little  doubt  as  to  which  of 
the  two  a  composer  would  most  willingly  set 
to  music. 

For  the  means  of  collecting  the  materials  of 
the  notes  appended  to  the  Translation,  I  was 
chiefly  indebted  to  the  old  library  adjoining  .St. 
Patrick's  Cathedral,  called,  from  the  name  of 
the  archbishop  who  founded  it.  Marsh's  Library. 
Through  my  acquaintance  with  the  deputy 
librarian,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cradock,  I  enjoyed  the 
privilege  of  constant  access  to  this  collection, 
even  at  that  period  of  the  year  when  it  is 
always  closed  to  the  public.  On  these  occa- 
sions I  used  to  be  locked  in  there  alone  ;  and 
to  the  many  solitary  hours  which,  both  at  the 
time  I  am  now  speaking  of  and  subsequently. 
I  passed  in  hunting  through  the  dusty  tomes  of 
this  old  library,  I  owe  much  of  that  odd  and 
out-of-the-way  sort  of  reading  which  may  be 
found  scattered  through  some  of  my  earlier 
writings. 

Early  in  the  year  1799,  while  yet  in  my 
nineteenth  year,  I  left  Ireland,  for  the  first 
time,  and  proceeded  to  London,  with  the  two 
not  very  congenial  objects,  of  keeping  my  terms 
at  the  Middle  Temple,  and  publishing,  by  sub- 
scription, my  Translation  of  Anacreon.  One 
of  those  persons  to  whom,  through  the  active 
zeal  of  friends,  some  part  of  my  manuscript 
had  been  submitted  before  it  went  to  press, 

manner,  to  my  friend.  Dr.  Kearney.  Thus,  curiously  enough, 
while  ,\nacreon  in  English  was  considered — and,  I  grant,  on 
no  unreasonable  grounds — as  a  work  to  which  grave  collegi- 
ate authorities  could  not  openly  lend  their  sanction,  Anacreon 
in  Greek  was  thought  no  unfitting  present  to  be  received  by 
a  Protestant  bishop,  through  tlie  medium  of  a  Catholic  arch- 
bishop, from  the  hands  of  his  holiness,  the  Pope. 


20 


PREFACE. 


was  Doctor  Laurence,  tlic  able  friend  of  Burke  ; 
and,  as  an  instance,  however  slight,  of  that 
ready  variety  of  learning — as  well  the  lightest 
as  the  most  solid — for  which  Laurence  was  so 
remarliable,  the  following  extract  from  the  letter 
written  by  him,  in  returning  the  manuscript 
to  my  friend  Dr.  Hume,  may  not  be  without 
some  interest : — 

"  Dec.  20,  1709. 

"  T  return  you  the  four  odes  which  you  were 
so  kind  to  communicate  for  my  poor  opinion. 
They  are,  in  many  parts,  very  elegant  and 
poetical  ;  and,  in  some  passages,  Mr.  Moore 
has  added  a  pretty  turn  not  to  be  found  in  the 
original.  To  confess  the  truth,  however,  they 
arc,  in  not  a  few  places,  rather  more  paraphras- 
tical  than  suits  my  notion  (perhaps  an  incorrect 
notion)  of  translation. 

"  In  the  fifty-third  ode  there  is,  in  my  judg- 
ment, a  no  less  sound  than  beautiful  emend- 
ation suggested — would  you  suppose  it  1 — by 
a  Dutch  lawyer.  Mr.  M.  possibly  may  not  be 
aware  of  it.  I  have  endeavored  to  express 
the  sense  of  it  in  a  couplet  interlined  with 
pencil.  Will  you  allow  me  to  add,  that  I  am 
not  certain  whether  the  translation  has  not 
missed  the  meaning,  too,  in  the  former  part  of 
that  passage  which  seems  to  me  to  intend  a 
distinction  and  climax  ot  pleasure  : — '  It  is 
sweet  even  to  prove  it  among  the  briery  paths  ; 
it  is  sweet  again,  plucking,  to  cherish  with 
tender  hands,  and  carry  to  the  fair,  the  flower 
of  love.'  This  is  nearly  literal,  including  the 
conjectural  correction  of  Mynheer  Jledenbach. 
If  this  be  right,  instead  of 

'  'Tis  sweet  to  dare  the  tanglei  fence,' 

I  wo  dd  propose  something  to  this  effect : — 

'Tis  sweet  the  rich  perfume  to  prove, 
As  by  the  dewy  bush  you  rove  ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  d;irc  the  tangled  fence, 
To  ciill  the  timid  benuty  thence, 
To  wipe  with  tender  hands  away 
The  tears  f.iat  on  its  bhishes  hiy  ;• 
Then,  to  the  bosom  of  llic  fair, 
The  flower  of  love  in  triumph  bear. 

"  I  would  drop  altogether  the  image  of  the 
stems  '  dropping  with  genu.''  I  believe  it  is  a 
confused  and  false  metaphor,  unless  the  painter 

♦  Query,  if  it  ought  not  to  be  lie  ?    The  line  might  run, 
With  tender  Iiand  the  tears  to  brush, 
That  give  new  softness  to  its  blush  (or,  its  flush.) 


should  take  the  figure  of  Aurora  from  Jlrs. 
Hastings. 

"  There  is  another  emendation  of  the  same 
critic,  in  the  following  line,  which  Mr.  M.  may 
seem,  by  accident,  to  have  sufficiently  expressed 
in  the  phrase  of  'roses  shed  their  light.'' 

"  I  scribble  this  in  very  great  haste,  but  fear 
that  you  and  Mr.  Moore  will  find  me  too  long, 
minute,  and  impertinent.  Believe  me  to  be, 
very  sincerely, 

"  Your  obedient,  humble  servant, 

"  F.  Laurehce." 


PREFACE 


THE  SECOND  VOLUME. 

The  Poems  suggested  to  me  b)-  my  Tis.'  to 
Bermuda,  in  the  year  1803,  as  well  as  by  the 
tour  which  I  made  subsequently,  through  some 
parts  of  North  America,  have  been  hitherto 
very  injudiciously  arranged  ; — any  distinctive 
character  they  may  possess  having  been  dis- 
turbed and  confused  by  their  being  mi.xed  up 
not  only  with  trifles  of  a  much  earlier  date, 
but  also  with  some  portions  of  a  classical  story, 
in  the  form  of  Letters,  which  I  had  made  some 
progress  in  before  my  departure  from  England. 
In  the  present  edition,  this  awkward  jtmible 
has  been  remedied  ;  and  all  the  Poems  relating 
to  my  Transatlantic  voyage  will  be  found  classed 
by  themselves.  As,  in  like  manner,  the  line  of 
route  by  which  I  proceeded  through  some 
parts  of  the  States  and  the  Canadas,  has  been 
left  hitherto  to  be  traced  confusedly  through  a 
few  detached  notes,  I  have  thought  that,  to 
future  readers  of  these  poems,  some  clearer  ac- 
count of  the  course  of  that  journey  might  not 
be  unacceptable, — together  with  such  vestiges 
as  may  still  linger  in  my  memory  of  events 
now  fast  fading  into  the  background  of  time 

For  the  precise  date  of  my  departure  from 
England,  in  the  Phaeton  frigate,  I  am  indebted 
to  the  Naval  Recollections  of  Captain  Scott, 
then  a  midshipman  of  that  ship.  "  We  were 
soon  ready,"  says  this  gentleman,  "  for  sea,  and 
'a  few  days  saw  Mr.  Merry  and  suite  embarked 
on  board.    Mr.  Moore  likewise  took  his  passage 


PREFACE. 


21 


with  us  on  his  way  to  Bermuda.  We  quitted 
Spilhead  on  the  25th  of  September,  (1803,)  and 
in  a  short  week  lay  becalmed  under  the  lofty 
pea.1  of  Pico.  Ip.  this  situation  the  Phaeton  is 
depicted  in  the  frontispiece  of  Moore's  Poems." 

During  the  voyage,  I  dined  very  frequently 
with  the  oiEcers  of  the  gun-room ;  and  it  was 
not  a  little  gratifying  to  me  to  learn,  from  this 
gentleman's  volume,  that  the  cordial  regard 
these  social  and  open-hearted  men  inspired  in 
me  was  not  wholly  unreturned  on  their  part. 
.•Vfter  mentioning  our  arrival  at  Norfolk,  in  Vir- 
ginia, Captain  Scott  says,  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merry 
left  the  Phaeton,  under  the  usual  salute,  ac- 
companied by  Mr.  Moore  ;" — then,  adding 
some  kind  compliments  on  the  score  of  talents, 
&c.,  he  concludes  with  a  sentence  which  it  gave 
me  tenfold  more  pleasure  to  read, — "  The  gun- 
room mess  witnessed  the  day  of  his  departure 
with  genuine  sorrow."  From  Norfolk,  after  a 
stay  of  about  ten  days,  under  the  hospitable 
roof  of  the  British  Consul,  Colonel  Hamilton, 
I  proceeded,  in  the  Driver  sloop  of  war,  to 
Bermuda. 

There  was  then  on  that  station  another 
youthful  sailor,  who  has  since  earned  for  him- 
self a  distinguished  name  among  English  writers 
of  travels.  Captain  Basil  Hall, — then  a  mid- 
shipman on  board  the  Leander.  In  his  Frag- 
ments of  A^oyagcs  and  Travels,  this  writer  has 
called  up  some  agreeable  reminiscences  of  that 
period  ;  in  perusing  which, — so  full  of  life  and 
reality  are  his  sketches, — I  found  all  my  own 
naval  recollections  brought  freshly  to  my  mind. 
The  very  names  of  the  different  ships,  then  so 
familiar  to  my  ears, — the  Leander,  the  Boston, 
the  Cambrian, — transported  me  back  to  the 
season  of  youth  a"!d  those  Summer  Isles  once 
more. 

The  testimony  borne  by  so  competent  a 
witness  as  Captain  Hall  to  the  truth  of  my 
sketches  of  the  beautiful  scenery  of  Bermuda 
is  of  far  too  much  value  to  me,  in  my  capacity 
of  traveller,  to  be  here  omitted  by  me,  however 
conscious  of  but  ill  deserving  the  praise  he 
lavishes  on  me,  as  a  poet.  Not  that  I  mean  to 
pretend  indifference  to  such  kind  tributes  ; — on 
the  contrary,  those  are  always  the  most  alive  to 
praise,  who  feel  inwardly  least  confidence  in 
the  soundness  of  their  own  title  to  it.  In  the 
present  instance,  however,  my  vanity  (ibr  so 
this  uneasy  feeling  is  always  called)  seeks  its 


L 


food  in  a  different  direction.  It  is  not  as  a 
poet  I  invoke  the  aid  of  Captain  Hall's  opinion, 
but  as  a  traveller  and  observer ;  it  is  not  to 
my  invention  I  ask  him  to  bear  testimony,  but 
to  my  matter-of-fact. 

"The  most  pleasing  and  most  exact  descrip- 
tion which  I  know  of  Bermuda,"  says  this  gen- 
tleman, "  is  to  be  found  in  Moore's  Odes  and 
Epistles,  a  work  published  many  years  ago. 
The  reason  why  his  account  excels  in  beauty 
as  well  as  in  precision  that  of  other  men  prob- 
ably is,  that  the  scenes  described  lie  so  much 
beyond  the  scope  of  ordinary  observation  in 
colder  climates,  and  the  feelings  which  they 
excite  in  the  beholder  are  so  much  higher  than 
those  produced  by  the  scenery  we  have  been 
accustomed  to  look  at,  that,  unless  the  imagi- 
nation be  deeply  drawn  upon,  and  the  diction 
sustained  at  a  correspondent  pitch,  the  word^ 
alone  strike  the  ear,  while  the  listener's  fancy 
remains  where  it  was.  In  Moore's  account 
there  is  not  only  no  exaggeration,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  a  wonderful  degree  of  temperance  in 
the  midst  of  a  feast  which  to  his  rich  fancy 
must  have  been  peculiarly  tempting.  He  has 
contrived  by  a  magic  peculiarly  his  own,  yet 
without  departing  from  the  truth,  to  sketch 
what  was  before  him  with  a  fervor  which 
those  who  have  never  been  on  the  spot  might 
well  be  excused  for  setting  down  as  the  sport 
of  the  poet's  invention."'* 

How  truly  politic  it  is  in  a  poet  to  connect 
his  verse  with  well-known  and  interesting  lo- 
calities,— to  wed  his  song  to  scenes  already  in- 
vested with  fame,  and  thus  lend  it  a  chance  of 
sharing  the  charm  which  encircles  them, — I 
have  myself,  in  more  than  one  instance,  very 
agreeably  experienced.  Among  the  memorials 
of  this  description,  w  hieh,  as  I  learn  with  pleas- 
ure and  pride,  still  keep  me  remembered  in 
some  of  those  beautiful  regions  of  the  West 
which  I  visited,  I  shall  mention  but  one  slight, 
instance,  as  showing  hoAv  potently  the  Genius 
of  the  Place  may  lend  to  song  a  life  and  imper- 
ishableness  to  which,  in  itself,  it  boasts  no 
claim  or  pretension.  The  following  lines  in 
one  of  my  Bermudian  poems, 

'Twas  there,  in  the  shade  of  the  Calabash  Tree. 
With  a  few  who  could  feel  and  remember  like  me, 

still  live  in  memory,  I  am  told,  on  those  fairy 
*  Fragments  of  Voyages  and  Travels,  vol.  ii.  chap  vi 


23 


PREFACE. 


shores,  connecting  my  name  with  the  pictu- 
resque spot  they  describe,  and  the  noble  old 
tree  which  I  believe  still  adorns  it.*  One  of 
the  few  treasures  (of  any  kind)  1  can  boast  the 
possession  of,  is  a  goblet  formed  of  one  of  the 
fruit-shells  of  this  remarkable  tree,  which  was 
brcrricrht  from  Bermuda,  a  few  years  since,  by 
Mr.  Dudley  Costello,  and  which  that  gentle- 
man, having  had  it  tastefully  mounted  as  a 
goblet,  very  kindly  presented  to  me  ;  the  fol- 
lowing words  being  part  of  the  inscription 
which  it  bears  : — ^"  To  Thomas  Moore,  Esq., 
this  cup,  formed  of  a  calabash  which  grew  on 
the  tree  that  bears  his  name,  nearWalsingham, 
Bermuda,  is  inscribed  by  one  who,"  &c.  &c. 

From  Bermuda  I  proceeded  in  the  Boston, 
with  my  friend  Captain  (now  Admiral)  J.  E. 
Douglas,  to  New  York,  from  whence,  after  a 
ghort  stay,  we  sailed  for  Norfolk,  in  Virginia  ; 
and  about  the  beginning  of  June,  1804,  I  set 
out  from  that  city  on  a  tour  through  part  of 
the  States.  At  Washington,  I  passed  some 
days  with  the  English  minister,  Mr.  Merry  ; 
and  was,  by  him,  presented  at  the  levee  of  the 
President,  Jefferson,  whom  I  found  sitting  with 
General  Dearborn  and  one  or  two  other 
officers,  and  in  the  same  homely  costume,  com- 
prising slippers  and  Connemara  stockings,  in 
which  Mr.  Merry  had  been  received  by  him — 
much  to  that  formal  minister's  horror — when 
waiting  upon  him,  in  full  dress,  to  deliver  his 
credentials.  My  single  interview  with  this 
remarkable  person  was  of  very  short  duration  ; 
but  to  have  seen  and  spoken  with  the  man  who 
drew  up  llie  Declaration  of  .\merican  Inde- 
pendence was  an  event  not  to  be  forgotten. 

At  Philadelphia,  the  society  I  was  chi«fly 
made  acquainted  witli,  and  to  which  (as  the 
verses  addressed  to  "  Delaware's  green  banks"f 
sufficiently  testify)  I  was  indebted  for  some  of 
my  most  agreeable  recollections  of  the  United 
St.atcs,  consisted  entirely  of  persons  of  the 
Federalist  o^r  Anti-Democratic  party.  Few 
and  transient,  too,  as  had  been  my  opportu- 
nities, of  judging  for  myself  of  the  political 
or  social  state  of  the  country,  my  mind  was 
left  open  too  much  to  the  influence  of  the  feel- 
ings and  prejudices  of  those  I  chiefly  consorted 
with  ;    and,  certainly,  in   no  quarter  was  I   so 

*  A  repre»cnt!ition  of  this  calabasli.  tnker.  frnili  a  dmwing 
of  il  iimde  on  the  sjHit,  by  Dr.  Savage  of  the  Uoyal  ArtUlcry, 


sure  to  find  decided  hostility,  both  to  the  men 
and  the  principles  then  dominant  throughout 
the  Union,  as  among  officers  of  the  British 
navy,  and  in  the  ranks  of  an  angry  Federalist 
opposition.  For  any  bias,  therefore,  that, 
under  such  circumstances,  my  opinions  and 
feelings  may  be  thought  to  have  received,  full 
allowance,  of  course,  is  to  be  made  in  apprais- 
ing the  weight  due  to  my  authority  on  the 
subject.  All  I  can  answer  for,  is  the  perfect 
sincerity  and  earnestness  of  the  actual  impres- 
sions, whether  true  or  erroneous,  under  which 
my  Epistles  from  the  United  States  were 
written ;  and  so  strong,  at  the  time,  I  confess, 
were  those  impressions,  that  it  was  the  only 
period  of  my  past  life  during  which  I  have 
found  myself  at  all  skeptical  as  to  the  sound- 
ness of  that  Liberal  creed  of  politics,  in  the 
profession  and  advocacy  of  which  I  may  be 
almost  literally  said  to  have  begun  life,  and 
shall  most  probably  end  it. 

Reaching,  for  the  second  time,  New  York. 
I  set  out  from  thence  on  the  now  familiar  and 
easy  enterprise  of  visiting  the  Falls  of  Niagara. 
It  is  but  too  true  of  all  grand  objects,  whether 
in  nature  or  art,  that  facility  of  access  to  them 
much  diminishes  the  feeling  of  reverence  they 
ought  to  inspire.  Of  this  fault,  however,  the 
route  to  Niagara,  at  that  period — at  least  the 
portion  of  it  which  led  through  the  Genesee 
country — could  not  justly  be  accused.  The 
latter  part  of  the  journey,  which  lay  chiefly 
through  yet  but  half-cleared  wood,  we  were 
obliged  to  perform  on  foot ;  and  a  slight  acci- 
dent I  met  with,  in  the  course  of  our  rugged 
walk,  laid  me  up  for  some  days  at  Bufialo. 
To  the  rapid  growth,  in  that  wonderful  region, 
of,  at  least,  the  materials  of  civilization, — how- 
ever ultimately  they  may  be  turned  to  ac- 
count,— this  fiourishing  town,  which  stands 
on  Lake  Erie,  bears  most  ample  testimony. 
Though  little  better,  at  the  time  when  1  visited 
it,  than  a  mere  village,  consisting  chiefly  of 
huts  and  wigwams,  it  is  now,  by  all  accounts, 
a  populous  and  splendid  city,  with  five  or  si.\ 
churches,  town-liall,  theatre,  and  other  such 
appurtenances  of  a  capital. 

In  adverting  to  the  comparatively  rude  state 
of  Buffalo  at  that  period,  I  should  be  ungrate- 

has  been  introduced  in  the  vipnctte  prefixed  tn  the  .second 
volume  of  the  edition  in  ten  volutncs. 
t  See  Epistle  to  Mr.  W.  R.  Spencer,  p.  181  of  this  edition 


PREFACE. 


23 


fui  were  I  to  omit  mentioning,  that,  oven  then, 
on  the  shores  of  those  far  lakes,  the  title  of 
"  Poet," — however  unworthily  in  that  instance 
bestowed, — bespoke  a  kind  and  distinguishing 
welcome  for  its  wearer  ;  and  that  the  captain 
who  commanded  the  packet  in  which  I  crossed 
Lake  Ontario,*  in  addition  to  other  marks  of 
courtesy,  begged,  on  parting  with  me,  to  be 
allowed  to  decline  payment  for  ray  passage. 

When  we  arrived,  at  length,  at  the  inn,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  Falls,  it  was  too  late 
to  think  of  visiting  them  that  evening  ;  and  I 
lay  awake  almost  the  whole  night  with  the 
sound  of  the  cataract  in  my  ears.  The  day 
following  I  consider  as  a  sort  of  era  in  my  life  ; 
and  the  first  glimpse  I  caught  of  that  wonder- 
ful cataract  gave  me  a  feeling  which  nothing  in 
this  world  can  ever  awaken  again. f  It  was 
through  an  opening  among  the  trees,  as  we 
approached  the  spot  where  the  full  view  of  the 
Falls  was  to  burst  upon  us,  that  I  caught  this 
glimpse  of  the  mighty  mass  of  waters  folding 
smoothly  over  (he  edge  of  the  precipice  ;  and 
so  overwhelming  was  the  notion  it  gave  me  of 
the  awful  spectacle  I  was  approaching,  that, 
during  the  short  interval  that  followed,  imagin- 
ation had  far  outrun  the  reality ;  and,  vast 
and  wonderful  as  was  the  scene  that  then 
opened  upon  me,  my  first  feeling  was  that  of 
disappointment.  It  would  have  been  impos- 
sible, indeed,  for  any  thing  real  to  come  up  to 
the  vision  I  had,  in  these  few  seconds,  formed 
of  it ;  and  those  awful  scriptural  words,  "  The 
fountains  of  the  great  deep  were  broken  up," 
can  alone  give  any  notion  of  the  vague  wonders 
for  whicli  I  was  prepared. 

But,  i '.  spite  of  the  start  thus  got  by  imagin- 
ation, tire  triumph  of  reality  was,  in  the  end, 
but  the  greater  ;  for  the  gradual  glory  of  the 
scene  that  opened  upon  me  soon  took  posses- 
sion of  my  whole  mind  ;  presenting,  from  day 
to  day,  some  new  beauty  or  wonder,  and,  like 
all  that  is  most  sublime  in  nature  or  art,  awa- 
kening sad  as  well  as  elevating  thoughts.  I 
retain  in  my  memory  but  one  other  dream — 
for  such  do  events  so  long  past  appear — which 


*  The  Commodore  of  the  Lakes,  as  he  is  styled. 

t  The  two  lirst  sentences  of  the  above  paragniph,  as  well 
as  a  passage  that  occurs  in  the  subsequent  column,  stood 
originally  as  part  of  the  Notes  on  one  of  the  American  Poems. 

X  Introduced  in  the  Epistle  to  Lady  Charlotte  Rawdon, 
p,  184  of  Ibis  edition. 


can  in  any  respect  be  associated  with  the  grand 
vision  I  have  just  been  describing ;  and,  how- 
ever different  the  nature  of  their  appeals  to  the 
imagination,  I  should  find  it  difficult  to  say  on 
which  occasion  I  felt  most  deeply  affected, 
when  looking  on  the  Falls  of  Niagara,  or  when 
standing  by  moonlight  among  the  ruins  of  the 
Coliseum. 

Some  changes,  I  understand,  injurious  to 
the  beauty  of  the  scene,  have  taken  place  in 
the  shape  of  the  Falls  since  the  time  of  my 
visit  to  them  ;  and  amoii^  'hese  is  the  total 
disappearance,  by  the  gradual  crumbling  away 
of  the  rock,  of  the  small  leafy  island  which 
then  stood  near  the  edge  of  the  Great  Fall, 
and  whose  tranquillity  and  unappicachableness, 
in  the  midst  of  so  much  turmoil,  lent  it  an  interest 
which  I  thus  tried  to  avail  myself  of,  in  a  Song 
of  the  Spirit  of  that  region  :J — 

There,  amid  the  island-sedge, 
Just  above  the  cataract's  edge, 
Where  the  foot  of  living  man 
Never  trod  since  time  began, 
Lone  I  sit  at  close  of  day,  &c.  &c. 

Another  characteristic  feature  of  the  vicinity 
of  the  Falls,  which,  I  understand,  no  longer 
exists,  was  the  interesting  settlement  of  the 
Tuscarora  Indians.  With  the  gallant  Brock,^ 
who  then  commanded  at  Fort  George,  I  passed 
the  greater  part  of  my  time  during  the  few 
weeks  I  remained  at  Niagara :  and  a  visit  I 
paid  to  these  Indians,  in  company  with  him 
and  his  brother  officers,  on  his  going  to  distrib- 
ute among  them  the  customary  presents  and 
prizes,  was  not  the  least  curious  of  the  many 
new  scenes  I  witnessed.  These  people  received 
us  in  all  their  ancient  costume.  The  young 
men  exhibited  for  our  amusement  in  the  race, 
the  bat-game,  and  other  sports,  while  the  old 
and  the  women  sat  in  groups  under  the  sur- 
rounding trees  ;  and  the  whole  scene  was  as 
picturesque  and  beautiful  as  it  was  new  to  me. 
It  is  said  that  West,  the  American  painter, 
when  he  first  saw  the  Apollo,  at  Rome,  ex- 
claimed instantly,  "  A  young  Indian  warrior  !" 
— and,  however  startling  the  association  may 


$  This  brave  and  amiable  officer  was  killed  at  (iueenston, 
in  Upper  Canada,  soon  after  the  commencement  of  the  war 
with  America,  in  the  year  181-2.  He  was  in  the  act  of  cheer 
ing  on  his  men  when  he  fell.  The  inscription  on  the  mona- 
ment  raised  lo  his  memory,  on  Queenslon  Heights,  does  DKl 
due  honor  to  his  manly  character. 


24 


PREFACE. 


appear,  some  of  the  graceful  and  agile  forms 
which  I  saw  that  day  among  the  Tuscaroras 
■were  such  as  would  account  for  its  arising  in 
the  young  painter's  mind. 

After  crossing  "  the  fresh-water  ocean"  of 
Ontario,  I  passed  down  the  St.  Lawrence  to 
Montreal  and  Quebec,  staying  for  a  short  time 
at  each  of  these  places  ;  and  this  part  of  my 
journey,  as  well  as  my  voyage  on  from  Quebec 
to  Halifax,  is  sufficieiilly  traceable  through  the 
few  pieces  of  poetry  that  were  suggested  to  me 
by  scenes  and  evgnts  on  the  way.  And  here  I 
must  again  venture  to  avail  myself  of  the  valu- 
able testimony  of  Captain  Hall  to  the  truth  of 
my  descriptions  of  some  of  those  scenes  through 
which  his  more  practised  eye  followed  me  ; — 
taking  the  liberty  to  orait  in  my  extracts,  as 
far  as  may  be  done  without  injury  to  the  style 
or  context,  some  of  that  generous  surplusage 
of  praise  in  which  friendly  criticism  delights  to 
indulge. 

In  speaking  of  an  excursion  he  had  made 
up  the  river  Ottawa, — "  a  stream,"  he  adds, 
"  which  has  a  classical  place  in  every  one's 
imagination  from  Moore's  Canadian  Boat  Song," 
Captain  Hall  proceeds  as  follows  : — "  While 
the  poet  above  alluded  to  has  retained  all  that 
is  essentially  characteristic  and  pleasing  in  these 
boat  songs,  and  rejected  all  that  is  not  so,  he 
has  contrived  to  borrow  his  inspiration  from 
numerous  surrounding  circumstances,  present- 
ing nothing  remarkable  to  the  dull  senses  of 
ordinary  travellers.     Yet  these  highly  poetical 

'    images,  drawn  in  this  way,  as  it  were  carelessly 
and  from  every  h.and,  he  has  combined  with 

(  such  graphic — I  had  almost  said  geographical- 
truth,  that  the  effect  is  great,  even  upon  those 
who  have  never,  with  their  own  eyes,  seen  the 
Utawa's  tide,'  nor  '  flown  down  the  llfipids,' 
nor  heard  the  '  bell  of  St.  Anne's  toll  its  even- 
ing chime  ;'  while  the  same  lines  give  to  dis- 
tant regions,  previously  consecrated  in  our 
imagination,  a  vividness  of  interest,  when 
viewed  on  the  spot,  of  which  it  is  difficult  to 
say  how  much  is  due  to  the  magic  of  the  poetry, 
and  how  much  to  the  beauty  of  the  real  scene."* 
While  on  the  subject  of  the  Canadian  Boat 
Song,  an  anecdote  connected  with  that  once 

•  "  It  is  slngulnrly  gratifying."  the  author  adds,  "  to  dis- 
cover that,  to  this  hour,  the  Canadian  voyageurs  never  omit 
their  olferings  to  the  shrine  of  St.  Anne,  before  engaging  in 
any  enterprise  ;  and  that  daring  its  performance,  they  omit 


popular  ballad  may,  for  my  musical  readers  at 
least,  possess  some  interest.  A  few  years 
since,  while  staying  in  Dublin,  I  was  present- 
ed, at  his  own  request,  to  a  gentleman  who 
told  me  that  his  family  had  in  their  possession 
a  curious  relic  of  ray  youthful  days, — being  the 
first  notation  I  had  made,  in  pencilling,  of  the 
air  and  words  of  the  Canadian  Boat  Song, 
while  on  my  way  down  the  St.  Lawrence, — 
and  that  it  was  their  wish  I  should  add  my 
signature  to  attest  the  authenticity  of  the  auto- 
graph. I  assured  him  with  truth  that  I  had 
wholly  forgotten  even  the  existence  of  such  a 
memorandum  ;  that  it  would  be  as  much  a 
curiosity  to  myself  as  it  could  be  to  any  one 
else,  and  that  I  should  feel  thankful  to  be  al- 
lowed to  see  it.  In  a  day  or  two  jifter,  my 
request  was  complied  with,  and  the  following 
is  the  history  of  this  musical  "  relic." 

In  my  passage  down  the  St.  Lawrence,  I  had 
with  me  two  travelling  companions,  one  of 
whom,  named  Harkness,  the  son  of  a  wealthy 
Dublin  merchant,  has  been  some  years  dead. 
To  this  young  friend,  on  parting  with  him,  at 
Quebec,  I  gave,  as  a  keepsake,  a  volume  I  had 
been  reading  on  the  way, — Priestley's  Lectures 
on  History  ;  and  it  was  upon  a  fly-leaf  of  this 
volume  I  found  I  had  taken  down,  in  pencilling, 
both  the  notes  and  a  few  of  the  words  of  the 
original  song  by  which  my  own  boat-glee  had 
been  suggested.  The  following  is  the  form  of 
my  memorandum  of  the  original  air  : — 


t^—Tf 


Then  follows,  as  pencilled  down  at  the  same 
moment,  the  first  verse  of  my  Canadian  Boat 
Song,  with  air  and  words  as  they  are  at  present. 
From  all  this  it  will  be  perceived,  that,  in  my 
own  setting  of  the  air,  I  departed  in  almost 
every  respect  but  the  time  from  the  strain  our 
voyageurs  had  sung  to  us,  leaving  the  music  of 
the  glee  nearly  as  much  my  own  as  the  words. 

no  opportunity  of  lieeping  up  so  propitious  an  intercourse 
Tlie  flourishing  village  whicli  surround!*  the  churcli  on  the 
'  Green  Isle*  in  question  owes  its  existence  and  support  en- 
tirely to  these  pious  contributions." 


PREFACE. 


25 


I 


Yet,  how  stronnfly  impressed  T  had  become  witli 
the  notion  that  tliis  was  the  identical  air  sung 
b}'  the  boatmen, — how  closely  it  linked  itself 
in  my  imagination  with  the  scenes  and  sounds 
amidst  which  it  had  occurred  to  me, — may  be 
seen  by  reference  to  a  note  appended  to  the 
glee  as  first  published,  which  will  be  found  in 
the  following  pages.* 

To  the  few  desultory  and,  perhaps,  valueless 
recollections  I  have  thus  called  up,  respecting 
the  contents  of  our  second  volume,  I  have  only 
to  add,  that  the  heavy  storm  of  censure  and 
criticisnx — some  of  it,  I  fear,  but  too  well  de- 
served— which,  both  in  America  and  in  Eng- 
land, the  publication  of  my  "Odes  and  Epis- 
tles" drew  down  upon  me,  was  followed  by  re- 
suits  which  have  far  more  than  compensated 
for  any  pain  such  attacks  at  the  time  :nay  have 
inflicted.  In  the  most  formidable  of  all  my 
censors,  at  that  period, — the  great  master  of 
the  art  of  criticism,  in  our  day, — I  have  found 
ever  since  one  of  the  most  cordial  and  highly 
valued  of  all  my  friends ;  while  the  good-will 
I  have  experienced  from  more  than  one  dis- 
tinguished American  sufficiently  assures  me 
that  any  injustice  I  may  have  done  to  that  land 
of  freemen,  if  not  long  since  wholly  forgotten, 
is  now  remembered  only  to  be  forgiven. 

As  some  consolation  to  me  for  the  onsets  of 
criticism,  I  received,  shortly  after  the  appear- 
ance of  my  volume,  a  letter  from  Stockholm, 
addressed  to  "  the  author  of  Epistles,  Odes, 
and  other  poems,"  and  informing  me  that  "  the 
Princes,  Nobles,  and  Gentlemen,  who  composed 
the  General  Chapter  of  the  most  Illustrious, 
Equestrian,  Secular,  and  Chapteral  Order  of 
St.  Joachim,"  had  elected  me  as  a  Knight  of 
this  Order.  Notwithstanding  the  grave  and 
official  sty  e  of  the  letter,  I  regarded  it,  I  own, 
at  first,  as  ,.  mere  ponderous  piece  of  pleasant- 
ry ;  and  even  suspected  that  in  the  name  of  St. 
"  Joachim"  I  could  detect  the  low  and  irrever- 
ent pun  of  St.  Jokehim. 

On  a  little  inquiry,  however,  I  learned  that 
there  actually  existed  such  an  order  of  knight- 
hood ;  that  the  title,  insignia,  &c.,  conferred  by- 
it  had,  in  the  instances  of  Lord  Nelson,  the 
Duke  of  Bouillon,  and  Colonel  Imhoff,  who 
were  all  Knights  of  St.  Joachim,  been  author- 
iied  by  the  British  court ;  but  that  since  then, 

•  Pago  183  of  this  edilion 


this  sanction  of  the  order  had  been  withdrawn. 
Of  course,  to  the  reduction  thus  caused  in  the 
value  of  the  honor  was  owing  its  descent  in 
the  scale  of  distinction  to  "  such  small  deer"  of 
Parnassus  as  myself.  I  wrote  a  letter,  how- 
ever, full  of  grateful  acknowledgment,  to  Mon- 
sieur Hansson,  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  the 
Order,  saying  that  I  was  unconscious  of  having 
entitled  myself,  by  any  public  service,  to  a 
reward  due  only  to  the  benefactors  of  man- 
kind ;  and  therefore  begged  leave  most  re- 
spectfully to  decline  it. 


PREFACE 


THE  THIRD  A'OLUME. 

The  three  satirical  Poems,  with  which  this 
volume  commences,  were  published  originally 
without  the  author's  name  ;  "  Corruption"  and 
"  Intolerance"  in  the  year  1808,  and  "  The 
Skeptic"  in  the  year  following.  The  politi- 
cal opinions  adopted  in  the  first  of  these  Sa- 
tires— the  Poem  on  Corruption — were  chiefly 
caught  up,  as  is  intimated  in  the  original  Pre- 
face, from  the  writings  of  Bolingbroke,  Sir 
William  Wyndham,  and  other  statesmen  of  that 
factious  period,  when  the  same  sort  of  alliance 
took  place  between  Toryism  and  what  is  now 
called  Radicalism,  which  is  always  likely  to 
ensue  on  the  ejection  of  the  Tory  party  from 
power.f  In  the  somewhat  rash  effusion,  it  will 
be  seen  that  neither  of  the  two  great  English 
parties  is  handled  with  much  respect ;  and  I 
remember  being  taken  to  task,  by  one  of  the 
few  of  my  Whig  acquaintances  that  ever  looked 
into  the  poem,  for  the  following  allusion  to  the 
silencing  effects  of  official  station  on  certain 
orators ; — 

As  bees,  on  flowers  alightinjT,  cease  their  hum, 
Bo,  settling  upon  places,  ^Vliigs  grow  duiiiti. 

But  these  attempts  of  mine  in  the  stately, 
Juvenalian  style  of  satire,  met  with  but  little 
success, — never  having  attained,  I  believe, 
even  the  honors  of  a  second  edition ;  and  I 
found  that  lighter  form  of  weapon,  to  which  I 

t  Bolingbroke  himself  acknowledges  thai  "  both  parties 
were  become  factions,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word." 


26 


PREFACE, 


afterwards  belook  myself,  not  only  irnre  easy 
to  wield,  but,  from  its  very  lightness,  perhaps, 
more  sure  to  reach  its  mark. 

It  would  almost  seem,  too,  as  if  the  same 
unembittered  spirit,  the  same  freedom  from  all 
real  malice  with  which,  in  most  instances,  this 
sort  of  squib  warfare  has  been  waged  by  me, 
was  felt,  in  some  degree,  even  by  those  who 
were  themselves  the  objects  of  it ; — so  gener- 
ously forgiving  have  I,  in  most  instances,  found 
them.  Even  the  high  personage  against  whom 
the  earliest  and  perhaps  most  successful  of  my 
lighter  missiles  were  launched,  could  refer  to 
and  quote  them,  as  I  learn  from  an  incident 
mentioned  in  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,* 
with  a  degree  of  good-humor  and  playfulness 
which  was  creditable  alike  to  his  temper  and 
good  sense.  At  a  memorable  dinner  given  by 
the  Regent  to  Sir  Walter  in  the  year  1815, 
Scott,  among  other  stories  with  which  his  royal 
host  was  much  amused,  told  of  a  sentence 
passed  by  an  old  friend  of  his,  the  Lord  Justice 
Clerk  Braxfield,  attended  by  circumstances  in 
which  the  cruelty  of  this  waggish  judge  was 
even  more  conspicuous  than  his  humor.  "  The 
Regent  laughed  heartily,"  says  the  biographer, 
"  at  this  specimen  of  Braxfield's  brutal  humor  ; 
and,  '  r  faith,  Walter,'  said  he,  '  this  old  big- 
wig seems  to  have  taken  things  as  coolly  as 
my  tyrannical  self.  Don't  you  remember  Tom 
Moore's  description  of  me  at  breakfast? — 

'The  table  spread  with  lea  and  toast, 
Death-warrants  and  the  Morning  Post.'  " 

In  reference  to  this,  and  other  less  exalted 
instances,  of  the  good-humored  spirit  in  which 
my  "  innocui  sales"  have  in  general  been  taken, 
I  s'nll  venture  to  cite  here  a  few  flattering  sen- 
tences which,  coming  as  they  did  from  a  polit- 
ical adversary  and  a  stranger,  touched  me  far 
more  by  their  generosity  tlan  even  by  their 
praise.  Li  speaking  of  the  pension  which  "had 
just  then  been  conferred  upon  me,  and  express- 
ing, in  warm  terms,  his  approval  of  the  grant, 


»  Vol.  iii.  p.  312. 


t  The  Standard,  August  24,  1835 


J       "The  s^mc  faiticuih  and  girandoles— 
The  same  gold  asses,  pretty  souls, 
That,  in  this  rich  and  classic  dome, 
Appear  so  perfectly  at  home ; 
The  same  bright  river,  'mong  the  dishes, 
But  not — ah!  not  the  same  dear  iishes. 
Late  hours  and  claret  killM  the  old  ones;- 
So,  stead  of  silver  and  of  golil  ones, 


the  editor  of  a  leading  Tory  journalt  thus  lib- 
erally expresses  himself; — "We  know  that 
some  will  blame  us  for  our  prejudice — if  it  be 
prejudice,  in  favor  o  Mr.  Moore  ;  but  we  can- 
not help  it.    As  he  tells  us  himself, 

*  Wit  a  diamond  brings 
That  cuts  its  bright  way  through* 

the  most  obdurate  political  antipathies.  *  *  * 
We  do  not  believe  that  any  one  was  ever  hurt 
by  libels  so  wi"y  as  those  of  Mr.  Moore  : — 
great  privilege  of  wit,  which  renders  it  impos- 
sible even  for  those  whose  enemies  wits  are,  to 
hate  them !" 

To  return  to  the  period  of  the  Regency  : — 
In  the  numerous  attacks  from  the  government 
press,  wliich  my  occasional  volleys  of  small  shot 
against  the  Court  used  to  draw  down  upon  me, 
it  was  constantly  alleged,  as  an  aggravation  of 
my  misdeeds,  that  I  had  been  indebted  to  the 
Royal  personage  thus  assailed  by  me  for  many 
kind  and  substantial  services.  Luckily,  the 
list  of  the  benefits  showered  upon  me  from  that 
high  quarter  may  be  dispatched  in  a  few  sen- 
tences. At  the  request  of  the  Earl  of  Moira,  one 
of  my.earliest  and  best  friends,  his  Royal  High- 
ness graciously  permitted  me  to  dedicate  to  him 
my  Translation  of  the  Odes  of  Anacreon.  I  was 
twice,  I  think,  admitted  to  the  honor  of  dining 
at  Carlton  House  ;  and  when  the  Prince,  on  his 
being  made  Regent  in  1811,  gave  his  memora- 
ble fete,  I  was  one  of  the  crowd — about  1500, 
I  believe,  in  number — who  enjoyed  the  privi- 
lege of  being  his  guests  on  the  occasion. 

There  occur  some  allusions,  indeed,  in  the 
Twopenny  Post-Qag,  to  the  absurd  taste  dis- 
played in  the  ornaments  of  the  Royal  supper- 
table  at  that  fete  ;J  and  this  violation — for  such, 
to  a  certain  extent,  I  allow  it  to  have  been — 
of  the  reverence  due  to  the  rights  of  the  Hos- 
pitable Jove,^  which,  whether  administered  by 
prince  or  peasant,  ought  to  be  sacred  from 
such  exposure,  I  am  by  no  means  disposed  to 
defend.     But,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  the 


(It  being  rather  hard  to  raise 

Fish  of  that  specie  now-a-days) 

Some  sprats  have  been,  by  Y — rm — h*s  wish. 

Promoted  into  silver  tish. 

And  gudgeons  (so  V^ — ns — tt — t  told 

The  Reg— t)  are  as  good  as  gold." 

Twopenny  Post-Baj;,  p.  )37. 

"  Ante  fores  stabat  Jovis  Uospltis  ara." 

OnD. 


PREFACE. 


27 


taste  or  prudence  of  some  of  these  satires,  there 
exists  no  longer,  I  apprehend,  much  difference 
of  opinion  respecting  the  character  of  the  Royal 
personage  against  whom  they  were  aimed.  Al- 
ready, indeed,  has  the  stern  verdict  which  the 
voice  of  History  cannot  but  pronounce  upon 
him,  been  in  some  degree  anticipated,*  in  a 
sketch  of  the  domestic  events  of  his  reign,  sup- 
posed to  have  proceeded  from  the  pen  of  one 
who  was  himself  an  actor  in  some  of  its  most 
painful  scenes,  and  who,  from  his  professional 
position,  commanded  a  near  insight  into  the 
character  of  that  exalted  individual,  both  as 
husband  and  falher»  To  the  same  high  author- 
ity I  must  refer  for  an  account  of  the  myste- 
rious "  Book,"t  to  which  allusion  is  more  than 
once  made  in  the  following  pageu. 

One  of  the  earliest  and  most  successful  of  the 
numerous  trifles  I  wrote  at  that  period,  was  the 
Parody  on  the  Regent's  celebrated  Letter,  an- 
nouncing to  the  world  that  he  "  had  no  predi- 
lections," &c.  This  very  opportune  squib  was, 
at  first,  circulated  privately  ;  my  friend,  Mr. 
Perry,  having  for  some  time  hesitated  to  publish 
it.  He  got  some  copies  of  it,  however,  printed 
off  for  me,  which  I  sent  round  to  several  mem- 
bers of  the  Whig  party  ;  and,  having  to  meet  a 
number  of  them  at  dinner  immediately  after, 
found  it  no  easy  matter  to  keep  my  countenance 
while  they  were  discussing  among  them  the 
merits  of  the  Parody.  One  of  the  party,  I  re- 
collect, having  quoted  to  me  the  following  de- 
scription of  the  state  of  both  King  and  Regent, 
at  that  moment, — 


*  Eiiinburjiti  Review,  No.  cxxxv..  Qeorge  the  Fourth  and 
Queen  Caroline. — "When  the  Prince  entered  upon  public 
life  he  was  found  to  have  exhausted  the  resources  of  a  career 
of  pleasure;  to  liave  gained  followers  without  making  friends  ; 
to  have  acquired  much  envy  and  some  admiration  among  the 
unthinking  multitude  of  polished  society  ;  but  not  to  com- 
mand in  any  quarter  either  respect  or  esteem.  *  *  *  The 
portrait  which  we  have  painted  of  him  is  undoubtedly  one 
of  the  d  irkest  shade  and  most  repulsive  form." 

t  "  There  is  no  doubt  whatever  that  Tke  Book,  written  by 
Mr.  Perceval,  and  privately  printed  at  his  huu.se.  under  Lord 
Eld'in's  superintendence  and  his  own,  was  prepared  in  concert 
with  the  King,  and  was  intended  to  sound  the  alarm  against 
Carlton  House  and  the  Whigs.** — Ed.  Review,  ib. 

i  Twopenny  Post-Bag,  pp.  153, 155.  I  av.iil  myself  cfthe 
mention  hereof  this  latter  squib,  torer.inta  correction  which 
I  too  hastily  made  in  the  two  following  lines  of  it : — 

"And,  though  statesmen  may  glory  in  being  unbought. 
In  an  author,  we  think,  sir,  that*s  rather  a  fault.** 

Forgetting  that  Pope's  ear  was  satisfied  with  the  sort  of  rhyme 
here  used,  I  foolishly  altered  (and  spoiled)  the  whole  coup- 
let to  get  nd  of  it. 


"A  strait  waistcoat  on  him,  and  restrictions  on  ne, 
A  more  limited  monarchy  could  not  well  be,** 

grew  rather  provoked  with  me  for  not  enjoying 
the  fun  of  the  parody  as  much  as  himself. 

While  thus  the  excitement  of  party  feeling 
lent  to  the  political  trifles  contained  in  this 
volume  a  relish  and  pungency  not  their  own, 
an  effect  has  been  attributed  to  two  squibs, 
wholly  unconnected  with  politics — the  Letters 
from  the  Dowager  Countess  of  Cork,  and  from 
Messrs.  Lackington  and  Co. J — of  which  I 
had  myself  not  the  slightest  notion  till  I  found 
it  thus  alluded  ,i  in  Mr.  Lockhart's  Life  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott.  In  speaking  of  the  onuses  which 
were  supposed  to  have  contributed  to  the  com- 
parative failure  of  the  Poem  of  "'  Rokeby,"  the 
biographer  says,  "  It  is  fair  to  add,  that,  among 
the  London  circles,  at  least,  some  sarcastic 
flings,  in  Mr.  Moore's  Twopenny  Post-Bag, 
must  have  had  an  unfavorable  influence  on 
this  occasion."^ 

Among  the  translations  that  have  appeared 
on  the  Continent,  of  the  greater  part  of  my 
poetical  works,  there  has  been  no  attemp'..  as 
far  as  I  can  learn,  to  give  a  version  of  any  of 
my  satirical  writings. — with  the  single  excep- 
tion of  a  squib  contained  in  this  volume,  en- 
titled "  Little  Man  and  Little  Sou!,"||  of  which 
there  is  a  translation  into  German  verse,  by 
the  late  distinguished  oriental  scholar.  Profes- 
sor Von  Bohlen.^  Though  unskilled,  inyself, 
in  German,  I  can  yet  perceive — sufficiently 
to  marvel  at  it — the  dexterity  and  ease  with 
which  the  Old  Ballad  metre  of  the  original  is 

$  "See,  for  instance,'*  says  Mr.  Lockhart,  "  the  Epistle  of 
Lady  Cork ;  or  that  of  Messrs.  Lackington,  booksellers,  to 
one  of  their  dandy  authors  : — 

'"Should  you  feel  any  touch  of  poetical  glow, 
We*ve  a  scheme  to  suggest : — Mr.  ?c — tt,  you  must  know, 
(Who,  we're  sorry  to  say  it,  now  works  for  the  Row,^  ) 
Having  quitted  the  Boriiors,  to  seek  new  renown. 
Is  coming,  by  long  Ciuarto  stages,  to  Town  ; 
And  beginning  with  Rokeby  (the  job's  sure  to  pay) 
Means  to  do  all  the  Gentlemen's  Seats  on  the  way. 
Now,  the  scheme  is  (thougli  none  of  our  hackneys  can  beat 

him) 
To  start  a  fresh  Poet  through  Highgate  to  -meet  him  ; 
Who,  by  means  of  quick  proofs — no  revises — long  coaches — 
May  do  a  lew  villas,  before  Sr^tt  approaches. 
Indeed,  if  our  Pegasus  be  not  curst  shabby. 
He'll  reach,  without  found'riog,  at  least  Woliurn  .■\bbey.'" 

II  Alluding  to  a  speech  delivered  in  t'le  year  lt'13  by  the 
Right  Hon.  Charles  Abbott  (then  Speaker)  against  .Mr.  Grat- 
tan's  motion  fur  a  Committee  on  the  Claims  of  the  Catholics. 

H  Author  of '"The  Ancient  Indian." 

1  Palerooster  Row. 


r« 


PREFACE. 


adopted  and  managed  in  the  translation.  As 
this  trifle  may  be  considered  curious,  not  only 
in  itself,  but  still  more  as  connected  with  so 
learned  a  name,  I  shall  here  present  it  to  my 
readers,  premising  that  the  same  eminent  Pro- 
fessor has  left  a  version  also  of  one  of  my  very 
early  faceli(E,    "  The    Rabbinical    Origin    of 

Wjman." 

* 

"THERE  WAS  A  LITTLE  MAN." 
(Translated  hy  Professor  von  Boklen.) 

Es  war  ein  kleiner  Mann 

Und  cicr  hatt'n  kleinen  (ieist 
Und  er  sprach:  kleiner  Geist  sehn  wir  zu,  za,  zu, 

Ob  uns  iiioglich  wohl  wird  seyn 

So  ein  kleincs  Redelein 
Das  wir  hnlten,  kleiner  ich  und  kleiner  dn,  dn,  du, 

Das  wir  halten,  kleiner  ich  und  kleiner  du. 

Und  (Irr  kleine  Geist,  der  brach 

Alls  dciii  Loche  nun  und  sprach  : 
Ich  behauptc.  kleiner  Mann,  du  bist  keck,  keck,  keck, 

Nitniii  nicht  i"\bel  nieiuc  Zweifel, 

Aber  sage  niir.  zuni  Teufel, 
Hal  die  kleine  kleine  Red'  einen  zweck.  zweck,  zweck, 

Hilt  die  kleine  kleine  Red'  eineu  zweck  ? 

Dcr  kleine  Mann  darauf 

Bliess  die  Backen  rnAchtip  auf, 
Und  or  sprach  :  kleiner  Geist  sey  gescheut,  schcut,  scheut ; 

Kleiner  ith  und  kleiner  du 

Sind  lierufen  ja  dazu 
Zu  verilainnicn  und  bekehren  alle  Leut',  Lent,'  Leut', 

Zu  verdaininen  und  bekehren  alle  Leut'. 

Und  sie  fingen  beide  an 

Dcr  kleine  Geist  und  kleine  Mann, 
Paukten  ab  ihre  Rede  so  klein,  klein,  klein; 

Und  die  ganze  Welt  fiir  wahr 

Meint,  (las  aufe;ebliis'ne  Paar 
Muss  ein  winziges  Pfatfelein  nur  seyn,  seyn,  seyn, 

Muss  ein  winzigcs  Plafielcin,  nur  seyn. 

ITavmg  thus  brought  together,  as  well  from 
the  r?r*ords  of  others,  as  from  my  own  recol- 
lection, whatever  incidental  lights  could  be 
thrown  from  those  sources,  on  some  of  the 
Batirical  eifusions  contained  in  these  pages,  I 
shall  now  reserve  all  such  reminiscences  and 
notices  as  relate  to  the  Irisb  Melodies  for  our 
next  volume. 

It  is  right  my  readers  should  here  be  ap- 
prized, that  the  plan  of  classing  my  poetical 
works  according  to  the  order  of  their  first  pub- 
lication is  pursued  no  further  than  the  Second 
Volume  of  this  Collection  ;  and  that,  therefore, 
the  arrangement  of  the  contents  of  the  suc- 
ceeding Volumes,  though  not,  in  a  general  way, 
departing  much  l"rom  tliis  rule,  is  not  to  be  de- 
pended upon  as  observing  it. 


PREFACE 

TO 

THE  FOURTH  VOLUME. 

The  recollections  connected,  in  my  mind, 
with  tlmt  early  period  of  my  life,  when  I  first 
thought  of  interpreting  in  verse  the  touching 
language  of  my  country's  music,  tempt  me  again 
to  advert  to  those  long-past  days  ;  and  even  at 
the  risk  of  being  thought  to  indulge  overmuch 
in  what  Colley  Gibber  calls  "  the  great  pleasure 
of  writing  about  one's  self  all  day,"  to  notice 
briefly  some  of  those  impressions  and  influences 
under  which  the  attempt  to  adapt  words  to 
our  ancient  Melodies  was  for  some  time  medi- 
tated by  me,  and,  at  last,  undertaken. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  to  the  zeal  and 
industry  of  Mr.  Bunting  his  country  is  indebted 
for  the  preservation  of  her  old  national  airs. 
During  the  prevalence  of  the  Penal  Code,  the 
music  of  Ireland  was  made  to  share  in  the  fate 
of  its  people.  Both  were  alike  shut  out  from 
the  pale  of  civilized  life  ;  and  seldom  anywhere 
but  in  the  huts  of  the  proscribed  race  could 
the  sweet  voice  of  the  songs  of  other  days  be 
heard.  Even  of  that  class,  the  itinerant  harp- 
ers, among  whom  for  a  long  period  our  ancient 
music  had  been  kept  alive,  there  remained  but 
few  to  continue  the  precious  tradition  ;  and  a 
great  music-meeting  held  at  Belfast  in  the  year 
1792,  at  which  the  two  or  three  still  remaining 
of  the  old  race  of  wandering  harpers  assisted, 
exhibited  the  last  public  effort  made  by  the 
lovers  of  Irish  music,  to  preserve  to  th  >ir 
country  the  only  grace  or  ornament  left  to  her, 
out  of  the  wreck  of  all  her  liberties  and  hopes. 
Thus  what  the  fierce  legislature  of  the  Pale 
had  endeavored  vainly  through  so  many  cen- 
turies to  efliect, — the  utter  extinction  of  Ire- 
land's Minstrelsy, — the  deadly  pressure  of  the 
Penal  Laws  had  nearl}',  at  the  close  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  accomplished  ;  and,  but  for 
the  zeal  and  intelligent  research  of  Mr.  Bunting, 
at  tliat  crisis,  the  greater  part  of  our  musical 
treasures  would  probably  have  been  lost  to  the 
world.  It  was  in  the  year  179G  that  this 
gentleman  published  his  first  volume  ;  and  the 
national  spirit  and  hope  then  wakened  in  Ire- 
land, by  the  rapid  spread  of  the  democratic 
principle  throughout  Europe,  could  not  but  in- 


•J 


PREFACE. 


29 


sure  a  most  cordial  reception  for  such  a  Work ; 
— flattering  as  it  was  to  the  fond  dreams  of 
Erin's  early  days,  and  containing  in  itself, 
indeed,  remarkable  testimony  to  the  truth  of  her 
claims  to  an  early  date  of  civilization. 

It  was  in  the  year  1797  that,  through  the 
medium  of  Mr.  Bunting's  book.  I  was  first  made 
acquainted  with  the  beauties  of  our  native  mu- 
sic. A  young  friend  of  our  family,  Edward 
Hudson,  the  nephew  of  an  eminent  dentist  of 
that  name,  who  played  with  much  taste  and 
feeling  on  the  flute,  and,  unluckily  for  himself, 
was  but  too  deeply  warmed  with  the  patriotic 
ardor  then  kindling  around  him,  was  the  first 
who  made  known  to  me  this  rich  mine  of  our 
country's  melodies  ; — a  mine,  from  the  work- 
ing tf  which  my  humble  labors  as  a  poet  have 
sinc^  then  derived  their  sole  histre  and  value. 

About  the  same  period  I  formed  an  acquaint- 
ance, which  soon  grew  into  intimacy,  with 
yonng  Robert  Emmet.  He  was  my  senior,  I 
think  by  one  class,  in  the  university  ;  for  when, 
in  the  first  year  of  my  course,  I  became  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Debating  Society — a  sort  of  nursery 
to  the  authorized  Historical  Society — I  found 
him  in  full  reputation,  not  only  for  his  learning 
and  eloquence,  but  also  for  the  blamelessness  of 
his  life,  and  the  grave  suavity  of  his  manners. 

Of  the  political  tone  of  this  minor  school  of 
oratory,  which  was  held  weekly  at  the  rooms  of 
diflferent  resident  members,  some  notion  maybe 
formed  from  the  nature  of  the  questions  pro- 
posed for  discussion, — one  of  which  I  recollect, 
was,  "  Whether  an  Aristocracy  or  a  Democracy 
is  most  favorable  to  the  advancement  of  science 
and  literature  V  while  another,  bearing  even 
more  pointedly  on  the  k:;lative  position  of  the 
government  and  the  people,  at  this  crisis,  was 
thus  significantly  propounded  : — "  Whether  a 
soldier  was  bound,  on  all  occasions,  to  obey  the 
orders  of  his  commanding  ofllcer  1"  On  the 
former  of  these  questions,  the  effect  of  Emmet's 
eloquence  upon  his  young  auditors  was,  I  recol- 
lect, most  striking.  The  prohibition  against 
touching  upon  modern  politics,  which  it  was 
subsequently  found  neces.sary  to  enforce,  had 
not  yet  been  introduced  ;  and  Emmet,  who  took 
of  course  ardently  the  side  of  democracy  in  the 
debate,  after  a  brief  review  of  the  republics  of 
antiquity,  showing  how  much  they  had  all  done 
for  the  advancement  of  science  and  the  arts, 
proceeded,  lastly,  to  the  grand  and  perilous  ex- 


ample, then  passing  before  all  eyes,  the  young 
Republic  of  France.  Referring  to  the  circum- 
stance told  of  Caesar,  that,  in  swimming  across 
the  Rubicon,  he  contrived  to  carry  with  him 
his  Commentaries  and  his  sword,  the  young 
orator  said,  "  Thus  France  wades  through  a  sea 
of  storm  and  blood  ;  but  while,  in  one  hand,  she 
wields  the  sword  against  her  aggressors,  with 
the  other  she  upholds  the  glories  of  science  and 
literature  unsullied  by  the  ensanguined  tide 
through  which  she  struggles."  In  another  of 
his  remarkable  speeches,  I  remember  his  saying, 
"When  a  people,  advancing  rapidly  in  know- 
ledge and  power,  perceive  at  last  how  far  their 
government  is  lagging  behind  them,  what  then, 
I  ask,  is  to  be  done  in  such  a  case  1  What,  but 
to  pull  the  government  up  to  the  people  1" 

In  a  few  months  after,  both  Emmet  and  my- 
self were  admitted  m.embers  ol  the  greater  and 
recognised  institution,  called  the  Historical  So- 
ciety ;  and,  even  here,  the  political  feeling  so  rife 
abroad  contrived  to  mix  up  its  restless  spirit 
with  all  our  debates  and  proceedings ;  notwith- 
standing the  constant  watchfulness  of  the  col- 
lege authorities,  as  well  as  of  a  strong  party 
within  the  Society  itself,  devoted  adherents  to 
the  policy  of  the  government,  and  taking  inva- 
riably part  with  the  Provost  and  Fellows  in  all 
their  restrictive  and  inquisitorial  measures.  The 
most  distinguished  and  eloquent  of  tliese  support- 
ers of  power  were  a  young  man  named  Sargent, 
of  whose  fate  in  after-days  I  know  notliing,  and 
Jebb,  the  late  Bishop  of  Limerick,  who  was 
then,  as  he  continued  to  be  througli  life,  much 
respected  for  his  private  worth  and  learning. 

Of  the  popular  side,  in  the  Society,  the  chief 
champion  and  ornament  was  Robert  Emmet; 
and  though  every  care  was  taken  to  exclude 
from  the  subjects  of  debate  all  questions  verg- 
ing towards  the  politics  of  the  day,  it  vv-as  always 
easy  enough,  by  a  side-wind  of  digression  or  al- 
lusion, to  bring  Ireland,  and  the  prospects  then 
openingupon  her,  within  the  scope  of  the  orator's 
view.  So  exciting  and  powerful,  in  this  respect, 
were  Emmet's  speeches,  and  so  little  were  even 
the  most  eloquent  of  the  adverse  party  able  to 
cope  with  his  powers,  that  it  was  at  length 
thought  advisable,  by  the  higher  authorities,  to 
send  among  us  a  man  of  more  advanced  stand- 
ing, as  well  as  belonging  to  a  former  race  of  re- 
nowned speakers,  in  that  Society,  in  order  that 
he  might  answer  the  speeches  of  Emmet,  and 


30 


PREFACE. 


endeavor  to  obviate  the  misehievous  impres- 
sion they  were  thought  to  produce.  The  name 
of  this  mature  cliampion  of  the  higher  powers 
it  is  not  necessary  here  to  recorii  ;  but  the 
object  of  his  mission  among  us  was  in  some 
respect  gained  ;  as  it  was  in  replying  to  a  long 
oration  of  his,  one  night,  that  Emmet,  much  to 
the  mortification  of  us  wdio  gloried  in  him  as 
our  leader,  became  suddenly  embarrassed  in 
the  middle  of  his  speech,  and,  to  use  the  par- 
liamentary phrase,  broke  down.  Whether  from 
a  momentary  confusion  in  the  thread  of  his 
argument,  or  possibly  from  dilBdence  in  en- 
countering an  adversary  so  much  his  senior, — 
for  Emmet  was  as  modest  as  he  was  high- 
minded  and  brave, — he  began,  in  the  full  ca- 
reer of  his  eloquence,  to  hesitate  and  repeat 
his  words,  and  then,  after  an  effort  or  two  to 
recover  himself,  sat  down. 

It  fell  to  my  own  lot  to  be  engaged,  about 
the  same  time,  in  a  brisk  struggle  with  the 
dominant  party  in  the  Society,  in  consequence 
of  a  burlesque  poem  which  I  gave  in  as  candi- 
date for  the  Literary  Medal,  entitled  "  An  Ode 
upon  Nothing,  with  Notes,  by  Trismegistus 
Rustifustius,  D.D.,"  &c.  &c.  For  this  squib 
against  the  great  Dons  of  learning,  the  medal 
was  voted  to  me  by  a  triumphant  majority. 
But  a  motion  was  made  in  the  following  week 
to  rescind  this  vote  ;  and  a  fierce  contest  be- 
tween the  two  parties  ensued,  which  I  at  last 
put  an  end  to  by  voluntarily  withdrawing  my 
composition  from  the  Society's  Book. 

I  have  already  adverted  to  the  period  when 
Mr.  Bunting's  valuable  volume  first  became 
knovin  to  me.  There  elapsed  no  very  long  time 
before  I  was  'Kiyself  the  happy  proprietor  of  a 
copy  of  the  work,  and,  though  never  regularly 
instructed  in  music,  could  play  over  the  airs 
with  tolerable  facility  on  the  piano-forte.  Rob- 
ert Emmet  used  sometimes  to  sit  by  me,  when 
I  was  thus  engaged  ;  and  I  remember  one  day 
his  startmg  up  as  from  a  revery,  when  I  had 
jtst  finished  playing  that  spirited  tune  called 
the  Red  Fox,*  and  e.>;claiming,  "  Oh  that  I 
were  at  the  head  of  twenty  thousand  men, 
marching  to  that  air  !" 

How  little  did  I  then  think  that  in  one  of  the 
most  touching  of  the  sweet  airs  I  used  to  play 


*  "  Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old." 
t  "  Ob,  breathe  not  his  name." 


to  him,  his  own  dying  words  would  find  an  in- 
terpreter so  worthy  of  their  sad,  but  proud 
feeling  ;f  or  that  another  of  those  mournful 
strainsj  would  long  be  associated,  in  the  hearts 
of  his  countrymen,  with  the  memory  of  her^ 
who  shared  with  Ireland  his  last  blessing  and 
prayer. 

Though  fully  alive,  of  course,  to  the  feelings 
which  such  music  could  not  but  inspire,  I  had 
not  yet  undertaken  the  task  of  adapting  words 
to  any  of  the  airs  ;  and  it  was,  I  am  ashamed 
to  say,  in  dull  and  turgid  prose,  that  I  made 
my  first  appearance  in  print  as  a  champion  of 
the  popular  cause.  Towards  the  latter  end  of 
the  year  1797,  the  celebrated  newspaper  called 
"  The  Press"  was  set  up  by  Arthur  O'Connor, 
Thomas  Addis  Emmet,  and  other  chiefs  of  the 
United  Irish  conspiracy,  with  the  view  of  pre- 
paring and  ripening  the  public  mind  for  the  great 
crisis  then  fast  approaching.  This  nicnioraule 
journal,  according  to  the  impression  I  at  present 
retain  of  it,  was  far  more  distinguished  for 
earnestness  of  purpose  and  intrepidity,  than  for 
any  great  display  of  literary  talent ; — the  bold 
letters  written  by  Emmet,  (the  elder,)  under 
the  signature  of  "  Montanus,"'  being  the  only 
compositions  I  can  now  call  to  mind  as  entitled 
to  praise  for  their  literary  merit.  It  required, 
however,  but  a  small  sprinkling  of  talent  to 
make  bold  writing,  at  that  time,  palatable  ;  and, 
from  the  experience  of  my  own  home,  I  can 
answer  for  the  avidity  with  which  every  line  of 
this  daring  journal  was  devoured.  It  used  to 
come  out,  I  think,  twice  a  week,  and,  on  the 
evening  of  publication,  I  always  read  it  aloud 
to  our  small  circle  after  supper. 

It  may  easily  be  conceived  that,  what  with 
my  ardor  for  the  national  cause,  and  a  growing 
consciousness  of  some  little  turn  for  author- 
ship, I  was  naturally  eager  to  become  a  con- 
tributor to  those  patriotic  and  popular  columns. 
But  the  constant  anxiety  about  me  which  I 
knew  my  own  family  felt,- — a  feeling  far  more 
wakeful  than  even  their  zeal  in  the  public 
cause, — withheld  me  from  hazarding  any  step 
that  might  cause  them  alarm.  I  had  ventured, 
indeed,  one  evening,  to  pop  privately  into  the 
letter-box  of  The  Press,  a  short  Fragment  in 
imitation  of  Ossian.    But  this,  though  inserted, 


X  "  Phc  is  far  I'rom  the  land  where  her  young  hero  sleeps." 
^  Miss  Curran. 


PREFACE. 


31 


passed  off  quietly;  and  nobody  was,  in  any 
sense  of  the  phrase,  the  wiser  for  it.  I  was 
soiin  tempted,  however,  to  try  a  more  daring 
flight.  Without  communicatincT  my  secret  to 
any  one  but  Edward  Hudson,  I  addressed  a 
long  Letter,  in  prose,  to  the  »****of****, 
in  which  a  profusion  of  bad  flowers  of  rheto- 
ric was  enwreathed  plentifully  with  that  weed 
which  Shakspeare  calls  "  the  cockle  of  rebel- 
lion," and,  in  the  same  manner  as  before,  com- 
mitted it  tremblingly  to  the  chances  of  the 
letter-box.  I  hardly  expected  my  prose  would 
be  honorea  with  insertion,  when,  lo.  on  the 
next  evening  of  publication,  when,  seated  as 
usual  in  my  little  corner  by  the  fire,  I  unfolded 
the  paper  for  the  purpose  of  reading  it  to  my 
select  auditory,  there  was  my  own  Letter 
staring  me  full  in  the  face,  being  honored 
with  so  conspicuous  a  place  as  to  be  one  of 
the  first  articles  my  audience  would  expect  to 
hear.  Assuming  an  outward  appearance  of 
ease,  while  every  nerve  within  me  was  trem- 
bling, I  contrived  to  accomplish  the  reading  of 
the  Letter  without  raising  in  either  of  my 
auditors  a  suspicion  that  it  was  my  own.  I 
enjoyed  the  pleasure,  too,  of  hearing  it  a  good 
deal  praised  by  them  ;  and  might  have  been 
tempted  by  this  welcome  tribute  to  acknowledge 
my.self  the  author,  had  I  not  found  that  the 
language  and  sentiments  of  the  article  were 
considered  by  bt"-  to  be  "very  bold."* 

I  was  not  destined,  however,  to  remain  long 
undetected.  On  the  following  day,  Edward 
Hudson.f — the  only  one,  as  I  have  said,  in- 
trusted with  my  secret,  called  to  pay  us  a 
morning  visit,  and  had  not  been  long  in  the 
room,  conversing  with  my  mother,  when  look- 
ing significantly  at  me,  he  said,  "  Well,  you 

saw "     Here  he  stopped  ;  but  the  mother's 

eye  had  followed  his,  with  the  rapidity  of  light- 
ning, to  mine,  and  at  once  she  perceived  the 
whole  truth.  "  That  Letter  was  yours,  then  V 
sheasked  of  meeagerly ;  and,  without  hesitation, 
of  course,  I  acknowledged  the  fact ;  when  in  the 
most  earnest  manner  she  entreated  of  me  never 

*  So  thniiirht  nlso  hiflher  authorities;  for  anions  the  ex- 
tracts from  The  I'resg  liroujiiit  forward  Ijy  the  Secret  Com- 
mittee of  the  House  of  Conitnons,  to  show  hnw  formiUable 
hat!  been  the  designs  of  the  United  Irishmen,  there  are  two 
or  three  [vtragrnphs  cited  from  this  redoubtable  Letter. 

t  Of  the  depth  and  extent  to  which  Hudson  had  invcdved 
himself  in  the  conspiracy,  none  of  our  family  had  h,irbored 
the  least  notion  ;  till,  on  the  seizure  of  the  thirteen  Leinster 


again  to  have  any  connection  with  that  paper  ; 
and,  as  every  wish  of  hers  was  to  me  law,  I 
readily  pledged  the  solemn  promise  she  re- 
quired. 

Though  well  aware  how  easily  a  sneer  may 
be  raised  at  the  simple  details  of  this  domestic 
scene,  I  have  yet  ventured  to  put  it  on  record, 
as  affording  an  instance  of  the  gentle  and  wo- 
manly watchfulness, — the  Providence,  as  it 
may  be  called,  of  the  little  world  of  home, — by 
which,  although  placed  almost  in  the  very  cur- 
rent of  so  headlong  a  movement,  and  living 
familiarly  with  some  of  the  most  daring  of  those, 
who  propelled  it,  I  yet  was  guarded  from  any 
participation  in  their  secret  oaths,  counsels,  or 
plans,  and  thus  escaped  all  share  in  that  wild 
struggle  to  which  so  many  far  better  men  than 
myself  fell  victims. 

In  the  mean  while,  this  great  con.spiracy  was 
hastening  on,  with  fearful  precipitancy,  to  its 
outbreak ;  and  vague  and  shapeless  as  are  now 
known  to  have  been  the  views,  even  of  those 
who  were  engaged  practically  in  the  plot,  it 
is  not  any  wonder  that  to  the  young  and  un- 
initiated like  myself  it  should  have  opened 
prospects  partaking  far  more  of  the  wild 
dreams  of  poesy  than  of  the  plain  and  honest 
prose  of  real  life.  But  a  crisis  was  then  fast 
approaching,  when  such  self-delusions  could  no 
longer  be  indulged  ;  and  when  the  mystery 
which  had  hitherto  hung  over  the  plans  of  the 
conspirators  was  to  be  rent  asunder  by  the 
stern  hand  of  power. 

Of  the  horrors  that  fore-ran  and  followed  the 
frightful  explosion  of  the  year  1798,  I  have 
neither  inclination  nor,  luckily,  occasion  to 
speak.  But  among  those  introductory  scenes, 
which  had  somewhat  prepared  the  public  mind 
for  such  a  catastrophe,  there  was  one,  of  a 
painful  description,  which,  as  having  been  my- 
self an  actor  in  it,  I  may  be  allowed  briefly  to 
notice. 

It  was  not  many  weeks,  I  think,  before  this 
crisis,  that,  owing  to  information  gained  by  the 
college  authorities  of  the  rapid  spread,  among 

delegates,  .at  Oliver  Bond's,  in  the  month  of  March,  1*98,  we 
found,  to  our  astonishment  and  sorrow,  that  he  was  one  of 
the  number. 

To  those  unread  in  the  painful  history  of  this  period,  it  is 
right  to  mention  that  almost  all  the  leaders  of  the  United 
Irish  conspiracy  were  Protestants.  Among  those  companions 
of  my  own  alluded  to  in  these  pages,  1  scarcely  remember  a 
single  Catholic. 


32 


PREFACE. 


tlie  students,  not  only  of  the  principles  but  the 
organization  of  the  Irish  Union,*  a  solemn 
Visitation  was  held  by  Lord  Clare,  the  vice- 
chancellor  of  the  University,  with  the  view  of 
inquiring  into  the  extent  of  this  branch  of  the 
plot,  and  dealing  summarily  with  those  engaged 
in  it. 

Imperious  and  harsh  as  then  seemed  the 
policy  of  thus  setting  up  a  sort  of  inquisitorial 
tribunal,  armed  with  the  power  of  examining 
witnesses  on  oath,  and  in  a  place  devoted  to  the 
instruction  of  youth,  I  cannot  but  confess  that 
the  facts  which  came  out  in  the  course  of  the 
evidence  went  far  towards  justifying  even  this 
arbitrary  proceeding ;  and  to  the  many  who, 
like  myself,  were  acquainted  only  vith  the 
general  views  of  the  Union  leaders,  without 
even  knowing,  except  from  conjecture,  who 
those  leaders  were,  or  what  their  plans  or  objects, 
it  was  most  startling  to  hear  the  disclosures 
which  every  succeeding  witness  brought  forth. 
There  were  a  few, — and  among  that  number 
poor  Robert  Emmet,  John  Brown,  and  the 
two  ******  s,f  whose  total  absence  from 
the  whole  scene,  as  well  as  the  dead  silence 
that,  day  after  day,  followed  the  calling  out  of 
their  names,  proclaimed  how  deep  had  been 
their  share  in  the  unlawful  proceedings  inquired 
into  by  this  tribunal. 

But  there  was  one  young  friend  of  mine, 
*******,  whose  appearance  among  the 
suspected  and  examined  as  much  surprised  as 
it  deeply  and  painfully  interested  me.  He  and 
Emmet  had  long  been  intimate  and  attached 
friends  ; — their  congenial  fondness  for  mathe- 
matical studies  having  been,  I  think,  a  far  more 
binding  sympathy  between  them  than  any  ari- 
sing out  of  their  political  opinions.  From  his 
being  called  up,  however,  on  this  day,  when,  as 
it  ajipeared  afterwards,  all  the  most  important 
evidence  was  brought  forward,  there  could  he 
little  doubt  that,  in  addition  to  his  intimacy 
with  Emmet,  the  college  authorities  must  have 
possessed  some  information  which  led  them  to 
suspect  him  of  being  an  accomplice  in  the  con- 


*  In  the  Report  from  the  Secret  Committee  of  the  Irish 
Hnuse  of  Lords,  this  extension  of  the  plot  to  the  Collejie  is 
iKtliccii  as  "a  desperate  project  of  tlie  same  faction  to  corrupt 
the  youth  of  the  country  by  introducing  their  organized  sys- 
tem of  treason  into  the  University." 

t  One  of  these  brothers  has  long  been  a  general  in  the 
French  army;  having  taken  a  part  in  all  those  great  ciiter- 


spiracy.  In  the  course  of  his  examination, 
some  questions  were  put  to  him  which  he 
refused  to  answer, — most  probabl)'  from  their 
tendency  to  involve  or  inculpate  others;  and 
he  was  accordingly  dismissed,  with  the  melan- 
choly certainty  that  his  future  prospects  in  life 
were  blasted  ;  it  being  already  known  that  the 
punishment  for  such  contumacy  was  not  merely 
expulsion  from  the  University,  but  also  exclu- 
sion from  all  the  learned  professions. 

The  proceedings,  indeed,  of  this  whole  day 
ha,d  been  such  as  to  send  me  to  my  home  in  the 
evening  with  no  very  agreeable  feelings  or 
prospects.  I  had  heard  evidence  given  affect- 
ing even  the  lives  of  some  of  those  friends  whom 
I  had  long  regarded  with  admiration  as  well  as 
affection  ;  and  what  was  still  worse  than  even 
their  danger, — a  danger  ennobled,  I  thought, 
by  the  cause  in  which  they  suffered, — was  the 
sharaeftil  spectacle  exhibited  by  those  who  had 
appeared  in  evidence  against  them.  Of  these 
witnesses,  the  greater  number  had  been  them- 
selves involved  in  the  plot,  and  now  -<tme  for- 
ward either  as  voluntary  informers,  or  else 
were  driven  by  the  fear  of  the  consequences  of 
refusal  to  secure  their  own  safety  at  the  ex- 
pense of  companions  and  friends. 

I  well  remember  the  gloom,  so  unusual,  that 
hung  over  our  family  circle  on  that  evening,  as, 
talking  together  of  the  events  of  the  day,  we  dis- 
cussed the  likelihood  of  m)'  being  among  those 
who  would  be  called  up  for  examination  on  the 
morrow.  The  deliberate  conclusion  to  which 
my  dear  honest  advisers  came,  was  that,  over- 
whelming as  the  consequences  were  to  all  their 
plans  and  hopes  for  me,  yet,  to  the  questions 
leading  to  criminate  others,  which  had  been 
put  to  almost  all  examined  on  that  day,  and 
which  poor  *******  alone  had  refused 
to  answer,  I  must,  in  the  same  manner,  and  at 
all  risks,  return  a  similar  refusal.  I  am  not 
quite  certain  whether  I  received  any  intimation, 
on  the  following  morning,  that  I  was  to  be  one 
of  those  examined  in  the  course  of  the  day ; 
but  I  rather  think  some  such  notice  had  been 


prises  of  Napoleon  which  have  now  become  matter  of  history. 
Should  these  pages  meet  the  eye  of  General  ***■**»,  ihey 
will  call  to  his  mind  the  days  we  passed  togctlier  in  Nor- 
mandy, a  few  sununers  since; — more  especially  our  e.-^cur- 
sion  to  naycuT,  when,  as  we  talked  on  the  wayof  old  c<dlej!e 
times  and  frienils,  ali  the  evcntfol  and  stormy  scenes  he  had 
passed  through  since  seemed  quite  forgotten. 


PREFACE. 


33 


conveyed  to  me  ; — and,  at  last,  my  awful  turn 
came,  and  I  stood  in  presence  of  the  formida- 
ble tribunal.  There  sat,  with  severe  look,  the 
vice-chancellor,  and,  by  his  side,  the  memora- 
ble Doctor  Duigenan, — memorable  for  his  eter- 
nal pamphlets  against  the  Catholics. 

The  oath  was  proflered  to  me.  "  I  have  an 
objection,  my  Lord,"  said  I,  "  to  taking  this 
oath."  "  What  is  your  objection  ?"  he  asked 
sternly.  "  I  have  no  fears,  my  Lord,  that  any 
thing  I  might  say  would  criminate  myself;  but 
it  might  tend  to  involve  others,  and  I  despise 
the  character  of  the  person  who  could  be  led, 
under  any  such  circumstances,  to  inform  against 
his  associates."  This  was  aimed  at  some  of  the 
revelations  of  the  preceding  day ;  and,  as  I 
learned  afterwards,  was  so  understood.  "  How 
old  are  you,  Sir  V  he  then  asked.  "  Between 
seventeen  and  eighteen,  my  Lord."  He  then 
turned  to  his  assessor,  Duigenan,  and  exchanged 
a  few  words  with  him,  in  an  under  tone  of 
voice.  "  We  cannot,"  he  resumed,  again  ad- 
dressing me,  "  suffer  any  one  to  remain  in  our 
University  who  refuses  to  take  this  oath." 
"  I  shall,  then,  my  Lord,"  I  replied,  "  take  the 
oath, — still  reserving  to  myself  the  power  of 
refusing  to  answer  any  such  questions  as  I  have 
just  described."  "  We  do  not  sit  here  to  argue 
with  you,  Sir,"  he  rejoined  sharply  ;  upon  which 
I  took  the  oath,  and  seated  myself  in  the  wit- 
nesses' chair. 

The  following  are  the  questions  and  answers 
that  then  ensued.  After  adverting  to  the 
proved  existence  of  United  Irish  Societies  in 
the  University,  he  asked,  "Have  you  ever 
belonged  to  any  of  these  societies  1"  "  No, 
my  Lord."  "  Have  you  ever  known  of  any 
of  the  proceedings  that  took  place  in  theml" 
"  No,  my  Lord."  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a 
proposal  at  any  of  their  meetings,  for  the  pur- 
chase of  arms  and  ammunition]"      "Never, 

*  There  had  been  two  questions  put  to  all  those  examined 
on  the  first  day, — "  Were  you  ever  asked  to  join  any  of  these 
societies  r'— and  "  By  whom  were  you  asked  T'— which  I 
should  have  refused  to  answer,  and  must,  of  course,  have 
abided  the  consequences. 

t  For  the  correctness  of  the  above  report  of  this  short  ex- 
aminalinn,  I  can  pretty  confidentially  answer.  It  may  amuse, 
therefore,  my  readers, — as  showiny  the  manner  in  which 
biographers  make  the  most  of  small  facts, — to  see  an  extract 
or  two  from  anotheraccountof  this  atfair.  published  not  many 
years  since  by  an  old  and  zealous  friend  of  our  family.  After 
stating  with  tolerable  correctness  one  or  two  of  my  answers, 
the  writer  thus  proceeds : — "  Upon  this.  Lord  Clare  repeated 
the  question,  and  young  IMoore  made  such  an  appeal,  as 


my  Lord."  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  propo- 
sition made,  in  one  of  these  societies,  with 
respect  to  the  expediency  of  assassination  1" 
"  Oh  no,  my  Lord."  He  then  turned  again  to 
Duigenan,  and,  after  a  few  words  with  him, 
said  to  me  : — "  When  such  are  the  answers  you 
are  able  to  give,*  pray  what  was  the  cause  of 
your  great  repugnance  to  taking  the  oath  V 
"  I  have  already  told  your  Lordship  my  chief 
reason ;  in  addition  to  which,  it  was  the  iirst 
oath  I  ever  took,  and  the  hesitation  was,  I  think, 
natural."! 

I  was  now  dismissed  without  any  further 
questioning  ;  and,  however  trying  had  been  this 
short  operation,  was  amply  repaid  for  it  by  the 
kind  zeal  with  which  my  young  friends  and 
companions  flocked  to  congratulate  me ; — not 
so  much,  I  was  inclined  to  hope,  on  my  acquittal 
by  the  court,  as  on  the  manner  in  which  I  had 
acquitted  myself.  Of  my  reception,  on  return- 
ing home,  after  the  fears  entertained  of  so  very 
different  a  result,  I  will  not  attempt  any  de- 
scription ; — it  was  all  that  such  a  home  alone 
could  furnish. 

I  have  continued  thus  down  to  the  very 
verge  of  the  warning  outbreak  of  1798,  the 
slight  sketch  of  my  early  days  which  I  ven- 
tured to  commence  in  the  First  Volume  of  this 
Collection  :  nor  could  I  have  furnished  the 
Irish  Melodies  with  any  more  pregnant  illus- 
tration, as  it  was  in  those  times,  and  among  the 
events  then  stirring,  that  the  feeling  which 
afterwards  found  a  voice  in  my  country's  music, 
was  born  and  nurtured. 

I  shall  now  string  together  such  detached 
notices  and  memoranda  respecting  this  work, 
as  I  think  may  be  likely  to  interest  my  readers. 

Of  the  few  songs  written  with  a  concealed 
political  feeling, — such  as  "When  he  who 
adores  thee,"  and  one  or  two  more,- — the  most 
successful,  in  its  day,  was  "  When  first  I  met 

caused  his  lordship  to  relax,  austere  and  rigid  as  he  was. 
The  words  I  cannot  exactly  remember  ;  the  substance  was 
as  follows: — that  he  entered  college  to  receive  the  education 
of  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman  ;  that  he  knew  not  how  to 
compromise  these  characters  by  informing  against  liis  col- 
lege companions  ;  that  his  own  speeches  in  the  debating 
society  had  been  ill  construed,  when  the  worst  that  could  be 
said  of  them  was.  if  truth  had  been  spoken,  that  tliey  were 
patriotic  ....  that  he  was  aware  of  the  high-minded  no- 
bleman he  had  the  honor  of  appealing  to,  and  if  his  lord- 
ship could  for  a  moment  condescend  to  step  frniii  his  bigb 
station  and  place  himself  in  his  situation,  then  s-nv  how  he 
would  act  under  such  circunistan«es,  it  would  Ik:  iis  gui- 
dance."— Herb::rt's  Irish  yarietitt-     London,  l&itj 


34 


PREFACE. 


thee  warm  and  young,"  which  alluded,  in  its 
hidden  sense,  to  the  Prince  Regent's  desertion 
of  his  political  friends.  It  was  little  less,  I 
own,  than  profanation  to  disturb  the  sentiment 
of  so  beautiful  an  air  by  any  connection  with 
such  a  subject.  The  great  success  of  this  song, 
soon  after  I  wrote  it,  among  a  large  party  stay- 
ing at  Chatsworth,  is  thus  alluded  to  in  one  of 
Lord  Byron's  letters  to  me : — "  I  have  heard 
from  London  that  you  have  left  Chatsworth 

and  all  there  full  of  '  entusymusy' 

and,  in  particular,  that  '  When  first  I  met  thee' 
has  been  quite  overwhelming  in  its  effect.  I 
told  you  it  was  one  of  the  best  things  you  ever 
wrote,  though  that  dog  *  *  *  *  wanted  you  to 
omit  part  of  it." 

It  has  been  sometimes  supposed  that  "  Oh, 
breathe  not  his  name,"  was  meant  to  allude  to 
Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  :  but  this  is  a  mistake  ; 
the  song  having  been  suggested  by  the  well- 
known  passage  in  Robert  Emmet's  dying 
speech,  "  Let  no  man  write  my  epitaph  .... 
let  my  tomb  remain  uninscribed,  till  other  times 
and  other  men  shall  learn  to  do  justice  to  my 
memory." 

The  feeble  attempt  to  commemorate  the 
glory  of  our  great  Duke — "  When  History's 
Muse,"  &c. — is  in  so  far  remarkable,  that  it 
made  up  amply  for  its  want  of  poetical  spirit, 
by  an  outpouring,  rarely  granted  to  bards  in 
these  days,  of  tlie  spirit  of  prophecy.  It  was 
in  the  year  1815  that  the  following  lines  first 
made  their  appearance  ; — 

And  still  tlie  last  crown  of  thy  toils  is  remaining, 
The  grandest,  the  purest,  ev'n  thou  hast  yet  known  ; 

Though  proud  was  thy  task,  other  nations  unchaining, 
Far  prouder  to  heal  the  deep  wounds  of  thy  own. 

.\t  the  foot  of  that  throne,  for  whose  weal  thou  hast  stood, 
Go,  plead  for  the  land  that  first  cradled  thy  fame,  &c. 

About  fourteen  years  after  these  lines  were 
written,  the  Duke  of  Wellington  recommended 
to  the  throne  the  great  measure  of  Catholic 
Emancipation. 

The  fancy  of  the  "  Origin  of  the  Irish  Harp," 
was  (as  I  have  elsewhere  acknowledged*) 
suggested,  by  a  drawing  made  under  pecu- 
liarly painful  circumstances,  by  the  friend  so 

*  "When,  In  consequence  of  the  compact  entered  into  be- 
tween government  and  the  chief  leaders  of  the  conspiracy, 
the  State  Prisoners,  before  proceedinc  intoexile,were  allowed 
to  see  their  friends,  I  paidu  visit  to  Henry  Hudson,  in  the  jail 
of  Kilmainham,  where  he  had  then  lain  immured  for  four  or 
five  months,  hearing  of  friend  after  friend  being  led  out  to 
death,  and  expecUnt;  every  week  his  own  turn  to  come.    I 


often  mentioned  in  this  sketch,  Edward  Hud- 
son. 

In  connection  with  another  of  these  match- 
less airs, — one  that  defies  all  poetry  to  do  it  jus- 
tice,— I  find  the  following  singular  and  touching 
statement  in  an  article  of  the  Quarterly  Review. 
Speaking  of  a  young  and  promising  poetess, 
Lucretia  Davidson,  who  died  very  early  from 
nervous  excitement,  the  Reviewer  says,  "  She 
was  particularly  sensitive  to  music.  There  was 
one  song  (it  was  Moore's  Farewell  to  his  Harp) 
to  which  she  took  a  special  fancy.  She  wished 
to  hear  it  only  at  twilight, — thus  (with  that 
same  perilous  love  of  excitement  which  made 
her  place  the  ^olian  harp  in  the  window  when 
she  was  composing)  seeking  to  increase  the 
effect  which  the  song  produced  upon  a  nervous 
system,  already  diseasedly  susceptible  ;  for  i  is 
said  that,  whenever  she  heard  this  song,  she 
became  cold,  pale,  and  almost  'aiming  ;  yet  it 
was  her  favorite  of  all  songs,  and  gave  occa- 
sion to  those  verses  addressed  in  her  fifteenth 
year  to  her  sister."f 

With  the  Melody  entitled  "  Love,  Valor,  and 
Wit,"  an  incident  is  connected,  which  awaken- 
ed feelings  in  me  of  proud,  but  sad  pleasure — 
as  showing  that  my  songs  had  reached  the 
hearts  of  some  of  the  descendants  of  tliose 
great  Irish  families,  who  found  themselves 
forced,  in  the  dark  days  of  persecution,  to  seek 
in  other  lands  a  refuge  from  the  shame  and 
ruin  of  tlieir  own : — those,  whose  story  I  have 
thus  associated  with  one  of  their  country's 
most  characteristic  airs  : — 

Ye  Blakes  and  O'Donnells,  whose  fethers  resi?n'd 
The  green  hills  of  their  youth,  among  strangers  to  find 
That  repose  which  at  home  they  had  sigh'd  for  in  vain. 

From  a  foreign  lady,  of  this  ancient  extraction, 
— whose  names,  could  I  venture  to  mention 
them,  would  lend  to  the  incident  an  additional 
Irish  charm, — I  received,  about  two  years  since, 
through  the  hands  of  a  gentleman  to  whom  it  had 
been  intrusted,  a  large  portfolio,  adorned  inside 
with  a  beautiful  drawing,  representing  Love, 
Wit,  and  Valor,  as  described  in  the  song.  In 
the  border  that  surrounds  the  drawing  are  intro- 

found  that  to  amuse  his  solitude  he  had  made  a  large  draw- 
ing with  charcoal  on  the  wall  of  his  prison,  representing  that 
fancied  origin  of  the  Irish  Harp  which,  some  years  after,  I 
adopted  as  the  subject  of  one  of  the  '  Melodies.'  — Life  a*d 
Death  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  vol.  i. 
t  Quarterly  Review,  vol.  xli.  p.  294. 


PREFACE. 


35 


duced  the  favorite  emblems  of  Erin,  the  harp, 
the  shamrock,  the  mitred  head  of  St.  Patrick, 
together  with  scrolls  containing  each,  inscribed 
in  letters  of  gold,  the  name  of  some  favorite 
melody  of  the  fair  artist. 

This  present  was  accompanied  by  the  fol- 
lowing letter  from  the  lady  herself;  and  her 
Irish  race,  I  fear,  is  but  too  discernible  in  the 
generous  indiscretion  with  which,  in  this  in- 
stance, she  allows  praise  so  much  to  outstrip 
desert ; — 


"  Le  25  Aout,  1836. 

"  Monsieur, 

"  Si  les  poetes  n'etoient  en  quelque 
sorte  une  propriete  intellectuelle  dont  chacun 
prend  sa  part  k  raison  de  la  puissance  qu'ils 
exercent,  je  ne  saurois  en  verite  comment  faire 
pour  justifier  mon  courage ! — car  il  en  falloit 
beaucoup  pour  avoir  ose  consacrer  mon  pauvre 
talent  d'amateur  k  vos  delicieuses  poesies,  et 
plus  encore  pour  en  renvoyer  le  p4le  refiet  k 
son  veritable  auteur. 

"  J'espere  toutefois  que  ma  sympathie  pour 
rirlande  vous  fera  juger  ma  foible  production 
avec  cette  heureuse  partialite  qui  impose  si- 
lence k  la  critique  :  car,  si  je  n'appartiens  pas 
k  rile  Verte  par  ma  naissance,  ni  mes  relations, 
je  puis  dire  que  je  m'y  interesse  avec  un  coeur 
Irlandais,  et  que  j'ai  conserve  plus  que  le  nom 
de  mes  p^res.  Cela  seul  me  fait  esperer  que 
mes  petits  voyageurs  ne  subiront  pas  le  triste 
noviciat  des  etrangers.  Puissent-ils  remplir 
leur  mission  sur  le  sol  natal,  en  agissant  con- 
jointement  et  toujours  pour  la  cause  Irlandaise, 
et  amener  enfin  une  ere  nouvelle  pour  cette 
heroique  et  malheureuse  nation  : — le  moyen 
de  vaincre  de  tels  adversaires  s'ils  ne  font 
qu'un  ? 

"  Vous  dirai-je,  Monsieur,  les  doux  moments 
que  je  dois  k  vos  ouvrages  7  ce  seroit  repeter 
une  fois  de  plus  ce  que  vous  entendez  tons  les 
jours  et  de  tons  les  coins  de  la  terre.  Aussi 
j'ai  garde  de  vous  ravir  un  tems  trop  precieux 
par  I'echo  de  ces  vieilles  verites. 

"  Si  jamais  mon  etoile  me  conduit  en  Irlande, 
je  ne  m'y  croirai  pas  etrang^re.  Je  sais  que  le 
passe  y  laisse  de  longs  souvenirs,  et  que  la  con- 
formite  des  desirs  et  des  esperances  rapproche 
en  depit  de  I'espace  et  du  tems. 
I       "  Jusque  \k,  reeevez,  je  vous  prie,  I'assurance 


de  ma  parfaite  consideration,  avec  laquelle  j'ai 
I'honncur  d'etre, 

"  Monsieur, 
"  Votre  tres-humble  Servante, 

"  La  Comtesse  «  *  »  *  *." 

Of  the  translations  that  have  appeared  of  the 
Melodies  in  different  languages,  I  shall  here 
mention  such  as  have  come  to  my  knowledge. 

Latin. — "  Cantus  Hibernici,"  Nicholas  Lee 
Torre,  London,  1835. 

Italian.— G.  Flechia,  Torino,  1836.— Adele 
Custi,  Milano,  1836. 

French. — Madame  Belloc,  Paris,  1823. — 
Loeve  Yeimars,  Paris,  1829. 

Russian. — Several  detached  Melodies,  by 
the  popular  Russian  poet  Kozlof 


PREFACE 


THE  FIFTH  VOLUME. 

In  spite  of  the  satirist's  assertion,  that 

"next  to  singing,  the  most  foolish  thing 
Is  gravely  to  harangue  on  what  we  sing," — 

I  shall  yet  venture  to  prefix  to  this  Volume  a 
few  introductory  pages,  not  relating  so  much  to 
the  Songs  which  it  contains,  as  to  my  own 
thoughts  and  recollections  respecting  song- 
writing  in  general. 

The  close  alliance  known  to  have  existed 
between  poetry  and  music,  during  the  infancy 
of  both  these  arts,  has  sometimes  led  to  the 
conclusion  that  they  are  essentially  kindred  to 
each  other,  and  that  the  true  poet  ought  to  be, 
if  not  practically,  at  least  in  taste  and  ear,  a 
musician.  That  such  was  the  case  in  the  early 
times  of  ancient  Greece,  and  that  her  poets 
then  not  only  set  their  own  verses  to  music, 
but  sung  them  at  public  festivals,  there  is  every 
reason,  from  all  we  know  on  the  subject,  to 
believe.  A  similar  union  between  the  two  arts 
attended  the  dawn  of  modern  literature  in  the 
twelfth  century,  and  was,  in  a  certain  degree, 
continued  down  as  far  as  the  time  of  Petrarch, 
when,  as  it  appears  from  his  own  memo- 
randums, that  poet  used  to  sing  his  verses,  in 


36 


PEEFACE. 


composing  them  ;*  and  when  it  was  the  cus- 
tom with  all  writers  of  sonnets  and  canzoni  to 
prefix  to  their  poems  a  sort  of  key-note,  by 
which  the  intonation  in  reciting  or  chanting 
them  was  to  be  regulated. 

As  the  practice  of  uniting  in  one  individual, 
— whether  Bard,  Scald,  or  Troubadour, — the 
character  and  functions  both  of  musician  and 
poet,  is  known  to  have  been  invariably  the  mark 
of  a  rude  state  of  society,  so  the  gradual  separ- 
ation of  these  two  callings,  in  accordance  with 
that  great  principle  of  Political  Economy,  the 
division  of  labor,  has  been  found  an  equally 
sure  index  of  improving  civilization.  So  far, 
in  Engjand,  indeed,  has  this  partition  of  work- 
manship been  carried,  that,  with  the  signal  ex- 
ception of  Milton,  there  is  not  to  be  found,  I 
believe,  among  all  the  eminent  poets  of  Eng- 
land, a  single  musician.  It  is  but  fair,  at  the 
same  time,  to  acknowledge,  that  out  of  the 
works  of  these  very  poets  might  be  produced 
a  select  number  of  songs,  surpassing,  in  fancy, 
grace,  and  tenderness,  all  that  the  language, 
perhaps,  of  any  other  country  could  furnish. 

We  witness,  in  our  own  times, — as  far  as  the 
knowledge  or  practice  of  music  is  concerned, 
— a  similar  divorce  between  the  two  arts  ;  and 
my  friend  and  neighbor,  ]\Ir.  Bowles,  is  the 
only  distinguished  poet  of  oar  day  whom  I  can 
call  to  mind  as  being  also  a  musician. f  Not  to 
dwell  further,  however,  on  living  writers,  the 
strong  feeling,  even  to  tears,  with  which  I  have 
seen  Byron  listen  to  some  favorite  melody, 
has  been  elsewhere  described  by  me  ;  and  the 
musical  taste  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  I  ought  to  be 
the  last  person  to  call  in  question,  after  the  very 
cordial  tribute  he  has  left  on  record  to  my  own 
untutored  minstrelsy  .J  But  I  must  say,  that, 
pleased  as  my  illustrious  friend  appeared  really 
to  be,  when  I  first  sung  for  him  at  Abbotsford, 
it  was  not  till  an  evening  or  two  after,  at  his 
own  hospitable  supper-table,  that  I  saw  him  in 
his  true  sphere   of  musical   enjoyment.     No 

*  The  foUnwing  is  a  specimen  yf  lliese  memorandums,  as 
given  by  Foscolo : — "  I  must  make  these  two  verses  over 
a;;ain,  singing  them,  and  I  must  transpose  them— 3  o'clock. 
A-  M.  19th  October."  Frequently  to  sonnets  of  that  time  such 
notices  as  the  following  were  prcli.ved : — "  Intt/natum  per 
Francum" — "Scriptor  dedit  solium" 

t  The  late  Rev.  William  Crowe,  author  of  the  noble  poem 
of"  Lewisden  Hill,"  was  likewise  a  musician,  and  has  left 
a  Treatise  on  English  versification,  to  which  his  knowledge 
of  the  sister  art  lends  a  peculiar  interest. 

So  little  does  even  the  origin  of  the  word  "lyrick,"  as  ap- 


sooner  had  the  guaigh  taken  its  round,  after 

our  repast,  than  his  friend,  Sit  Adam,  was 
called  upon,  with  the  general  acclaim  of  the 
whole  table,  for  the  song  of  "  Hey  tuttie 
tattie,"  and  gave  it  out  to  us  with  all  the 
true  national  relish.  But  it  was  during  the 
chorus  that  Scott's  delight  at  this  festive  scene 
chiefly  showed  itself  At  the  end  of  every 
verse,  the  whole  company  rose  from  their 
seats,  and  stood  round  the  table  with  arms 
crossed,  so  as  to  grasp  the  hand  of  the  neigh- 
bor on  each  side.  Thus  interlinked,  we  con- 
tinued to  keep  measure  to  the  strain,  by  mov- 
ing our  arms  up  and  down,  all  chanting  forth 
vociferously,  "  Hey  tuttie  .attie,  Hey  tuttie 
tattie."  Sir  Walter's  enjoyir.cr  of  this  old 
Jacobite  chorus, — a  little  increased,  doubt- 
less, by  seeing  how  I  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  it, — gave  to  the  whole  scene,  1  confess,  a 
zest  and  charm  in  my  eyes  such  aa  the  finest 
musical  performance  could  not  have  bestowed 
on  it. 

Having  been  thus  led  to  allude  to  this  visit, 
I  am  tempted  to  mention  a  few  other  circum- 
stances connected  with  it.  From  Abbotsford  I 
proceeded  to  Edinburgh,  whither  Sir  Walter, 
in  a  few  days  after,  followed  ;  and  during  my 
short  stay  in  that  city  an  incident  occurred 
which,  though  already  mentioned  by  Scott, 
in  his  Diary,^  and  owing  its  chief  interest 
to  the  connection  of  his  name  with  it,  ought 
not  to  be  omitted  among  these  memoranda. 
As  I  had  expressed  a  desire  to  visit  the  Edin- 
burgh theatre,  which  opened  but  the  evening 
before  ray  departure,  it  was  proposed  to  Sir 
Walter  and  myself,  by  our  friend  Jeffrey,  that 
we  should  dine  with  him  at  an  early  hour  for 
that  purpose,  and  both  were  good-natured 
enough  to  accompany  me  to  the  theatre.  Hav- 
ing found,  in  a  volume||  sent  to  me  by  some 
anonymous  correspondent,  a  more  circumstan- 
tial account  of  the  scene  of  that  evening  than 
Sir  Walter  has  given  in  his  Diary,  I  shall  here 

plied  to  poetry,  seem  to  be  present  to  the  minds  of  some 
writers,  that  the  poet,  Voung,  has  left  us  an  Essay  on  L)Tic 
roelry,  in  which  there  is  not  a  single  allusion  to  Music,  from 
beginning  to  end. 

}  Life  by  Lockhart,  vol.  vi.  p.  128. 

$  "We  went  to  the  theatre  together,  and  the  house  being 
luckily  a  good  one,  received  T.  M.  with  rapture  1  could 
have  hugged  them,  for  it  paid  back  the  debt  of  the  kind  ro- 
ceplinn  I  met  \^'ith  in  Ireland. ' 

II  Written  by  Mr.  Benson  Hill. 


PREFACE, 


37 


avail  myself  of  its  graphic  and  (with  one  ex- 
ception) accurate  details.  After  adverting  to 
the  sensation  produced  by  the  appearance  of 
the  late  Duchess  of  St.  Alban's  in  one  of  the 
boxes,  the  writer  thus  proceeds  : — "  There  was 
a  general  buzz  and  stare,  for  a  few  seconds ; 
the  audience  then  turned  their  backs  to  the 
lady,  and  their  attention  to  the  stage,  to  wait 
till  the  first  piece  should  be  over  ere  they  in- 
tended staring  again.  Just  as  it  terminated, 
another  party  quietly  glided  into  a  bos  near 
that  filled  by  the  Duchess.  One  pleasing 
female  was  with  the  three  male  comers.  In  a 
rninute  the  cry  ran  round : — '  Eh,  yon's  Sir 
Walter,  wi'  Lockhart  an'  his  wife,*  and  wha's 
the  wee  bit  bodie  wi'  the  pawkie  een  1  Wow, 
but  it's  Tarn  Moore,  just — Scott,  Scott  ! 
Moore,  Moore  !' — with  shouts,  cheers,  bravos, 
and  applause.  But  Scott  would  not  rise  to 
appropriate  these  tributes.  One  could  see  that 
he  urged  Moore  to  do  so ;  and  he,  though 
modestly  reluctant,  at  last  yielded,  and  bowed 
hand  on  heart,  with  much  animation.  The 
cry  for  Scott  was  then  redoubled.  He  gathered 
himself  up,  and,  with  a  benevolent  bend,  ac- 
knowledged this  deserved  welcome.  The  or- 
chestra played  alternately  Scotch  and  Irish 
Melodies." 

Among  the  choicest  of  my  recollections  of 
that  flying  visit  to  Edinburgh,  are  the  few  days 
I  passed  with  Lord  Jeffrey  at  his  agreeable 
retreat,  Craig  Crook.  I  had  then  recently 
written  the  words  and  music  of  a  glee  contain- 
ed in  this  volume,  "  Ship  a  hoy  !"  which  there 
won  its  first  honors.  So  often,  indeed,  was  I 
called  upon  to  repeat  it,  tha  he  upland  echoes 
of  Craig  Crook  ought  long  to  have  had  its  bur- 
den by  heart. 

Having  thus  got  on  Scottish  ground,  Ifind 
myself  awakened  to  the  remembrance  of  a  name 
which,  whenever  song-writing  is  the  theme, 
ought  to  rank  second  to  none  in  that  sphere  of 
poetical  fame.  Robert  Burns  was  wholly  un- 
skilled in  music  ;  yet  the  rare  art  of  adapting 
words  successfully  to  notes,  of  wedding  verse 

*  The  writer  w.is  here  mistaken.  There  was  one  lady  of 
onr  prirty  ;  but  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Loclthart  was  present. 

t  It  appears  certain,  notwithstanding,  that  he  was,  in  his 
youth,  wholly  insensible  to  music.  In  speaking  of  him  and 
his  brother,  Mr.  Murdoch,  their  preceptor,  says,  "  Robert's 
ear,  in  particular,  w,as  remarkably  dull,  and  his  voice  unlu- 
nable.  It  was  long  before  I  could  get  him  todistingui.^h  one 
tune  from  another." 


in  congenial  union  with  melody,  which,  were 
it  not  for  his  example,  I  should  say  none  but 
a  poet  versed  in  the  sister-art  ought  to  at- 
tempt, has  yet,  by  him,  with  the  aid  of  a  music 
to  which  my  own  country's  strains  are  alone 
comparable,  been  exercised  with  so  work- 
manly  a  hand,  and  with  so  rich  a  variety  of 
passion,  playfulness,  and  power,  as  no  song- 
writer, perhaps,  but  himself,  has  ever  yet  dis- 
played. 

That  Burns,  however  untaught,  was  yet,  in 
ear  and  feeling,  a  musician,!  '^  clear  from  the 
skill  with  which  he  r.dapts  his  verse  to  the 
structure  and  character  of  each  different  strain. 
Still  more  strikingly  did  he  prove  his  fitness  for 
this  peculiar  task,  by  the  sort  of  instinct  with 
which,  in  more  than  one  instance,  he  discerned 
the  real  and  innate  sentiment  which  an  air 
was  calculated  to  convey,  though  previously 
associated  with  words  expressing  a  totally  dif- 
ferent cast  of  feeling.  Thus  the  air  of  a  lu- 
dicrous old  song,  "  Fee  him,  father,  fee  him," 
has  been  made  the  medium  of  one  of  Burns's 
most  pathetic  effusions  ;  while,  still  more  mar- 
vellously, "  Hey  tuttie  tattie"  has  been  eleva- 
ted by  him  into  that  heroic  strain,  "  Scots, 
wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled  ;" — a  song  which, 
in  a  great  national  crisis,  would  be  of  more 
avail  than  all  the  eloquence  of  a  Demosthenes.  J 

It  was  impossible  that  the  example  of  Burns, 
in  these,  his  higher  inspirations,  should  not 
materially  contribute  to  elevate  the  character 
of  English  song-writing,  and  even  to  lead  to 
a  reunion  of  the  gifts  which  it  requires,  if  not, 
as  of  old,  in  the  same  individual,  yet  in  that 
perfect  sympathy  between  poet  and  musician 
which  almost  amounts  to  identity,  and  of  which, 
in  our  own  times,  we  have  seen  so  interesting 
an  example  in  the  few  songs  which  bear  the 
united  names  of  those  two  sister  muses,  Mrs. 
Arkwright  and  the  late  Mrs.  Hemans. 

Very  different  was  the  state  of  the  song-de- 
partment of  English  poesy  at  the  period  when 
I  first  tried  my  novice  hand  at  the  lyre.  The 
divorce    between   song   and   sense    had    then 

}  I  know  not  whether  it  hag  ever  been  before  remarked,  that 
the  well-known  lines  in  one  of  Burns's  most  spirited  songs, 
"The  title's  but  the  guinea's  stamp. 
The  man's  the  gold  for  a'  that," 
may  possibly  have  been  sugcested  by  the  following  passage 
in  Wycherley's  play,  the  "Country  Wife :" — "I  weigh  the 
man,  not  his  title;  'tis  not  the  King's  stamp  can  make  the 
metal  better." 


38 


PREFACE. 


reached  its  utmost  range ;  and  to  all  verses 
connected  with  music,  from  a  Birth-day  Ode 
down  to  the  libretto  of  the  last  new  opera, 
might  fairly  be  applied  the  solution  which 
Figaro  gives  of  the  quality  of  the  words  of 
songs,  in  general, — "  Ce  qui  ne  vaut  pas  la 
peine  d'etre  dit,  on  le  chante." 

It  may  here  be  suggested  that  the  convivial 
lyrics  of  Captain  Morris  present  an  exception 
to  the  general  character  I  have  given  of  the 
songs  of  this  period ;  and,  assuredly,  had 
Morris  written  much  that  at  all  approached 
the  following  verses  of  his  "  Reasons  for 
Drinking,"  (which  I  quote  from  recollection,) 
few  would  have  equalled  him  either  in  fancy, 
or  in  that  lighter  kind  of  pathos,  which  comes, 
as  in  this  instance,  like  a  few  melancholy  notes 
in  the  middle  of  a  gay  air,  throwing  a  soft  and 
passing  shade  over  mirth  : — 

"  My  muse,  top,  when  her  wings  are  dry, 

No  frolic  flights  wilt  take  ; 
But  round  a  bowl  she'll  dip  and  fly, 

Lil\e  swkIIows  round  a  lake. 
If  then  the  nymph  must  have  her  share, 

Before  she'll  bless  her  swain. 
Why,  that  I  think's  a  reason  fair 

To  till  my  glass  again. 

*'  Then,  many  a  lad  I  lik'd  is  dead. 

And  many  a  lass  grown  old  ; 
And,  as  the  lesson  strikes  my  head, 

My  weary  heart  grows  cold. 
But  wine  awhile  holds  oJfdespair, 

Nay,  bids  a  hope  remain  ; — 
And  that  I  think's  a  reason  fair 

To  fill  ray  glass  again." 

How  far  my  own  labors  in  this  field — if, 
indeed,  the  gathering  of  such  idle  flowers  may 
be  so  designated — have  helped  to  advance,  or 
even  kept  pace  with  the  progressive  improve- 
ment I  have  here  described,  it  is  not  for  me  to 
presume  to  decide.  I  only  know  that  in  a 
strong  and  inborn  feeling  for  music  lies  the 
source  of  whatever  talent  I  may  have  shown 
for  poetical  composition  ;  and  that  it  was  the 
effort  to  translate  into  language  the  emotions 
and  passions  which  music  appeared  to  me  to 
express,  that  first  led  to  my  writing  any  poetry 
at  all  deserving  of  the  name.  Dryden  has 
happily  described  music  as  being  "  inarticulate 
poetry  ;"  and  I  have  always  felt,  in  adapting 
words   to  an  expressive  air,  that  I  was  but 

*  I  canmt  let  pass  the  incidental  mention  here  of  this 
social  and  public-spirited  nobleman,  w  iltiout  e.xpressing  my 
strong  sense  of  his  kindly  qualities,  and  lamenting  the  loss 


bestowing  upon  it  the  gift  of  articulation,  and 
thus  enabling  it  to  speak  to  others  all  that  was 
conveyed,  in  its  wordless  eloquence,  to  myself. 
Owing  to  the  space  I  was  led  to  devote,  in  our 
last  volume,  to  subjects  connected  with  the 
Irish  Melodies,  I  was  forced  to  postpone  some 
recollections,  of  a  very  diflferent  description, 
respecting  the  gala  at  Boyle  Farm,  by  which 
my  poem,  entitled  The  Summer  Fete,  was 
suggested.  In  an  old  letter  of  my  own  to  a 
friend  in  Ireland,  giving  an  account  of  this 
brilliant  festival,  I  find  some  memorandums 
which,  besides  their  reference  to  the  subject  of 
the  poem,  contain  some  incidents  also  connected 
with  the  first  appearance  before'  the  public  of 
one  of  the  most  successful  of  all  my  writings, 
the  story  of  the  Epicurean.  I  shall  give  my 
extracts  from  this  letter,  in  their  original  diary- 
like form,  without  alteration  or  dressing  : — 

June  30,  1837. — Day  threatening  for  the 
Ffite.  Was  with  Lord  Essex*  at  three  o'clock, 
and  started  about  half  an  hour  after.  The 
whole  road  swarming  with  carriages-and-four 
all  the  way  to  Boyle  Farm,  which  Lady  de 
Roos  has  lent,  for  the  occasion,  to  Henry ; — 
the  five  givers  of  the  Fete,  being  Lords 
Chesterfield,  Castlereagh,  Alvanley,  Henry  de 
Roos,  and  Robert  Grosvenor,  subscribing  four 
or  five  hundred  pounds  each  towards  it.  The 
arrangements  all  in  the  very  best  taste.  The 
pavilion  for  quadrilles,  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
with  steps  descending  to  the  water,  quite  east- 
ern— like  what  one  sees  in  Daniel's  pictures. 
Towards  five  the  elite  of  the  gay  world  was 
assembled — the  women  all  looking  their  best, 
and  scarce  a  single  ugly  face  to  be  found. 
About  half  past  five,  sat  down  to  dinner,  450 
under  a  tent  on  the  lawn,  and  fifty  to  the 
Royal  Table  in  the  conservatory.  The  Tj'rolese 
musicians  sung  during  dinner,  and  there  were, 
after  dinner,  gondolas  on  the  river,  with 
Caradori,  De  Begni.s,  A'elluti,  &c.,  singing 
barcarolles  and  rowing  off  occasionally,  so  as 
to  let  their  voices  die  away  and  again  return. 
After  these  succeeded  a  party  in  dominos, 
Madame  Vestris,  Fanny  Ayton,  &c.,  who 
rowed  about  in  the  same  manner,  and  sung, 
among  other  things,  my  gondola  song,  "  Oh 
come  to  me  when  daylight  sets."     The  evening 

which  not  only  society,  but  the  cause  of  sound  and  progres- 
sive Political  Heforra,  has  sustained  by  his  death. 


PREFACE. 


39 


was  delicious,  and,  as  soon  as  it  grew  dark,  the 
gioves  were  all  lighted  up  with  colored  lamps, 
in  different  shapes  and  devices.  A  little  lake 
near  a  grotto  took  my  fancy  particularly,  the 
shrubs  all  round  being  illuminated,  and  the 
lights  reflected  in  the  water.  Six-and-twenty 
of  the  prettiest  girls  of  the  v,  "rid  of  fashion,  the 
F  *  *  *  *  t  *  rs,  Br  *  d  *  *  *  is,  De  R  *  *  s's, 
Miss  F  *  *  Id  *  *  *  g,  Miss  F  *  X,  Miss  R  *  ss  *  11, 
Miss  B  *  *  ly,  were  dressed  as  Rosieres,  and 
opened  the  quadrilles  in  the  pavilion  .  .  . 
.  .  .  While  talking  with  D — n,  (Lord  P.'s 
brother,)  he  said  to  me,  "  I  never  read  any 
thing  so  touching  as  the  death  of  your  heroine." 
"What!"  said  I,  "have  you  got  so  far  already  T'f 
"  Oh,  I  read  it  in  the  Literary  Gazette."  This 
anticipation  of  my  catastrophe  is  abomiiiable. 
Soon  after,  the  Marquis  P — Im — a  said  to  me, 
as  he  and  I  and  B — m  stood  together,  looking 
at  the  gay  scene,  "  This  is  like  one  of  your 
Ffetes."  "  Oh  yes,"  said  B — m,  thinking  he 
alluded  to  Lalla  Rookh,  "  quite  oriental." 
"  Non,  non,"  replied  P — Im — a,  "  je  veu>  dire 
cette  Fete  d'Athenes,  dont  j'ai  lu  la  description 
dans  la  Gazette  d'aujourd'hui." 

Respecting  the  contents  of  the  present  Vol- 
ume I  have  but  a  few  more  words  to  add. 
Accustomed  as  I  have  always  been  to  consider 
my  songs  as  a  sort  of  compound  creations,  in 
which  the  music  forms  no  less  essential  a  port 
than  the  verses,  it  is  with  a  feeling  which  I 
can  hardly  expect  my  unlyrical  readers  to  un- 
derstand, that  I  see  such  a  swarm  of  songs 
as  crowd  these  pages  all  separated  from  the 
beautiful  airs  which  have  formed  hitherto  their 
chief  ornament  and  strength — their  "  decus  et 
tutamen."  But,  independently  of  this  uneasy 
feeling,  or  fancy,  there  is  yet  another  incon- 
venient consequence  of  the  divorce  of  the  words 
from  the  music,  which  will  be  more  easily,  per- 
haps, comprehended,  and  which,  in  justice  to 
myself,  as  a  metre-monger,  ought  to  be  noticed. 
Those  occasional  breaches  of  the  laws  of  rhythm, 
which  the  task  of  adapting  words  to  airs  de- 
mands of  the  poet,  though  very  frequently  one 
of  the  happiest  results  of  his  skill,  become 
blemishes  when  the  verse  is  separated  from  the 


t  The  Kpicurean  had  been  published  but  the  day  before. 

i  I  shall  avail  myself  of  this  opportunity  of  noticing  the 
charcc  brought  by  Mr.  Bunting  against  Sir  John  Stevenson, 
of  having  made  alterations  in  many  of  the  airs  that  formed 
0111  Irish  Collection.    Whatever  changes  of  this  kind  have 


melody,  and  require,  to  justify  them,  the  pres- 
ence of  the  music  to  w'hose  wildness  or  sweet- 
ness the  sacrifice  had  been  made. 

In  a  preceding  page  of  this  preface,  I  have 
mentioned  a  Treatise  by  the  late  Rev.  Mr. 
Crowe,  on  English  versification  ;  and  I  re- 
member his  telling  me,  in  reference  to  the  point 
I  have  just  touched  upon,  that,  should  another 
edition  of  that  work  be  called  for,  he  meant  to 
produce,  as  examples  of  new  and  anomalous 
forms  of  versification,  the  following  songs  from 
the  Irish  Melodies  : — "  Oh  the  days  are  gone 
when  Beauty  bright" — "  At  the  dead  hour  of 
night,  when  stars  are  weeping,  I  fly," — and, 
"  Through  grief  and  through  danger  thy  smile 
hath  cheer'd  my  way.  "J 


PREFACE 


THE  SIXTH  VOLLME. 

The  Poem,  or  Romance,  of  Lalla  Rookh, 
having  now  reached  its  twentieth  edition,  a 
short  account  of  the  origin  and  progress  of 
a  work  which  has  been  hitherto,  at  least,  so  very 
fortunate  in  its  course,  may  not  be  deemed, 
perhaps,  superfluous  or  misplaced. 

It  was  about  the  year  1813  that,  impelled 
far  more  by  the  encouraging  suggestions  of 
friends  than  impelled  by  any  confident  prompt- 
ings of  my  own  ambition,  I  was  induced  to 
attempt  a  Poem  upon  some  Oriental  subject, 
and  of  those  quarto  dimensions  which  Scott's 
late  triumphs  in  that  form  had  then  rendered 
the  regular  poetical  standard.  A  negotiation 
on  the  subject  was  opened  with  the  Messrs. 
Longman  in  the  same  year,  but  from  some 
causes  which  have  now  escaped  my  recollection, 
led  to  no  decisive  result ;  nor  was  it  till  a  year 
or  two  after,  that  any  further  steps  were  taken 
in  the  matter, — their  house  being  the  only 
one,  it  is  right  to  add,  with  which,  from  first  to 


been  ventured  upon,  (and  they  are  but  few  and  slight, )  the 
responsibility  for  them  rests  solely  with  me  ,  as,  leaving  the 
Harmonist's  department  to  my  friend  Stevenson,  I  reserved 
to  myself  entirely  the  selection  and  management  of  the  airs. 


40 


PREFACE. 


last,  I  held  any  communication  upon  the  sub- 
ject. 

On  this  last  occasion,  an  old  friend  of  mine, 
Mr.  Perry,  kindly  offered  to  lend  me  the  aid  of 
his  advice  and  presence  in  the  interview  which 
I  was  about  to  hold  with  the  Messrs.  Longman, 
for  the  arrangement  of  our  mutual  terms  ;  and 
what  with  the  friendly  zeal  of  my  negotiator 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  prompt  and  libtial 
spirit  with  which  he  was  met  on  the  other, 
there  has  seldom  occurred  any  transaction  in 
which  Trade  and  Poesy  have  shone  out  so 
advantageously  in  each  other's  eyes.  The 
short  discussion  that  then  took  place  between 
the  two  parties,  may  be  comprised  in  a  very 
few  sentences.  "  I  am  of  opinion,"  said  Mr. 
Perry, — enforcing  his  view  of  the  case  by 
arguments  which  it  is  not  for  mo  to  cite, — 
"  that  Mr.  Moore  ought  to  receive  for  his  Poem 
the  largest  price  that  has  been  given,  in  our 
day,  for  such  a  work."  "  That  was,"  an- 
swered the  Messrs.  Longman,  "  three  thousand 
guineas."  "  Exactly  so,"  replied  Mr.  Perry, 
"and  no  less  a  sum  ought  he  to  receive." 

It  was  then  objected,  and  very  reasonably, 
on  the  part  of  the  firm,  that  they  had  never 
yet  seen  a  single  line  of  the  Poem  ;  and  that  a 
perusal  of  the  work  ought  to  be  allowed  to 
them,  before  they  embarked  so  large  a  sum  in 
the  purchase.  But,  no  ; — the  romantic  view 
which  my  friend,  Perry,  took  of  the  matter, 
was,  tliat  this  price  should  be  given  as  a  tribute 
to  reputation  already  acquired,  without  any 
condition  for  a  previous  perusal  of  the  new 
work.  This  high  tone,  1  must  confess,  not 
a  little  startled  and  alarmed  me  ;  but,  to  the 
honor  and  glory  of  Romance, — as  well  on  the 
publisher's  side  as  the  poet's, — this  very  gener- 
ous view  of  the  transaction  was,  without  any 
difficulty,  acceded  to,  and  the  firm  agreed,  be- 
fore we  separated,  that  I  was  to  receive  three 
thousand  guineas  for  my  Poem. 

At  the  time  of  this  agreement,  but  little  of 
the  work,  as  it  stands  at  present,  had  yet  been 
written.  But  the  ready  confidence  in  my  suc- 
cess shown  by  others,  made  up  for  the  deficiency 
of  that  requisite  feeling  within  myself;  while 
a  strong  desire  not  wholly  to  disappoint  this 
"  auguring  hope,"  became  almost  a  substitute 
for  inspiration.     In  the  year  1815,  therefore, 

*  April  10, 1815. 


having  made  some  progress  in  my  task,  1  wrote 
to  report  the  state  of  the  work  to  the  Messrs. 
Longman,  adding,  that  I  was  now  most  willing 
and  ready,  should  they  desire  it,  to  submit  the 
manuscript  for  their  consideration.  Their 
answer  to  this  offer  was  as  follows  : — '•  We 
are  certainly  impatient  for  the  perusal  of  the 
Poem  ;  but  solely  for  our  gratification.  Your 
sentiments  are  always  honorable."* 

I  continued  to  pursue  my  task  for  another 
year,  being  likewise  occasionally  occupied  with 
the  Irish  Melodies,  two  or  three  numbers  of 
which  made  their  appearance  during  the  period 
employed  in  writing  Lalla  Rookh.  At  length, 
in  the  year  1816,  I  found  my  work  sufficiently 
advanced  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  pub- 
lishers. But  the  state  of  distress  to  which 
England  was  reduced,  in  that  dismal  year,  by 
the  exhausting  effects  of  the  series  of  wars 
she  had  just  then  concluded,  and  the  general 
embarrassment  of  all  classes,  both  agricultural 
and  commercial,  rendered  it  a  juncture  the 
least  favorable  that  could  well  be  conceived 
for  tlje  first  launch  into  print  of  so  light  and 
costly  a  venture  as  Lalla  Rookh.  Feeling 
conscious,  therefore,  that,  under  such  circum- 
stances, I  should  act  but  honestly  in  putting  it 
in  the  power  of  the  Messrs.  Longman  to  re- 
consider the  terms  of  their  engagement  with 
me, — leaving  them  free  to  postpone,  modify, 
or  even,  should  such  be  their  wish,  relinquish  it 
altogether,  I  wrote  them  a  letter  to  that  effect, 
and  received  the  following  answer  : — "  We 
shall  be  most  happy  in  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  in  February.  We  agree  with  you,  indeed, 
that  the  times  are  most  inauspicious  for  '  poetry 
and  thousands ;'  but  we  believe  that  your 
poetry  would  do  more  than  that  of  any  other 
living  poet  at  the  present  moment,  "f 

The  length  of  time  I  employed  in  writing 
the  few  stories  strung  together  in  Lalla  Rookh 
will  appear,  to  some  persons,  much  more  than 
was  necessary  for  the  production  of  such  easy 
and  "  light  o'love"  fictions.  But,  besides  that 
I  have  been,  at  all  times,  a  far  more  slow  and 
painstaking  workman  than  would  ever  be 
guessed,  I  fear,  from  the  result,  I  felt  that, 
in  this  instance,  I  had  taken  upon  myself  a 
more  than  ordinary  responsibility,  from  the 
immense  stake  risked  by  others  on  my  chance 

f  November  9, 1816. 


PREFACE. 


41 


of  success.  For  a  long  time,  therefore,  after 
the  agreement  had  been  concluded,  though 
generally  at  work  with  a  view  to  this  task,  I 
made  but  very  little  real  progress  in  it,  and  I 
have  still  by  me  the  beginnings  of  several 
stories,  continued,  some  of  them,  to  the  length 
of  three  or  four  hundred  lines,  which,  after  in 
vain  endeavoring  to  mould  them  into  shape, 
I  threw  aside,  like  the  taleof  Cambuscan,  "left 
half-told."  One  of  these  stories,  entitled  The 
Peri's  Daughter,  was  meant  to  relate  the  loves 
of  a  nymph  of  this  aerial  extraction  with  a 
youth  of  mortal  race,  the  rightful  Prince  of 
Ormuz,  who  had  been,  from  his  infancy,  brought 
up,  in  seclusion,  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
Amou,  by  an  aged  guardian  named  Mohassan. 
The  story  opens  with  the  first  meeting  of  these 
destined  lovers,  then  in  their  childhood  ;  the 
Peri  having  wafted  her  daughter  to  this  holy 
retreat,  in  a  bright,  enchanted  boat,  whose  first 
appearance  is  thus  described  : — 
***** 
For,  down  the  silvery  tide  afar. 

There  came  a  boat,  as  swift  and  bright 
As  shines,  in  heav'n,  some  pilgrim-star, 

That  leaves  its  own  high  home,  at  night, 

To  shoot  to  distant  shrines  of  light. 

"It  comes,  it  comes,"  young  Orian  cries, 

And  panting  to  Mohassan  flies. 

Then,  down  upon  the  fiower>'  grass 

Reclines  to  see  the  vision  pass; 

With  partly  joy  and  partly  fear. 

To  find  its  wondrous  light  so  near, 

And  hiding  oft  his  dazzled  eyes 

Among  the  flowers  on  which  he  lies 

***** 

Within  the  boat  a  baby  slept. 

Like  a  young  pearl  within  its  shell ; 
While  one,  who  seem'd  of  riper  years, 
But  not  of  earth,  or  earth-like  spheres, 

Her  watch  beside  the  slumberer  kept; 

Gracefully  waving,  in  her  hand, 
The  feathers  of  some  holy  bird, 
With  which,  from  time  to  time,  she  stirr'd 

The  fragrant  air,  and  coolly  fann'd 

The  baby's  brow,  or  brush'd  away 
The  butterflies  that,  brisht  and  blue 

As  on  the  mountains  of  Malay. 
An.und  the  sleeping  infant  flew. 

And  now  the  fairy  boat  hath  stopp'd 

Beside  the  bank,— the  nymph  has  dropp'd 

Her  golden  anchor  la  the  stream ; 

***** 

A  song  is  sung  by  the  Peri  in  approaching, 
of  which  tht;  following  forms  a  part : — 

My  child  she  is  but  half  divine, 

Her  father  sleeps  in  the  Caspian  water; 

Sea-weeds  twine 

His  funeral  shrine, 
But  he  lives  again  in  the  Peri's  daughter. 


Fain  would  I  fly  from  mortal  sight 

To  my  own  s\»'eet  bowers  of  Peristan  ; 
But,  there,  the  flowers  are  all  too  bright 

For  the  eyes  of  a  biiby  born  of  man. 
On  flowers  of  earth  her  feet  must  tread  ; 
So  hither  my  light-wing'd  barK  hath  brought  her, 
Stranger,  spread 
Thy  leafiest  bed, 
To  rest  the  wandering  Peri's  daughter. 

In  another  of  these  inchoate  fragments,  a 
proud  female  saint,  named  Banou,  plays  a 
principal  part ;  and  her  progress  through  the 
streets  of  Cufa,  ct  the  night  of  a  great  illumi- 
nated festival,  I  find  thus  described  : — 

It  was  a  scene  of  mirth  thiit  drew 

A  smile  from  cv'n  the  Saint  Bauer. 

As,  through  the  hush'd,  admiring  throng, 

She  went  with  stately  steps  along, 

And  connled  o'er,  that  all  might  sec. 

The  rubies  of  her  rosary. 

But  none  might  see  the  worldly  smile 

That  lurk'd  beneath  her  veil,  the  while:— 

Alia  forbid  !  for,  who  would  wait 

Her  blessing  at  the  temple's  gate,— 

What  holy  man  would  ever  run 

To  kiss  the  ground  she  knelt  upon. 

If  once,  by  luckless  chance,  he  knew 

She  look'd  and  smiled  as  others  do. 

Her  hands  were  join'd,  and  from  each  wrist 

By  threads  of  pearl  and  golden  twist, 

Hung  relics  of  the  saints  of  yore, 

And  scraps  of  talismanic  lore,— 

Charms  for  the  old,  the  sick,  the  frail, 

Some  made  for  use,  and  all  for  sale. 

On  either  side,  the  crowd  withdrew, 

To  let  the  Suint  pass  proudly  through; 

While  turban'd  heads,  of  every  hue, 

Green,  white,  and  crimson,  bow'd  around. 

And  gay  tiaras  touch'd  the  ground, — 

As  tulip-bells,  when  o'er  their  beds 

The  musk-wind  passes,  bend  their  heads. 

Nay,  some  there  were,  among  the  crowd 

Of  Moslem  heads  that  round  her  bow'd, 

So  fill'd  with  zeal,  by  many  a  draught 

Of  Shiraz  wine  profanely  quaff'd. 

That,  sinking  low  in  reverence  then, 

They  never  rose  till  morn  again. 

There  are  yet  two  more  of  these  unfinished 
sketches,  one  of  which  extends  to  a  much 
greater  length  than  I  was  aware  of;  and,  as 
far  as  I  can  judge  from  a  hasty  renewal  of  my 
acquaintance  with  it,  is  not  incapable  of  being 
yet  turned  to  account. 

In  only  one  of  these  unfinished  sketches,  the 
tale  of  The  Peri's  Daughter,  had  I  yet  ventured 
to  invoke  that  most  home-felt  of  all  my  inspi- 
rations, which^  has  lent  to  the  story  of  The 
Fire-worshippers  its  main  attraction  and  in- 
terest. That  it  was  my  intention,  in  the  con- 
cealed Prince  of  Ormuz,  to  shadow  out  some 
impersonation  of  this  feeling,  I  take  for  granted 


43 


PREFACE. 


from  the  prophetic  words  supposed  to  be  ad- 
dressed to  him  by  his  aged  guardian  : — 

Brighl  child  of  destiny  I  even  now 

I  read  the  promise  on  that  brow, 

That  tyrants  shall  no  more  defile 

The  glories  of  the  Green-Sea  Isle, 

Bnl  Ormuz  shall  again  be  free, 

And  hail  her  native  Lord  in  thee  ! 

In  none  of  the  other  fragments  do  I  find  any 
trace  of  this  sort  of  feeling,  either  in  the  sub- 
ject or  the  personages  of  the  intended  story ; 
and  this  was  the  reason,  doubtless,  though 
hardly  known,  at  the  time,  to  myself,  that, 
finding  my  subjects  so  slow  in  kindling  my 
own  sympathies,  I  began  to  despair  of  their 
ever  touching  the  hearts  of  others ;  and  felt 
often  inclined  to  say, 

"  Oh  no,  I  have  no  voice  or  hand 
For  such  a  song,  in  such  a  land." 

Had  this  series  of  disheartening  experiments 
been  carried  on  much  further,  I  must  have 
thrown  aside  the  work  in  despair.  But,  at 
last,  fortunately,  as  it  proved,  the  thought 
occurred  to  me  of  founding  a  story  on  the 
fierce  struggle  so  long  maintained  between 
the  Ghebers,*  or  ancient  Fire-worshippers  of 
Persia,  and  their  haughty  Moslem  masters. 
From  that  moment,  a  new  and  deep  interest  in  my 
whole  task  took  possession  of  me.  The  cause 
of  tolerance  was  again  my  inspiring  theme ; 
and  the  spirit  that  had  spoken  in  the  melodies 
of  Ireland  soon  found  itself  at  home  in  the  East. 

Having  thus  laid  open  the  secrets  of  the 
workshop  to  account  for  the  time  expended  in 
writing  this  work,  I  must  also,  in  justice  to  my 
own  industry,  notice  the  pains  I  took  in  long 
and  laboriously  reading  for  it.  To  form  a  store- 
house, as  it  were,  of  illustration  purely  Oriental, 
and  so  familiarize  myself  with  its  various  treas- 
ures, that  as  quick  as  Fancy,  in  her  airy 
spiritings,  required  the  assistance  of  fact,  the 
memory  was  ready,  like  another  Ariel,  at  her 
"  strong  bidding,"  to  furnish  materials  for  the 
spell-work,— such  was,  for  a  long  while,  the 
sole  object  of  my  studies ;  and  whatever  time 
and  trouble  this  preparatory  process  itiay  have 
cost  me,  the  effects  resulting  from  it,  as  far  as 
the  humble  merit  of  truthfulness  is  concerned, 
have  been  such  as  to  repay  me  more  than  suffi- 
ciently for  my  pains.    I  have  not  forgotten  how 

•  Voltaire,  in  his  tragedy  of  "  Les  Guebres,"  written  with 
a  similar  under-current  of  meaning,  was  accused  of  having 
transformed  his  Fire-worshippers  into  Jnnsenists ; — "  Quel- 


great  was  my  pleasure,  when  told  by  the  late 
Sir  James  Mackintosh,  that  he  was  once  asked 
by  Colonel  Wilks,  the  historian  of  British 
India,  "  whether  it  was  true  that  Moore  had 
never  been  in  the  East  V  "  Never,"  answered 
Mackintosh.  "Well,  that  shows  me,"  replied 
Colonel  Wilks,  "  that  reading  over  D'Herbelot 
is  as  good  as  riding  on  the  back  of  a  camel." 

I  need  hardly  subjoin  to  this  lively  speech, 
that  although  D'Herbelot's  valuable  work  was, 
of  course,  one  of  my  manuals,  I  took  the  whole 
range  of  all  such  Oriental  reading  as  was  acces- 
sib.e  to  me  ;  and  became,  for  the  time,  indeed, 
far  more  conversant  with  all  relating  to  that 
distant  region,  than  I  have  ever  been  with  the 
scenery,  productions,  or  modes  of  life  of  any  of 
those  countries  lying  most  within  my  reach. 
We  know  that  D'Anville,  though  never  in  his 
life  out  of  Paris,  was  able  tu  -correct  a  number 
of  errors  in  a  plan  of  the  Troad  taken  by  De 
Choiseul,  on  the  spot ;  and,  for  my  own  very 
different,  as  well  as  far  inferior,  purposes,  the 
knowledge  I  had  thus  acquired  of  distant  lo- 
calities, seen  only  by  me  in  day-dreams,  was 
no  less  ready  and  useful. 

An  ample  reward  for  all  this  painstaking  has 
been  found  in  such  welcome  tributes  as  I  have 
just  cited  ;  nor  can  I  deViy  myself  the  gratifica- 
tion of  citing  a  few  more  of  the  same  descrip- 
tion. From  another  distinguished  authority  on 
Eastern  subjects,  the  late  Sir  John  Malcolm,  I 
had  myself  the  pleasure  of  hearing  a  similar 
opinion  publicly  expressed  ; — that  eminent  per- 
son having  remarked,  in  a  speech  spoken  by 
him  at  a  Literary  Fund  Dinner,  that  together 
with  those  qualities  of  the  poet  which  he  much 
too  partially  assigned  to  me,  was  combined  also 
"the  truth  of  the  historian." 

Sir  William  Ouseley,  another  high  authority, 
in  giving  his  testimony  to  the  same  effect,  thus 
notices  an  exception  to  the  general  accuracy 
for  which  he  gives  me  credit : — "  Dazzled  by 
the  beauties  of  this  composition,!  few  readers 
can  perceive,  and  none  surely  can  regret,  that 
the  poet,  in  his  magnificent  catastrophe,  has 
forgotten,  or  boldly  and  most  happily  violated, 
the  precept  of  Zoroaster,  above  noticed,  which 
held  it  impious  to  consume  any  portion  of  a 
human  body  by  fire,  especially  by  that  which 

ques  figuristes,"  he  says,  "  pr^tcndent  que  les  Guebres  sont 
les  Jansenistes." 
t  The  Fire- worshippers 


PREFACE. 


43 


glowed  upon  their  altars."  Having  long  lost, 
I  fear,  most  of  my  Eastern  learning,  I  can 
only  cite,  in  defence  of  my  catastrophe,  an  old 
Oriental  tradition,  which  relates  that  Nimrod, 
when  Abraham  refused,  at  his  command,  to 
worship  the  fire,  ordered  him  to  be  thrown  into 
the  midst  of  the  flames.*  A  precedent  so  an- 
cient for  this  sort  of  use  of  the  worshipped 
element,  appears,  for  all  purposes  at  least  of 
poetry,  to  be  fully  sufficient. 

In  addition  to  these  agreeable  testimonies, 
I  have  also  heard,  and,  need  hardly  add,  with 
some  pride  and  pleasure,  that  parts  of  this  work 
have  been  rendered  into  Persian,  and  have 
found  their  way  to  Ispahan.  To  this  fact,  as  I 
am  willing  to  think  it,  allusion  is  made  in  some 
lively  verses,  written  many  years  since,  by  my 
frieud,  Mr.  Luttrell : — 

"  I'm  told,  dear  Moore,  yonr  lays  are  sung, 
(Can  it  be  true,  you  lucky  man  ?) 
By  moonlight,  in  the  Persian  tongue, 
Along  the  streets  of  Ispahan." 

That  some  knowledge  of  the  work  may 
have  really  reached  that  region,  appears  not 
improbable  from  a  passage  in  the  Travels  of 
Mr.  Frazer,  who  says,  that  "  being  delayed  for 
some  time  at  a  town  on  the  shores  of  the  Cas- 
pian, he  was  lucky  enough  to  be  able  to  amuse 
himself  with  a  copy  of  Lalla  Rookh,  which  a 
Persian  had  lent  him." 

Of  the  description  of  Balbec,  in  "  Paradise 
and  the  Peri,"  Mr.  Carne,  in  his  Letters  from 
the  East,  thus  speaks :  "  The  description  in 
Lalla  Rookh  of  the  plain  and  its  ruins  is  exquis- 
itely faithful.  The  minaret  is  on  the  declivity 
near  at  hand,  and  there  wanted  only  the  muez- 
zin's cry  to  break  the  silence." 

I  shall  now  tax  my  readers'  patience  with 
but  one  more  of  these  generous  vouchers. 
Whatever  of  vanity  there  may  be  in  citing  such 
tributes,  they  show,  at  least,  of  what  great  value, 
even  in  poetry,  is  that  prosaic  quality,  industry  ; 
since,  as  the  reader  of  the  foregoing  pages  is 
now  fully  apprized,  it  was  in  a  slow  and  labori- 
ous collection  of  small  facts,  that  the  first  foun- 
dations of  this  fanciful  Romance  were  laid. 

The  friendly  testimony  I  have  just  referred 
to,  appeared,  some  years  since,  in  the  form  in 

*  Tradunt  autem  Hebr^ei  hanc  fabalam  quod  Abraham  in 
ignem  missus  sit  quia  ignem  adorare  noluit. — St.  Hieron. 
in  QuiFst-  in  Genesim. 

t  Lalla  Roiikh,  Divertissement  m616  de  Chants  et  de 


which  I  now  give  it,  and,  if  I  recollect  right,  in 
the  Athenaeum : — 

"  I  embrace  this  opportunity  of  bearing  my 
individual  testimony  (if  it  be  of  any  value)  to 
the  extraordinary  accuracy  of  Mr.  Moore,  in 
his  topographical,  antiquarian,  and  character- 
istic details,  whether  of  costume,  manners,  or 
less-changing  monuments,  both  in  his  Lalla 
Rookh,  and  in  the  Epicurean.  It  has  been  my 
fortune  to  read  his  Atlantic,  Bermudean,  and 
American  Odes  and  Epistles,  in  the  countries 
and  among  the  people  to  which  and  to  whbm 
they  related ;  I  enjoyed  also  the  exquisite 
delight  of  reading  his  Lalla  Rookh,  in  Persia 
itself;  and  I  have  perused  the  Epicurean,  while 
all  my  recollections  of  Egypt  and  its  still  ex- 
isting wonders  are  as  fresh  as  when  I  quitted 
the  banks  of  the  Nile  for  .Arabia : — I  owe  it, 
therefore,  as  a  debt  of  gratitude  (though  the 
payment  is  most  inadequate)  for  the  great 
pleasure  I  have  derived  from  his  productions, 
to  bear  my  humble  testimony  to  their  local 
fidelity. 

"J.  S.  B." 

Among  the  incidents  connected  with  this 
work,  I  must  not  omit  to  notice  the  splendid 
Divertissement,  founded  upon  it,  which  was 
acted  at  the  Chateau  Royal  of  Berlin,  during 
the  visit  of  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas  to  that 
capital,  in  tlie  year  1822.  The  different  stories 
composing  the  work  were  represented  in  Ta- 
bleaux Vivans  and  songs ;  and  among  the 
crowd  of  royal  and  noble  personages  engaged 
in  the  performances,  I  shall  mention  those  only 
who  represented  the  principal  characters,  and 
whom  I  find  thus  enumerated  in  the  published 
account  of  the  Divertissement. f 


I  Comte  Haack,    (Marechal 

!      de  Cour.) 

Aliris,  Roi  de  Bucharie,    .    .    S.  Jl.  I.  Le  Orand  Due. 
Lalla  Roukh S.A.  I.  LaGrand  Duehesse. 

*  S.  ji.  R.  Lc  Prince  Oml- 

i      laiLTne,  frere  dtt  Roi. 

.,,,,.    o.      At  K\-  •  S  5.  Ji.  R.  Le  Due  de  Cum- 

Abdallah,  Pere  d  Anns,  .    .     ' 

(      berland. 

\  S.    A.    R.    La    Prineesae 


'  Fadladin,  Grand-Nasir, 


Aurungzeb,  le  Grand  Mogol, 


La  Reine,  son  6pouse, 


(      Louise  Radziviil.^ 


Besides  these  and  other  leading  personages, 

Danses,  Berlin,  1822.  The  work  contains  a  series  of  colored 
engravings,  representing  groups,  processions,  &c.,  in  dilTerent 
Oriental  costumes. 


44 


PREFACE. 


there  were  also  brought  into  action,  under  the 
various  denominations  of  Seigneurs  et  Dames 
de  Bucharie,  Dames  de  Cachemire,  Seigneurs 
et  Dames  dansans  k  la  Fete  des  Roses,  &c., 
nearly  150  persons. 

or  the  manner  and  style  in  which  the  Ta- 
bleaux of  the  different  stories  are  described  in 
the  work  from  which  I  cite,  the  following  ac- 
count of  the  performance  of  Paradise  and  the 
Peri  will  afford  some  specimen  : — 

"  La  decoration  representoit  les  portes  bril- 
lantes  du  Paradis,  entourees  de  nuages.  Dans 
|w)remier  tableau  on  voyoit  la  Peri,  triste  et 
d_esolee,  couchee  sur  le  seuil  des  portes  fermees, 
et  I'Ange  de  lumi^re  qui  lui  addresse  des  con- 
solations et  des  conseils.  Le  second  represente 
le  moment,  oil  la  Peri,  dans  Tespoir  que  ce  don 
lui  ouvrira  Tentree  du  Paradis  recueille  la  der- 
niere  goutte  de  sang  que  vient  de  verser  le 
jeune  guerrier  Indien 

"  La  Peri  et  I'Ange  de  lumifere  repondoient 
pleinement  a  I'image  et  a  I'idee  qu'on  est  tente 
de  se  faire  de  ccs  deux  individus,  et  I'impres- 
sion  qu'a  faite  generalement  la  suite  des  ta- 
bleaux de  cet  episode  delicat  et  interessant  est 
loin  de  s'effacer  de  notre  souvenir." 

In  this  grand  Fete,  it  appears,  originated  the 
translation  of  Lalla  Rookh  into  German  verse, 
by  the  Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouque  ;  and  the 
circumstances  which  led  him  to  undertake  the 
task  are  described  by  himself,  in  a  Dedicatory 
Poem  to  the  Empress  of  Russia,  which  he  has 
prefixed  to  his  translation.  As  soon  as  the 
performance,  he  tells  us,  had  ended,  Lalla 
Rookh  (the  Empress  herself)  exclaimed,  with 
a  sigh,  "  Is  it,  then,  all  over  1  are  we  now  at 
the  close  of  all  that  has  given  us  so  much  de- 
light ?  and  lives  there  no  poet  who  will  impart 
to  others,  and  to  future  times,  some  notion  of 
the  happiness  we  have  enjoyed  this  evening  V 
On  hearing  this  appeal,  a  Knight  of  Cachmere 
(who  is  no  other  than  the  poetical  Baron  him- 
self) comes  forward  and  promises  to  attempt  to 
present  to  the  world  "  the  Poem  itself  in  the 
measure  of  the  original :" — whereupon  Lalla 
Rookh,  it  is  added,  approvingly  smiled. 


PREFACE 

TO 

THE  SEVENTH  VOLUME. 

The  station  assigned  to  "  The  Fudge  Family" 
in  the  following  pages,  immediately  after  Lalla 
Rookh,  agrees  but  *,oo  closely  with  the  actual 
order  in  which  these  two  works  were  originally 
written  and  published.  The  success,  far  ex- 
ceeding my  hopes  and  deserts,  with  which 
Lalla  Rookh  was  immediately  crowned,  re- 
lieved me  at  once  from  the  anxious  feeling  of 
responsibility  under  which,  as  my  readers  have 
seen,  that  enterprise  had  been  commenced,  and 
which  continued  for  some  time  to  haunt  ,;ie 
amidst  all  the  enchantments  of  my  task.  I  was 
therefore  in  the  true  holyday  mood,  when  i 
dear  friend,  with  whose  name  is  associated 
some  of  the  brightest  and  pleasantest  hours  of 
my  past  life.*  kindlv  offered  me  a  seat  in  his 
carriage  for  a  short  visit  to  Paris.  This  pro- 
posal I,  of  course,  most  gladly  accepted ;  and, 
in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1817,  found  myself, 
for  the  first  time,  in  that  gay  capital. 

As  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbon  dynasty 
was  still  of  too  recent  a  date  for  any  amalgama- 
tion to  have  yet  taken  place  between  the  new 
and  ancient  order  of  things,  all  the  most  prom- 
inent features  of  both  regimes  were  just  then 
brought,  in  their  fullest  relief,  into  juxtaposi- 
tion ;  and,  accordingly,  the  result  was  such  as 
to  suggest  to  an  unconcerned  spectator  quite 
as  abundant  matter  for  ridicule  as  for  grave 
political  consideration.  It  would  be  difficult, 
indeed,  to  convey  to  those  who  had  not  them- 
selves seen  the  Paris  of  that  period,  any  clear 
notion  of  the  anomalous  aspect,  both  social  and 
political,  which  it  then  presented.  It  was  as 
if,  in  the  days  succeeding  the  Deluge,  a  small 
coterie  of  antediluvians  had  been  suddenly 
evoked  from  out  of  the  deep  to  take  the  com- 
mand of  a  new  and  freshly-starting  world. 

To  me,  the  abundant  amusement  and  interest 
which  such  a  scene  could  not  but  afford,  was  a 
good  deal  heightened  by  my  having,  in  my 
youthful  days,  been  made  acquainted  with  some 
of  those  personages  who  were  now  most  in- 
terested in  the  future  success  of  the  Legitimate 

*  Rlr.  Rogers. 


PREFACE. 


45 


cause.  The  Comte  D'Artois,  or  Monsieur,  I 
had  met  in  the  year  180'J-3,  at  Donington 
Park,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Moira,  under 
whose  princely  roof  I  used  often  and  long,  in 
those  days,  to  find  a  most  hospitable  home.  A 
small  party  of  distinguished  French  emigrants 
were  already  staying  on  a  visit  in  the  house 
when  Monsieur  and  his  suile  arrived  ;  and 
among  those  were  the  present  King  of  France 
and  his  two  brothers,  the  Due  de  Montpensier, 
and  the  Comte  de  Beaujolais. 

Some  doubt  and  uneasiness  had,  I  remem- 
ber, been  felt  by  the  two  latter  brothers,  as  to 
the  reception  they  were  likely  to  encounter 
from  tlie  new  guest ;  and  as,  in  those  times,  a 
cropped  and  unpowdered  head  was  regarded 
generally  as  a  symbol  of  Jacobinism,  the  Comte 
Beaujolais,  who,  like  many  other  young  men, 
wore  his  hair  in  this  fashion,  thought  it,  on  the 
present  occasion,  most  prudent,  in  order  to 
avoid  all  risk  of  offence,  not  only  to  put  pow- 
der in  his  hair,  but  also  to  provide  himself  with 
an  artificial  queue.  This  measure  of  precau- 
tion, however,  led  to  a  slight  incident  after  din- 
ner, which,  though  not  very  royal  or  dignified, 
was  at  least  creditable  to  the  social  good-hu- 
mor of  the  future  Charles  X.  On  the  depar- 
ture of  the  ladies  from  the  dining-room,  we  had 
hardly  seated  ourselves  in  the  old-fashioned 
style,  round  the  fire,  when  Monsieur,  who  had 
happened  to  place  himself  next  to  Beaujolais, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ascititious  tail, — which, 
having  been  rather  carelessly  put  on,  had  a 
good  deal  straggled  out  of  its  place.  With  a 
sort  of  scream  of  jocular  pleasure,  as  if  delight- 
ed at  the  discovery,  Monsieur  seized  the  stray 
appendage,  and,  bringing  it  round  into  full 
view,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  whole 
company,  popped  it  into  poor  grinning  Beau- 
jolais' mouth. 

On  one  of  the  evenings  of  this  short  visit  of 
Monsieur,  I  remember  Curran  arriving  unex- 
pectedly, on  his  way  to  London  ;  and,  having 
come  too  late  for  dinner,  he  joined  our  party 
in  the  evening.  As  the  foreign  portion  of 
the  company  was  then  quite  new  to  him,  I  was 
able  to  be  useful,  by  informing  him  of  the 
names,  rank,  and  other  particulars  of  the  party 
he  found   assembled,  from   Monsieur  himself, 

•  See  p.  184  of  this  edition. 

t  In  employing  the  past  tense  here,  I  do  the  present  lord 


down  to  the  old  Due  de  Lorge  and  the  Baron 
de  RoUe.  When  I  had  gone  through  the 
whole  list,  "  All,  poor  fellows  !"  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  mixture  of  fun  and  pathos  in  his  look, 
truly  Irish,  "  Poor  fellows,  all  dismounted 
cavalry  !" 

On  the  last  evening  of  Monsieur's  stay,  I 
was  made  to  sing  for  him,  among  other  songs, 
"  Farewell  Bessy  !"  one  of  my  earliest  attempts 
at  musical  composition.  As  soon  as  I  had 
finished,  he  paid  me  the  compliment  of  reading 
aloud  the  words  as  written  under  the  music ; 
and  most  royal  havoc  did  he  make,  as  to  this 
day  I  well  remtiiiber,  of  whatever  little  sense 
or  metre  they  could  boast. 

Among  my  earlier  poetic  writings,  more 
than  one  grateful  memorial  may  be  found  of 
the  happy  days  I  passed  in  this  hospitable 
mansion, — * 

Of  all  my  sunny  morns  and  mocr,light  nights 
Ou  Donington's  green  lawns  and  breezy  heights. 

But  neither  verse  nor  prose  could  do  any 
justice  to  the  sort  of  impression  I  still  retain 
of  those  long-vanished  days.  The  library  at 
Donington  wasf  extensive  and  valuable  ;  and 
through  the  privilege  kindly  granted  to  me  of 
retiring  thither  for  study,  even  when  the  family 
were  absent,  I  frequently  passed  whole  weeks 
alone  in  that  fine  library,  indulging  in  all  the 
first  airy  castle-building  of  authorship.  The 
various  projects,  indeed,  of  future  works  that 
used  then  to  pass  in  fruitless  succession  through 
my  mind,  can  be  compared  only  to  the  waves 
as  described  by  the  poet, — 

"  And  one  no  sooner  touch'd  the  shore,  and  died, 
Than  a  new  follower  rose." 

With  that  library  is  also  connected  another 
of  my  earlier  poems,- — the  verses  addressed  to 
the  Duke  of  Montpensier  on  his  portrait  of  the 
Lady  Adelaide  Forbes  ;f  for  it  was  there  that 
this  truly  noble  lady,  then  in  the  first  dawn  of 
her  beaut)',  used  to  sit  for  that  picture  ;  while, 
in  another  part  of  the  library,  the  Duke  of 
Orleans, — engaged  generally  at  that  time  with 
a  volume  of  Clarendon, — was  by  such  studies 
unconsciously  preparing  himself  for  the  high 
and  arduous  destiny,  which  not  only  the  Good 

injustice,  whose  filial  wish  I  know  it  is  to  licep  all  at  Do- 
nington exactly  as  his  noble  lather  lel^  iL 
X  See  p.  148  of  this  edition. 


46 


PREFACE. 


Genius  of  France,  but  his  own  sagacious  and 
intrepid  spirit,  liad  early  marlved  out  for  him. 

I  need  hardly  say  how  totally  different  were 
all  the  circumstances  under  which  Monsieur 
himself  and  some  of  his  followers  were  again 
seen  by  me  in  the  year  1817  ; — the  same  act- 
ors, indeed,  but  with  an  entirely  new  change 
of  scenery  and  decorations.  Among  the  variety 
of  aspects  presented  by  this  change,  the  ridicu- 
lous certainly  predominated  ;  nor  could  a  sat- 
irist who,  like  Philoctetes,  was  smitten  with  a 
fancy  for  shooting  at  geese,*  ask  an)'  better 
supply  of  such  game  than  the  high  places,  in 
France,  at  that  period,  both  lay  and  ecclesias- 
tical, afforded.  Not  being  versed,  however, 
sufficiently  in  French  politics  to  venture  to 
meddle  with  them,  even  in  sport,  I  found  a 
more  ready  conductor  of  laughter — for  which 
I  was  then  much  in  the  mood — in  those  groups 
of  ridiculous  English  who  were  at  that  time 
swarming  in  all  directions  throughout  Paris, 
and  of  all  whose  various  forms  of  cockney- 
ism  and  nonsense  I  endeavored,  in  the  per- 
sonages of  the  Fudge  Family,  to  collect  the 
concentrated  essence.  The  result,  as  usual, 
fell  very  far  short  of  what  I  had  myself  precon- 
ceived and  intended.  But,  making  its  appear- 
ance at  such  a  crisis,  the  work  brought  with  it 
that  best  seasoning  of  all  such  jeux-d^csjirit, 
the  a-propos  of  the  moment ;  and,  accordingly, 
in  the  race  of  successive  editions,  Lalla  Rookh 
was,  for  some  time,  kept  pace  with  by  Miss 
Biddy  Fudge. 

The  series  of  trifles  contained  in  this  volume, 
entitled  "  Rhymes  on  the  Road,"  were  written 
partly  as  their  title  implies,  and  partly  at  a 
subsequent  period  from  memorandums  made 
on  the  spot.  This  will  account  for  so  many 
of  those  pieces  being  little  better,  I  fear,  than 
"prose  fringed  with  rhyme."  The  journey 
to  a  part  of  which  those  Rhymes  owed  their 
existence,  was  commenced  in  company  with 
Lord  John  Russell  in  the  autumn  of  the  year 
1819.  After  a  week  or  two  passed  at  Paris,  to 
enable  Lord  John  to  refer  to  Barillon's  Letters 
for  a  new  edition  of  his  Life  of  Lord  Russell 
then  preparing,  we  set  out  together  for  the 
Simpldn.  At  Milan,  the  agreeable  society  of 
the  late  Lord  Kinnaird  detained  us  for  a  few 


*  "Pinnigero,  non  armigeroin  corpnre  tela  exerceanlur ;" 
the  words  put  by  Accius  in  the  mouth  of  Philoctetes. 


days ;  and  then  my  companion  took  the  route 
to  Genoa,  while  I  proceeded  on  a  visit  to  Lord 
Byron,  at  Venice. 

It  was  during  the  journey,  thus  briefly  de- 
scribed, I  addressed  the  well-known  Remon- 
strance to  my  noble  friend,f  which  has  of  late 
been  frequently  coupled  with  my  prophetic 
verses  on  the  Duke  of  Wellington,!  from  the 
prescient  spirit  with  which  it  so  confidently 
looked  forward  to  all  that  Lord  John  has  since 
become  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

Of  my  visit  to  Lord  Byron, — an  event  to 
me  so  memorable, — I  have  already  detailed 
all  the  most  interesting  particulars  in  my  pub- 
lished Life  of  the  poet ;  and  shall  here  only 
cite,  from  that  work,  one  passage,  r.s  having 
some  reference  to  a  picture  mentioned  in  the 
following  pages.  "  As  we  were  conversing 
after  dinner  about  the  various  collections  of 
paintings  I  had  seen  that  morning,  on  my 
saying  that,  fearful  as  I  was  of  ever  praising 
any  picture,  lest  I  should  draw  on  myself  the 
connoisseur's  sneer,  for  my  pains,  I  would  yet, 
to  him,  venture  to  own  that  I  had  seen  a  pic- 
ture at  Milan,  which ■  '  The  Hagar  !'^  he 

exclaimed,  eagerly  interrupting  me ;  and  it 
was,  in  fact,  that  very  picture  I  was  about  to 
mention  to  him  as  having  awakened  in  me,  by 
the  truth  of  its  expression,  more  real  emotion 
than  any  I  had  yet  seen  among  the  chcfs- 
(Tauvre  of  Venice." 

In  the  society  I  chiefly  lived  with,  while  at 
Rome,  I  considered  myself  singularly  fortunate ; 
though  but  a  blind  and  uninitiated  worshipper 
of  those  powers  of  Art  of  which  my  companions 
were  all  high-priests.  Canova  himself,  Chan- 
trey,  Lawrence,  Jackson,  Turner,  Eastlake, — 
such  were  the  men  of  whose  presence  and 
guidance  I  enjoyed  the  advantage  in  visiting 
all  that  unrivalled  Rome  can  boast  of  beautiful 
and  grand.  That  I  derived  from  this  course 
of  tuition  any  thing  more  than  a  very  humbling 
consciousness  of  my  own  ignorance  and  want 
of  taste,  in  matters  of  art,  I  will  not  be  so  dis- 
honest as  to  pretend.  But,  to  the  stranger  in 
Rome  every  step  forms  an  epoch  ;  and,  in  addi- 
tion to  all  its  own  countless  appeals  to  memory 
and  imagination,  the  agreeable  auspices  under 
which  I  first  visited  all  its  memorable  places 


t  See  ^[isceIla^eoas  Poems.    X  See  p.  250,  of  this  edition. 
^  Abraham  dismissing  H:igar,  by  Guercino. 


PREFACE. 


47 


could  not  but  render  every  impression  I  re- 
ceived more  vivid  and  permanent.  Thus,  with 
my  recollection  of  the  Sepulchre  of  St.  Peter, 
and  its  ever-burning  lamps,  for  which  splendid 
spot  Oanova  was  then  meditating  a  statue,* 
there  is  always  connected  in  my  mind  the  ex- 
clamation which  I  heard  break  from  Chantrey 
after  gazing,  for  a  few  moments,  in  silence, 
upon  that  glorious  site, — "  What  a  place  to 
work  for !" 

In  one  of  the  poems  contained  in  this  vol- 
ume,! allusion  is  made  to  an  evening  not  easily 
forgotten,  when  Chantrey  and  myself  were 
taken  by  Canova  to  the  Borghese  Palace,  for 
the  purpose  of  showing  us,  by  the  light  of  a 
taper — his  favorite  mode  of  exhibiting  that 
work — his  beautiful  statue  of  the  Princess 
Borghese,  called  the  Venere  A'incitrice.  In 
Chantrey's  eagerness  to  point  out  some  grace 
or  effect  that  peculiarly  struck  him,  he  snatched 
the  light  out  of  Canova's  hand  ;  and  to  this  cir- 
cumstance the  following  passage  of  the  poem 
referred  to  was  meant  to  allude  ; — 

When  he,  thy  peer  in  art  and  fame, 
Hung  o'er  the  marble  with  delight  ;t 
And,  wl.ile  his  iing'ring  hand  would  steal 

O'er  every  grace  the  taper's  rays, 
Gave  thee,  with  all  the  gen'rous  zeal 
Such  master-spirits  only  feel. 

The  best  of  fanie — a  rival's  praise. 

One  of  the  days  that  still  linger  most  pleas- 
antly in  my  memory,  and  which,  I  trust,  neither 
Lady  Calcott  nor  Mr.  Eastlake  have  quite  for- 
gotten, was  that  of  our  visit  together  to  the 
Palatine  Mount,  when,  as  we  sauntered  about 
that  picturesque  spot,  enjoying  the  varied  views 
of  Rome  which  it  commands,  they  made  me, 
for  the  first  time,  acquainted  with  Guidi's 
spirited  Ode  en  the  Arcadians,  in  which  there 
is  poetry  enough  to  make  amends  for  all  the 
nonsense  of  his  rhyming  brethren.  Truly  and 
grandly  does  he  exclaim, — 

"  Indomita  e  superba  ancor  h  Roma 
Benche  si  veggia  col  gran  busto  a  terra  ; 
***** 
Son  piene  di  splendor  le  sue  ruine, 
E  il  gran  cenere  suo  si  mostra  eterno.'* 

With  Canova,  while  sitting  to  Jackson  for 
a  portrait  ordered  by  Chantrey,  I  had  more 
than  once  some  interesting  conversation, — or, 
rather,  listened   while   he  spoke, — respecting 


•  A  stntue,  I  believe,  of  Pius  VI. 
t  See  Rhymes  on  the  Road,  Eitr.  xv. 


the  political  state  of  Europe  at  that  period, 
and  those  "  bricconi,"  as  he  styled  them,  the 
sovereigns  of  the  Holy  Alliance  ;  and,  before  I 
left  Rome,  he  kindly  presented  to  rae  a  set  of 
engravings  from  some  of  his  finest  statues,  to- 
gether with  a  copy  of  the  beautifully  printed 
collection  of  Poems,  which  a  Roman  poet, 
named  Missirini,  had  written  in  praise  of  his 
different  "  Marmi." 

When  Lord  John  Russell  and  myself  parted, 
at  Milan,  it  was  agreed  between  us,  that  after  a 
short  visit  to  Rome,  and  (if  practicable  within 
the  allowed  titne)  to  Naples,  I  was  to  rejoin 
him  at  Genoa,  and  from  thence  accompany  him 
to  England.  But  the  early  period  for  which 
Parliament  was  summoned,  that  year,  ou  jig  to 
the  violent  proceedings  at  Manchester,  rendered 
it  necessary  for  Lord  John  to  hasten  his  return 
to  England.  I  was,  therefore,  most  fortunate, 
under  such  circumstances,  in  being  permitted 
by  my  friends  Chantrey  and  Jackson  to  join  in 
their  journey  homeward  ;  through  which  luckj 
arrangement,  the  same  precious  privilege  I 
had  enjoyed,  at  Rome,  of  hearing  the  opinions 
of  such  practised  judges,  on  all  the  great  works 
of  art  I  saw  in  their  company,  was  continued 
afterwards  to  me  through  the  various  collec- 
tions we  visited  together,  at  Florence,  Bologna, 
Modena,  Parma,  Milan,  and  Turin. 

To  some  of  those  pictures  and  statues  that 
most  took  my  fancy,  during  my  tour,  allusions 
will  be  found  in  a  few  of  the  poems  contained 
in  this  volume.  But  the  great  pleasure  I  de- 
rived from  these  and  many  other  such  works 
arose  far  more  from  the  poetical  nature  of  their 
subjects  than  from  any  judgment  I  had  learned 
to  form  of  their  real  merit  as  works  of  art, 
— a  line  of  lore  in  which,  notwithstanding  my 
course  of  schooling,  I  remained,  I  fear,  unen- 
lightened to  the  last.  For  all  that  was  lost 
upon  me,  however,  in  the  halls  of  Art,  I  was 
more  than  consoled  in  the  cheap  picture- 
gallery  of  Nature  ;  and  a  glorious  sunset  I 
witnessed  in  ascending  the  Simplon  is  still 
remembered  by  me  with  a  depth  and  freshness 
of  feeling  which  no  one  work  of  art  I  saw  in 
the  galleries  of  Italy  has  left  behind. 

I  have  now  a  few  words  to  devote  to  a  some- 
what kindred  subject,  with  which  a  poem  or 


J  A  slight  alteration  here  has  rendered  these  verses  more 
true  to  the  actual  fact  than  Ihey  were  in  the  original  form. 


48 


PREFACE. 


two  contained  in  the  following  pages  are  closely 
connected.*  In  my  Preface  to  the  first  Vol- 
ume of  this  collection,  I  briefly  noticed  the 
taste  for  Private  Theatrical  Performances  which 
prevailed  during  the  latter  half  of  the  last  cen- 
tury among  the  higher  ranks  in  Ireland.  This 
taste  continued  for  nearly  twenty  years  to  sur- 
vive the  epoch  of  the  Union,  and  in  the  per- 
formances of  the  Private  Tlieatre  of  Kilkenny 
gave  forth  its  last,  as  well  as,  perhaps,  brightest 
flashes.  The  life  and  soul  of  this  institution 
was  our  manager,  the  late  JMr.  Richard  Power, 
a  gentleman  who  could  boast  a  larger  circle  of 
attached  friends,  and  through  a  life  more  free 
from  sliadow  or  alloy,  than  any  individual  it 
has  ever  been  my  lot  to  know.  No  livelier 
proof,  indeed,  could  be  required  of  the  sort  of 
feeling  entertained  towards  him  than  was  once 
shown  in  the  reception  given  to  the  two  follow- 
ing homely  lines  which  occurred  in  a  Prologue 
I  wrote  to  be  spoken  by  IMr.  Corry  in  the  char- 
acter of  Vapid. 

'Tis  said  our  worthy  nian.iger  intends 

To  help  my  night,  and  //c,  you  know,  has  friends.t 

These  few  simple  words  I  wrote  with  the  as- 
sured conviction  that  tliey  would  produce  more 
eflect,  from  the  homefelt  truism  they  contained, 
than  could  be  efii'ected  by  the  most  labored 
burst  of  eloquence  ;  and  the  result  was  just 
what  I  had  anticipated,  for  the  house  rung,  for 
a  considerable  time,  with  the  heartiest  plaudits. 
The  chief  comic,  or  rather  farcical,  force  of 
the  company  lay  in  my  friend  Jlr.  Corry,  and 
"  longo  intervallo,"  myself;  and  though,  as 
usual  with  low  comedians,  we  were  much 
looked  down  upon  by  the  lofty  lords  of  the 
buskin,  many  was  the  sly  joke  we  used  to 
indulge  together  at  the  expense  of  our  heroic 
brethren.  Some  waggish  critic,  indeed,  is  said 
to  have  declared  that  of  all  the  personages  of 
our  theatre  he  most  admired  the  prompter, — 
"  because  he  was  least  seen  and  best  heard." 
But  this  Joke  was,  of  course,  a  mere  good- 
humored  slander.  There  were  two,  at  least, 
of  our  dramatic  corps.  Sir  Wrixon  Becher  and 
Mr.  Rothe,  whose  powers,  as  tragic  actors,  few 
amateurs  have  ever  equalled  ;  and  Mr.  Corry 
— perhaps  alone  of  all  our  company — would 
have  been  sure  of  winning  laurels  on  the  public 
stage. 

*  See  page  512. 


As  to  my  own  share  in  these  representations, 
the  following  list  of  my  most  successful  char- 
acters will  show  how  remote  from  tlie  line  of 
the  Heroic  was  the  small  orbit  through  which 
I  ranged  ;  my  chief  parts  having  been  Sam,  in 
"Raising  the  Wind,"  Robin  Roughliead,Mungo, 
Sadi,  in  the  "  Mountaineers,"  Spado,  and  Peep- 
ing Tom.  In  the  part  of  Spado  there  occur 
several  allusions  to  that  gay  rogue's  shortness 
of  stature,  which  never  failed  to  be  welcomed 
by  my  auditors  with  laughter  and  cheers  ;  and 
the  words  "  Even  Sanguine  allows  I  am  a 
clever  little  fellow"  was  always  a  signal  for 
this  sort  of  friendly  explosion.  One  of  the 
songs,  indeed,  written  by  0"lveefe  for  the  char- 
acter of  Spado,  so  much  abounds  with  points 
thus  personally  applicable,  that  many  supposed, 
with  no  great  compliment  either  to  my  poetry 
or  my  modesty,  that  the  song  had  been  written, 
expressly  for  the  occasion,  by  myself.  The 
following  is  the  verse  to  which  I  allude,  and 
for  the  poetry  of  which  I  was  thus  made  re- 
sponsible : — 

"  Though  born  to  be  little's  my  fate, 

Yet  so  was  the  great  Alexander; 
And.  when  I  walk  under  a  gate, 

I've  no  need  to  stoop  lil^e  a  gander. 
I'm  no  lanlty,  long  hoddy-doddy, 

Whose  paper-kite  sails  in  the  sky; 
Though  wanting  two  feet,  in  my  body, 

In  soul,  I  am  thu-ty  feet  high." 

Some  further  account  of  the  Kilkenny  The- 
atre, as  well  as  of  the  history  of  Private  The- 
atricals in  general,  will  be  found  in  an  article  I 
wrote  on  the  subject  for  the  Edinburgh  Re- 
view, vol.  xlvi.  No.  92,  p.  368. 


PREFACE 


THE  EIGHTH  VOLUME. 

On  my  return  from  the  interesting  visit  to 
Rome,  of  which  some  account  has  been  given 
in  the  preceding  Preface,  I  took  up  my  abode 
in  Paris,  and,  being  joined  there  by  my  family, 
continued  to  reside  in  that  capital,  or  its  en- 


t  See  page  512. 


PREFACE. 


49 


virons,  till  about  the  close  of  the  year  18-23. 
As  no  life,  however  sunny,  is  without  its  clouds, 
I  could  not  escape,  of  course,  my  share  of  such 
passing  shadows  ;  and  this  long  estrangement 
from  our  happy  English  home,  towards  which 
roy  family  yearned  even  more  fondly  than 
myself,  had  been  caused  by  difficulties  of  a 
pecuniary  nature,  and  to  a  large  amount,  in 
which  I  had  been  involved  by  the  conduct  of 
the  person  who  acted  as  my  deputy  in  the  small 
office  I  held  at  Bermuda. 

That  I  should  ever  have  come  to  be  chosen 
for  such  an  employment,  seems  one  of  those 
freaks  or  anomalies  of  human  destiny  which 
baffle  all  ordinary  speculation ;  and  went  far,, 
indeed,  to  realize  Beaumarchais'  notion  of  the 
sort  of  standard  by  which,  too  frequently, 
qualification  for  place  is  regulated, — "  II  fallut 
un  calculateur  ;  ee  fut  un  danseur  qui  Tobtint." 

But  however  much,  in  this  instance,  I  suf- 
fered from  my  want  of  schooling  in  matters  of 
business,  and  more  especially  from  my  having 
neglected  the  ordinary  precaution  of  requiring 
security  from  my  deputy,  I  was  more  than 
consoled  for  all  such  embarrassment,  were  it 
even  ten  times  as  much,  by  the  eager  kindness 
with  which  friends  pressed  forward  to  help 
to  release  me  from  my  difficulties.  Could  I 
venture  to  name  the  persons, — and  they  were 
many, — who  thus  volunteered  their  aid,  it 
would  be  found  they  were  all  of  them  men 
whose  characters  enhanced  such  a  service,  and 
that,  in  all,  the  name  and  the  act  reflected 
honor  upon  each  other. 

I  shall  so  far  lift  the  veil  in  which  such  deli- 
cate generosity  seeks  to  shroud  itself,  as  to  men- 
tion briefly  the  manner  in  which  one  of  these 
kind  friends, — himself  possessing  but  limited 
means, — proposed  to  contribute  to  the  object 
of  releasing  me  from  my  embarrassments.  After 
adverting,  in  his  letter,  t)  my  misfortunes,  and 
"  the  noble  way,"  as  h«  was  pleased  to  say, 
"  in  which  I  bore  then.,"  he  adds, — "  would 
it  be  very  impertinent  to  say,  that  I  have  5001. 
entirely  at  your  disposal,  to  be  paid  when  you 
like  ;  and  as  much  more  that  I  could  advance, 
upon  any  reasonable  security,  payable  in  seven 
years  V  The  writer  concludes  by  apologizing 
anxiously  and  delicately  for  "  the  liberty  which 
he  thus  takes,"  assuring  rae  that  "  he  would  not 
have  made  the  oSer  if  he  did  not  feel  that  he 
would  most  readily  accept  the  same  assistance 


from  me."  I  select  this  one  instance  from  among 
the  many  which  that  trying  event  of  my  life 
enables  me  to  adduce,  both  on  account  of  the 
deliberate  feeling  of  manly  regard  Avhich  it 
manifests,  and  also  from  other  considerations 
which  it  would  be  out  of  place  here  to  mention, 
but  which  rendered  so  genuine  a  mark  of 
friendship  from  such  a  quarter  peculiarly  touch- 
ing and  welcome  to  me. 

When  suci.  .vere  the  men  who  hastened  to 
my  aid  in  this  jmergenc  y,  I  need  hardly  say,  it 
was  from  no  squeamish  pride, — for  the  pride 
would  have  been  in  receiving  favors  from  such 
hands, — that  I  came  to  the  resolution  of  grate- 
fully declining  their  offers,  and  endeavoring 
to  work  out  my  deliverance  by  my  own  efforts. 
With  a  credit  still  fresh  in  the  market  of  liter- 
ature, and  with  publishers  ready  as  ever  to 
risk  their  thousands  on  my  i  \me,  I  could  not 
but  feel  that,  however  gratifying  was  the  gener- 
ous zeal  of  such  friends,  I  should  best  show 
that  I,  in  some  degree,  deserved  their  offers, 
by  declining,  under  such  circumstances,  to  ac- 
cept them. 

Meanwhile,  an  attachment  had  issued  against 
me  from  the  Court  of  Admiralty ;  and  as  a 
negotiation  was  about  to  be  opened  with  the 
American  claimants,  for  a  reduction  of  their 
large  demand  upon  me, — supposed,  at  that 
time,  to  amount  to  six  thousand  pounds, — it 
was  deemed  necessary  that,  pending  the  treaty, 
I  should  take  up  my  abode  in  France. 

To  write  for  the  means  of  daily  subsistence, 
and  even  in  most  instances  to  "  forestall  the 
slow  harvest  of  the  brain,"  was  for  me,  un- 
luckily, no  novel  task.  But  I  had  now,  in 
addition  to  these  home  calls  upon  the  Muse,  a 
new,  painful,  and,  in  its  first  aspect,  overwhelm- 
ing exigence  to  provide  for;  and,  certainly, 
Paris,  swarming  throughout  as  it  \vas,  at  that 
period,  with  rich,  gay,  and  dissipated  English, 
was,  to  a  person  of  my  social  habits  and  multi- 
farious acquaintance,  the  very  worst  possible 
place  that  could  have  been  resorted  to  for  even 
the  semblance  of  a  quiet  or  studious  home. 
The  only  tranquil,  and,  therefore,  to  me,  most 
precious  portions  of  that  period  were  the  two 
summers  passed  by  my  family  and  myself  with 
our  kind  Spanish  friends,  the  V  *******  Is, 
at  their  beautiful  place,  La  Butte  Coaslin,  on 
the  road  up  to  Bellevue.  There,  in  a  cottage 
belonging  to   M.  V  *******  1,  and  but  a 


50 


PREFACE. 


few  steps  from  his  house,  we  contrived  to 
conjure  up  an  apparition  of  Sloperton  ;*  and  I 
\vas"al)le  for  some  time  to  work  with  a  feeling 
of  comfort  and  home.  I  used  frequently  to 
pass  the  morning  in  rambling  alone  through 
the  noble  park  of  St.  Cloud,  with  no  apparatus 
for  the  work  of  authorship  but  my  memo- 
randum-book and  pencils,  forming  sentences  to 
run  smooth  and  moulding  verses  into  shape. 
In  the  evenings  I  generally  joined  with  Madame 
V*******lin  Italian  duetts,  or,  with  far 
mo.e  pleasure,  sat  as  listener,  while  she  sung  to 
the  Spanish  guitar  those  sweet  songs  of  her  own 
country  to  which  few  voices  could  do  such  justice. 

One  of  the  pleasant  circumstances  connected 
with  our  summer  visits  to  La  Butte  was  the 
near  neighborhood  of  our  friend  Mr.  Kenny, 
the  lively  dramatic  writer,  who  was  lodged 
picturesquely  in  the  remains  of  the  Palace  of 
the  King's  Aunts,  at  Bellevue.  I  remember, 
on  my  first  telling  Kenny  the  particulars  of  my 
Bermuda  mishap,  his  saying,  after  a  pause  of 
real  feeling,  "  Well, — it's  lucky  you're  a  poet ; 
— a  philosopher  never  could  have  borne  it." 
Washington  Irving  also  was,  for  a  short  time, 
our  visiter ;  and  still  recollects,  I  trust,  his 
reading  to  me  some  parts  of  his  then  forth- 
coming work,  Bracebridge  Hall,  as  we  sat 
togetlier  on  the  grass  walk  that  leads  to  the 
Rocher,  at  La  Butte. 

Among  the  writings,  then  but  in  embryo,  to 
which  I  looked  forward  for  the  means  of  my 
enfranchisement,  one  of  the  most  important, 
as  well  as  most  likely  to  be  productive,  was 
ray  intended  Life  of  Sheridan.  But  I  soon 
found  that,  at  such  a  distance  from  all  those 
living  authorities  from  whom  alone  I  could 
gain  any  interesting  information  respecting 
the  private  life  of  one  who  left  behind  him 
so  little  epistolary  correspondence,  it  would  be 
wholly  impossible  to  proceed  satisfactorily  with 
this  task.  Accordingly  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Murray 
and  Mr.  Wilkie,  who  were  at  that  time  the  in- 
tended publishers  of  the  work,  to  apprize  them 
of  this  temporary  obstacle  to  its  progress. 

Being  thus  baflled  in  the  very  first  of  the 
few  resources  I  had  looked  to,  I  next  thought 
of  a  Romance  in  verse,  in  the  form  of  Letters, 
or  Epistles ;  and  with  this  view  sketched  out  a 

*  "  A  little  cot,  with  trees  arow, 
And,  like  its  master,  very  low." 


Story,  on  an  Egyptian  subject,  differing  not 
much  from  that  which,  some  years  after,  formed 
the  groundwork  of  the  Epicurean.  After  la- 
boring, however,  for  some  months,  at  this 
experiment,  amidst  interruption,  dissipation, 
and  distraction,  which  might  well  put  all  the 
Nine  Muses  to  flight,  I  gave  up  the  attempt 
in  despair ; — fully  convinced  of  the  truth  of 
that  warning  conveyed  in  some  early  verses  of 
my  own,  addressed  to  the  Invisible  Girl : — 

Oh  hint  to  the  bard, 'tis  retirement  alone 
Can  hallow  its  harp  or  ennoble  its  tone  : 
Like  you,  with  a  veil  of  seclusion  between, 
His  song  to  the  world  let  him  utter  unseen, 

tc.  feet 

It  was,  indeed,  to  the  secluded  life  I  led  during 
the  years  1813 — 1816,  in  a  lone  cottage  among 
the  fields  in  Derbyshire,  that  I  owed  the  in- 
spiration, whatever  may  have  been  its  value, 
of  some  of  the  best  and  most  popular  portions 
of  Lalla  Rookh.  It  was  amidst  the  snows  of 
two  or  three  Derbyshire  winters  that  I  found 
myself  enabled,  by  that  concentration  of  thought 
which  retirement  alone  gives,  to  call  up  around 
me  some  of  the  sunniest  of  those  Eastern  scenes 
which  have  since  been  welcomed  in  India  itself, 
as  almost  native  to  its  clime. 

But,  abortive  as  had  now  been  all  my  efforts 
to  woo  the  shy  spirit  of  Poesy,  amidst  such 
unquiet  scenes,  the  course  of  reading  I  found 
time  to  pursue,  on  the  subject  of  Egypt,  was 
of  no  small  service  in  storing  my  mind  with 
the  various  knowledge  respecting  that  country, 
which  some  years  later  I  turned  to  account,  in 
writing  the  story  of  the  Epicurean.  The  kind 
facilities,  indeed,  towards  this  object,  which 
some  of  the  most  distinguished  French  scholars 
and  artists  afforded  me,  are  still  remembered 
by  me  with  thankfulness.  Besides  my  old 
acquaintance,  Denon,  whose  drawings  of  Egypt, 
then  of  some  value,  I  frequently  consulted,  I 
found  Mons.  Fourier  and  Mons.  Langles  no  less 
prompt  in  placing  books  at  my  disposal.  With 
Humboldt,  also,  who  was  at  that  tiine  in  Paris, 
I  had  more  than  once  some  conversation  on  the 
subject  of  Egypt,  and  remember  his  expressing 
himself  in  no  very  laudatory  terms  respecting 
the  labors  of  the  French  savans  in  that  country. 

I  had  now  been  foiled  and  frustrated  in  two 

t  See  p.  127  of  this  edition. 


PREFACE. 


51 


of  those  literary  projects  on  which  I  had 
counted  most  sanguinely  in  the  calculation  of 
rny  resources  ;  and,  though  1  had  found  sufficient 
time  to  furnish  my  musical  publisher  with  the 
Eighth  Number  of  the  Irish  Melodies,  and  also 
a  Number  of  the  National  Airs,  these  works 
alone,  I  knew,  would  yield  but  an  insufficient 
supply,  compared  with  the  demands  so  closely 
and  threateningly  hanging  over  me.  In  this 
difficulty  I  called  to  mind  a  subject, — the  East- 
ern allegory  of  the  Loves  of  the  Angels, — on 
which  I  had,  some  years  before,  begun  a  prose 
story,  but  in  which,  as  a  theme  for  poetry,  I 
had  now  been  anticipated  by  Lord  Byron,  in 
one  of  the  most  sublime  of  his  many  poetical 
miracles,  "  Heaven  and  Earth."  Knowing 
how  soon  I  should  be  lost  in  the  shadow  into 
which  so  gigantic  a  precursor  would  cast  me, 
I  had  endeavored,  by  a  speed  of  composition 
which  must  have  astonished  my  habitually 
slow  pen,  to  get  the  start  jif  my  noble  friend 
in  the  time  of  publication,  and  thus  aiTord 
myself  the  sole  chance  I  could  perhaps  expect, 
under  such  unequal  rivalry,  of  attracting  to 
my  work  the  attention  of  the  public.  In  this 
humble  speculation,  however,  I  failed  ;  for  both 
works,  if  I  recollect  right,  made  their  appear- 
ance at  the  same  time. 

In  the  mean  while,  the  negotiation  which  had 
been  entered  into  with  the  American  claim- 
ants, for  a  reduction  of  the  amount  of  their 
demands  upon  me,  had  continued  to  "  drag  its 
slow  length  along  ;"  nor  was  it  till  the  month 
of  September,  1822,  that,  by  a  letter  from  the 
Messrs.  Longman,  I  received  the  welcome 
intelligence  that  the  terms  offered,  as  our  ulti- 
matum, to  the  opposite  party,  had  been  at  last 
accept  ?d,  and  that  I  might  now  with  safety 
return  to  England.  I  lost  no  time,  of  course, 
in  availing  myself  of  so  welcome  a  privilege  ; 
and  as  all  that  remains  now  to  be  told  of  this 
trying  episode  in  my  past  life  may  be  comprised 
within  a  small  compass,  I  shall  trust  to  the 
patience  of  my  readers  for  tolerating  the  recital. 

On  arriving  in  England  I  learned,  for  the 
first  time, — having  been,  till  then,  kept  very 
much  in  darkness  on  the  subject, — that,  after 
a  long  and  frequently  interrupted  course  of 
negotiation,  the  amount  of  the  claims  of  the 
American  merchants  had  been  reduced  to  the 
sum  of  one  thousand  guineas,  and  that  towards 
the  payment  of  this  the  uncle  of  my  deputy, — 


a  rich  London  merchant, — had  been  brought, 
with  some  difficulty,  to  contribute  three  hun- 
dred pounds.  I  was  likewise  informed,  that  a 
very  dear  and  distinguished  friend  of  mine,  to 
whom,  by  his  own  desire,  the  state  of  the  nego- 
tiation was,  from  time  to  time,  reported,  had, 
upon  finding  that  there  appeared,  at  last,  some 
chance  of  an  arrangement,  and  learning  also  the 
amount  of  the  advance  made  by  my  deputy's 
relative,  immediately  deposited  in  the  hands  of 
a  banker  the  remaining  portion  (750/,)  of  the 
required  sum,  to  i  e  there  in  readiness  for  the 
final  settlement  of  the  deu  and. 

Though  still  adhering  to  my  original  pur- 
pose of  owing  to  my  own  exertions  alone  the 
means  of  relief  from  these  difficulties,  I  yet 
felt  a  pleasure  in  allowing  this  thoughtful  de- 
posite  to  be  applied  to  the  gent.-ous  purpose  for 
which  it  was  destined  ;  and  ha\ing  employed 
in  this  manner  the  750Z.,  I  then  transmitted  to 
my  kind  friend, — I  need  hardly  say  with  what 
feelings  of  thankfulness, — a  check  on  my  pub- 
lishers for  the  amount. 

Though  this  effort  of  the  poet's  purse  was 
but,  as  usual,  a  new  launch  into  the  Future, — 
a*  new  anticipation  of  yet  unborn  means, — the 
result  showed  that,  at  least  in  this  instance,  I 
had  not  counted  on  my  bank  "  in  7uibibus"  too 
sanguinely  ;  for,  on  receiving  my  publishers' 
account,  in  the  month  of  June  following,  I 
found  lOOOZ.  placed  to  my  credit  from  the  sale 
of  the  Loves  of  the  Angels,  and  500/.  from  the 
Fables  of  the  Holy  Alliance. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention,  that,  among  the 
resources  at  that  time  placed  at  my  disposal, 
was  one  small  and  sacred  sum,  which  had  been 
set  apart  by  its  young  possessor  for  some  such 
beneficent  purpose.  This  fund,  amounting  to 
about  300/.,  arose  from  the  proceeds  of  the 
sale  of  the  first  edition  of  a  biographical  work, 
then  recently  published,  which  will  long  be 
memorable,  as  well  froin  its  own  merits  and 
subject,  as  from  the  lustre  that  has  been  since 
shed  back  upon  it  from  the  public  career  of  its 
noble  author.  To  a  gift  from  such  hands  might 
well  have  been  applied  the  words  of  Ovid, 

acceptissima  semper 

Munera  sunt,  auctor  qure  pretiosa  facit. 

In  this  volume,  and  its  immediate  successor, 
will  be  found  collected  almost  all  those  delin- 
quencies of  mine,  in  the  way  of  satire,  which 
have  appeared,  from  time  to  time,  in  the  pub- 


53 


PREFACE. 


lie  journals,  during^  the  last  twenty  or  thirty 
years.  The  comments  and  notices  required  to 
throw  light  on  these  political  trifles  must  be 
reserved  for  our  next  volume. 


PKEFACE 


THE  NINTH  VOLUME. 

In  one  of  those  Notices,  no  less  friendly 
than  they  are  able  and  spirited,  which  this  new 
Edition  of  my  Poetical  Works  has  called  forth 
from  a  leading  political  journal,  I  find,  in 
reference  to  the  numerous  satirical  pieces  con- 
tained in  these  volumes,  the  following  sug- 
gestion :* — "  It  is  now  more  than  a  quarter 
of  a  century  since  this  bundle  of  political  pas- 
quinades set  the  British  public  in  a  roar  ;  and 
though  the  events  to  which  they  allude  may 
be  well  known  to  every  reader, 

"  Cujus  oclrtvum  trepidavit  jetas 
Claiidere  lustrum," 

there  are  many  persons,  now  forming  a  part  (?f 
the  literary  public,  who  have  come  into  ex- 
istence since  they  happened,  and  who  cannot 
be  e.xpected,  even  if  they  had  the  leisure  and 
opportunity,  to  rummage  the  files  of  our  old 
newspapers  for  a  history  of  the  perishable  facts 
on  which  Mr.  Moore  has  so  often  rested  the 
flying  artillery  of  his  wit.  Many  of  those  facts 
will  be  considered  beneath  the  notice  of  the 
grave  historian  ;  and  it  is,  therefore,  incumbent 
on  Mr.  Moore — if  he  wishes  his  political  squibs, 
imbued  as  they  are  with  a  wit  and  humor 
quite  Aristophanic,  to  be  relished,  as  they 
deserve  to  be  relished,  by  our  great-grand- 
children— to  preface  them  with  a  rapid  sum- 
mary of  the  events  which  gave  them  birth." 

Without  pausing  here  to  say  how  gratifying 
it  is  to  me  to  find  my  long  course  of  Anti- 
Tory  warfare  thus  tolerantly,  and  even  gen- 
p.rously  spoken  of,  and  by  so  distinguished  an 
organ  of  public  opinion,  I  shall,  as  briefly  as  I 
can,  advert  to  the  writer's  friendly  suggestion, 
and  then  mention  some  of  those  reasons  which 
have  induced  me  to  adopt  it.  That  I  was  dis- 
posed, at  first,  to  annex  some  such  commentary 

•  The  Tacs  Jan.  9,  1841. 


to  this  series  of  squibs,  may  have  been  collected 
from  the  concluding  sentences  of  my  last  Pre- 
face ;  but  a  little  further  consideration  has  led 
me  to  abandon  this  intention. 

To  that  kind  of  satire  which  deals  only  with 
the  lighter  follies  of  social  life,  with  the  passing 
modes,  whims,  and  scandal  of  the  day,  such 
illustrative  comments  become,  after  a  short 
time,  necessary.  But  the  true  preserving  salt 
of  political  satire  is  its  applicability  to  future 
times  and  generations,  as  well  as  to  those 
which  had  first  called  it  forth  ;  its  power  of 
transmitting  the  scourge  of  ritU;.  jle  through 
succeeding  periods,  with  a  lash  still  fresh  for 
the  back  of  the  bigot  and  the  oppressor,  under 
whatever  new  shape  they  may  present  them- 
selves. I  can  hardly  flatter  myself  with  the 
persuasion  that  any  one  of  the  satirical  pieces 
contained  in  this  Volume  is  jijtely  to  possess  this 
principle  of  vitality ;  but  I  feel  quite  certain  that, 
without  it,  not  all  the  notes  and  illustrations  in 
which  even  the  industry  of  Dutch  commentator- 
ship  could  embalm  them  would  ensure  to  these 
trifles  a  life  much  beyond  the  present  hour. 

Already,  to  many  of  them,  that  sort  of  relish 
— by  far  the  least  worthy  source  of  their  suc- 
cess— which  the  names  of  living  victims  lend 
to  such  sallies,  has  become,  in  the  course  of 
time,  wanting.  But,  as  far  as  their  apposite- 
ness  to  the  passing  political  events  of  the  day 
has  yet  been  tried — and  the  dates  of  these  sa- 
tires range  over  a  period  of  nearly  thirty  years 
— their  ridicule,  thanks  to  the  undying  nature 
of  human  absurdity,  appears  to  have  lost,  as 
yet,  but  little  of  the  original  freshness  of  its 
first  application.  Nor  is  this  owing  to  any 
peculiar  felicity  of  aim  in  the  satire  itself,  but 
to  the  sameness,  throughout  that  period,  of  all 
its  original  objects  ; — the  unchangeable  nature 
of  that  spirit  of  Monopoly  by  which,  under  all 
its  various  impersonations,  commercial,  reli- 
gious, and  political,  these  satires  had  been  first 
provoked.  To  refer  but  to  one  instance,  the 
Corn  Question, — assuredly,  the  entire  apposite- 
ness,  at  this  very  moment,  of  such  versicles  as 
the  following,  redounds  far  less  to  the  credit  of 
poesy  than  to  the  disgrace  of  legislation, — 

How  can  you,  my  Lord,  thus  delight  to  toruiont  all 
The  Peers  of  the  realm  about  cheap'iiing  Ihr  corn, 

When  you  know  if  one  hasn't  a  very  high  rental, 
'Tis  hardly  worth  while  to  be  very  high-bom. 

That,  being  by  nature  so  little  prone  to  spleen 


PREFACE. 


53 


or  bitterness,  I  should  yet  have  frequented  so 
mucli  the  thorny  paths  of  satire,  has  always,  to 
myself  and  those  best  acquainted  with  me,  been 
a  matter  of  surprise.  By  supposing  the  imagin- 
ation,  however,  to  be,  in  such  cases,  the  sole 
or  chief  prompter  of  the  satire — which,  in  my 
own  instance,  I  must  say,  it  has  generally  been 
— an  easy  solution  is  found  for  the  difficulty. 
The  same  readiness  of  fancy  which,  with  but 
little  help  from  reality,  can  deck  out  "  the 
Cynthia  of  the  minute"  with  all  possible  attrac- 
tions, will  likewise  be  able,  when  in  the  vein, 
to  shower  ridicule  on  a  political  adversary, 
without  allowing  a  single  feeling  of  real  bitter- 
ness to  mix  itself  with  the  operation.  Even 
that  sternest  of  all  satirists,  Dante,  who,  not 
content  with  the  penal  fire  of  the  pen,  kept  an 
Inferno  ever  ready  to  receive  the  victims  of  his 
wrath, — even  Dante,  on  becoming  acquainted 
with  some  of  the  persons  whom  he  had  thus 
doomed,  not  only  revoked  their  awful  sentence, 
but  even  honored  them  with  warm  praise  ;* 
and  probably,  on  a  little  further  acquaintance, 
would  have  admitted  them  into  his  Paradiso. 
When  thus  loosely  and  shallowly  even  the  sub- 
lime satire  of  Dante  could  strike  its  roots  in 
his  own  heart  and  memory,  it  is  easy  to  con- 
ceive how  light  and  passing  may  be  the  feeling 
of  hostility  with  which  a  partisan  in  the  field  of 
satire  plies  his  laughing  warfare  ;  and  how 
often  it  may  happen  that  even  the  pride  of  hit- 
ting his  mark  outlives  but  a  short  time  the  flight 
of  the  shaft. 

I  cannot  dismiss  from  my  hands  these  politi- 
cal trifles, — 

"This  swarm  of  themes  that  settled  on  my  pen, 
Which  I,  lilie  summer-flies,  shake  oti"  again," — 

without  ventviring  to  add  that  I  have  now  to 
connect  with  them  one  mournful  recollection — 
one  loss  from  among  the  circle  of  those  I  have 
longest  looked  up  to  with  affection  and  admira- 
tion— which  I  little  thought,  when  I  began  this 
series  of  prefatory  sketches,  I  should  have  to 
mourn  before  their  close.  I  need  hardly  add, 
that,  in  thus  alluding  to  a  great  light  of  the  so- 
cial and  political  world  recently  gone  out,  I 
mean  the  late  Lord  Holland. 

It  may  be  recollected,  perhaps,  that,  in  men- 


*  In  his  Convito  he  praises  very  warmly  some  persons 
whom  he  had  before  abused. — See  Foscolo,  Discorso  sul 
Testa  di  Dante. 

t  This  will  be  seen  whenever  those  valuable  papers  come 


tioning  some  particulars  respecting  an  early 
squib  of  mine, — the  Parody  on  the  Prince 
Regent's  Letter, — I  spoke  of  a  dinner  at  which 
I  was  present  on  the  very  day  of  the  first  pub- 
lication of  that  Parody,  when  it  was  the  subject 
of  much  conversation  at  table,  and  none  of  the 
party,  except  our  host,  had  any  suspicion  that 
I  was  the  author  of  it.  This  host  was  Lord 
Holland ;  and  as  such  a  name  could  not  but 
lend  value  to  any  anecdote  connected  with  lit- 
erature, I  only  forbore  the  pleasure  of  adding 
such  an  ornament  to  my  page,  from  knowing 
that  Lord  Holland  had  long  viewed  w-ith  disap- 
probation and  regret  much  of  that  londuct 
of  the  Whig  party  towards  the  Recent  in 
1812-I3,f  of  the  history  of  which  this  squib, 
and  the  welcome  reception  it  met  with,  forms 
an  humble  episode. 

Lord  Holland  himself,  in  addition  to  his 
higher  intellectual  accomplishments,  possessed 
in  no  ordinary  degree  the  talent  of  writing 
easy  and  playful  vers  de  societe ;  and,  among 
the  instances  I  could  give  of  the  lightness  of 
his  hand  at  such  trifles,  there  is  one  no  less 
characteristic  of  his  good-nature  than  his  wit, 
as  it  accompanied  a  copy  of  the  octavo  edition 
of  Bayle,J  which,  on  hearing  me  rejoice  one 
day  that  so  agreeable  an  author  had  been  at 
last  made  portable,  he  kindly  ordered  for  me 
from  Paris. 

So  late,  indeed,  as  only  a  month  or  two  be- 
fore his  lordship's  death,  he  was  employing 
himself,  with  all  his  usual  cheerful  eagerness, 
in  translating  some  verses  of  Metastasio  ;  and 
occasionally  consulted  both  Mr.  Rogers  and 
myself  as  to  different  readings  of  some  of  the 
lines.  In  one  of  the  letters  which  I  received 
from  him  while  thus  occupied,  I  find  the  follow- 
ing postscript  ;— 

"  'Tis  thus  I  turn  th'  Italian's  song, 
Nor  deem  I  read  his  meaning  wrong. 
But  with  rough  English  to  combine 
The  sweetness  that's  in  every  line, 
Asks  for  your  Muse,  and  not  for  mine. 
Setise  only  will  not  quit  the  score  ; 
We  must  have  that,  and — little  More** 

He  then  adds,  "  I  send  you,  too,  a  melan- 
choly Epigram  of  mine,  of  which  I  have  seen 
many,  alas,  witness  the  truth  : — 

to  be  published,  which  Lord  Holland  left  beliind  hini.  oin- 
taining  Memoirs  of  his  own  times  and  of  those  immediately 
preceding  them. 
i  In  sixteen  volumes,  published  at  Paris,  by  Desoer. 


54 


PREFACE. 


"  A  minister's  answer  is  always  so  kind  I 
I  starve,  and  he  tells  me  he'll  keep  me  in  mind. 
Hatfh\%  promise, God  knows,  would  my  spirits  restore: 
Let  him  keq>  me — and,  faith,  I  will  ask  for  no  more." 

The  only  portion  of  the  mass  of  trifles  con- 
tained in  this  volume,  that  first  found  its  way 
to  the  public  eye  through  any  more  responsible 
channel  than  a  newspaper,  was  the  Letters  of 
the  Fudge  Family  in  England, — a  work  which 
was  sure,  from  its  very  nature,  to  encounter 
the  double  risk  of  being  thought  dull  as  a  mere 
sequel,  and  light  and  unsafe  as  touching  on 
follies  connected  with  the  name  of  Religion. 
Into  the  question  of  the  comparative  dulness 
of  any  of  my  productions,  it  is  not  for  me,  of 
course,  to  enter ;  but  to  the  charge  of  treating 
religious  subjects  irreverently,  I  shall  content 
myself  with  replying  in  the  words  of  Pascal, — 
"  II  a  bien  de  la  difference  entre  rire  de  la  re- 
ligion et  rire  de  ceux  qui  la  profanent  par  leurs 
opinions  extravagantes." 


PREFACE 

TO 

THE  TENTH  VOLUME. 

The  Story  which  occupies  this  volume  was 
intended  originally  to  be  told  in  verse  ;  and  a 
great  portion  of  it  was  at  first  written  in  that 
form.  This  fact,  as  well  as  the  character,  per- 
haps, of  the  whole  work,  which  a  good  deal 
partakes  of  the  cast  and  coloring  of  poetry, 
have  been  thought  sufficient  to  entitle  it  to  a 
place  in  this  general  collection  of  my  poetical 
writings. 

How  little  akin  to  romance  or  poesy  were 
some  of  the  circumstances  under  which  this 
work  was  first  projected  by  me,  the  reader  may 
have  seen  from  a  preceding  preface  ;*  and  the 
following  rough  outline,  which  I  have  found 
among  iny  papers,  dated  Paris,  July  25,  18i20, 
will  show  both  my  first  general  conception,  or 
foreshadowing  of  the  story,  and  likewise  the 
extent  to  which  I  thought  right,  in  afterwards 
working  out  this  design,  to  reject  or  modify 
some  of  its  details. 

"  Began    my   Egyptian    Poem,    and   wrote 

*  Preface  to  the  Eighth  Volume,  p.  40  of  this  edition. 


about  thirteen  or  fourteen  lines  of  it.  The 
story  to  be  told  in  letters  from  a  ypung  Epicu- 
rean philosopher,  who,  in  the  second  century 
of  the  Christian  era,  goes  to  Egypt  for  the 
purpose  of  discovering  the  elixir  of  immortal- 
ity, which  is  supposed  to  be  one  of  the  secrets 
of  the  Egyptian  priests.  During  a  Festival  on 
the  Nile,  he  meets  with  a  beautiful  maiden, 
the  daughter  of  one  of  the  priests  lately  dead. 
She  enters  the  catacombs,  and  disappears.  He 
hovers  around  the  spot,  and  at  last  finds  the 
well  and  secret  passages,  &c.,  by  which  those 
who  are  initiated  enter.  He  sees  this  maiden 
in  one  of  those  theatrical  spectacles  which 
formed  a  part  of  the  subterranean  Elysium  of 
the  Pyramids — finds  opportunities  of  conver- 
sing with  her — their  intercourse  in  this  myste- 
rious region  described.  They  are  discovered  ; 
and  he  is  thrown  into  those  subterranean  pris- 
ons, where  they  who  violate  the  rules  of  Ini- 
tiation are  confined.  He  is  liberated  from 
thence  by  the  young  maiden,  and  taking  flight 
together,  they  reach  some  beautiful  region, 
where  they  linger,  for  a  time,  delighted,  and 
she  is  near  becoming  a  victim  to  his  arts.  But 
taking  alarm,  she  flies  ;  and  seeks  refuge  with 
a  Christian  monk,  in  the  Thebaid,  to  whom  her 
mother,  who  was  secretly  a  Christian,  had  con- 
signed her  in  dying.  The  struggles  of  her 
love  with  her  religion.  A  persecution  of  the 
Christians  takes  place,  and  she  is  seized  (chiefly 
through  the  unintentional  means  of  her  lover) 
and  suffers  martyrdom.  The  scene  of  her  mar- 
t)Tdom  described,  in  a  letter  from  the  Solitary 
of  the  Thebaid,  and  the  attempt  made  by  the 
young  philosopher  to  rescue  her.  He  is  carried 
off  from  thence  to  the  cell  of  the  Solitary. 
His  letters  from  that  retreat,  after  he  has  be- 
come a  Christian,  devoting  his  thoughts  en- 
tirely to  repentance  and  the  recollection  of 
the  beloved  saint  who  had  gone  before  him. — 
If  I  don't  make  something  out  of  all  this,  the 
deuce  is  in't." 

According  to  this  plan,  the  events  of  the 
story  were  to  be  told  in  Letters,  or  Epistolary 
Poems,  addressed  by  the  philosopher  to  a 
young  Athenian  friend ;  but,  for  greater  va- 
riety, as  well  as  convenience,  I  afterwards  dis- 
tributed the  task  of  narration  among  the  chief 
personages  of  the  Tale.  The  great  difficulty, 
however,  of  managing,  in  rhyme,  the  minor 
details  of  a  story,  so  as  to  be  clear  without 


PREFACE. 


35 


growing  prosaic,  and  still  more,  the  diffuse 
length  to  which  1  saw  narration  in  verse  would 
extend,  deterred  me  from  following  this  plan 
any  further ;  and  I  then  commenced  the  tale 
anew  in  its  present  shape. 

Of  the  Poems  written  for  my  first  experi- 
ment, a  few  specimens,  the  best  I  could  select, 
were  introduced  into  the  prose  story  ;  but  the 
remainder  I  had  thrown  aside,  and  nearly  for- 
gotten even  their  existence,  when  a  circum- 
stance somewhat  characteristic,  perhaps,  of 
that  trading  spirit  which  has  now  converted 
Parnassus  itself  into  a  market,  again  called  my 
attention  to  them.  The  late  Mr.  Macrone,  to 
whose  general  talents  and  enterprise  in  business 
all  who  knew  him  Avill  bear  ready  testimony, 
had  long  been  anxious  that  I  should  undertake 
for  him  some  new  Poem  or  Story,  affording 
such  subjects  for  illustration  as  might  call  into 
play  the  fanciful  pencil  of  Mr.  Turner.  Other 
tasks  and  ties,  however,  had  rendered  my  com- 
pliance with  this  w:sh  impracticable ;  and  he 
was  about  to  give  up  aU  thoughts  of  attaining 
his  object,  when  on  learning  from  me  acciden- 
tally that  the  Epicurean  was  still  my  own  prop- 
erty, he  proposed  to  purchase  of  me  the  use 
of  the  copyright  for  a  single  illustrated  edition. 

The  terms  proffered  by  him  being  most 
liberal,  I  readily  acceded  to  the  proposed  ar- 


rangement ;  but,  on  further  consideration, 
there  arose  some  difficulty  in  the  way  of  our 
treaty — the  work  itself  being  found  insufficient 
to  form  a  volume  of  such  dimensions  as  would 
yield  any  hope  of  defraying  the  cost  of  the 
numerous  illustrations  then  intended  for  it. 
Some  modification,  therefore,  of  our  terms  was 
thought  necessary ;  and  then  first  was  the 
notion  suggested  to  me  of  bringing  forth  from 
among  my  papers  the  original  sketch,  or  open- 
ing of  the  story,  and  adding  these  fragments, 
as  a  sort  of  make-weight,  in  the  mutual  adjust- 
ment of  our  terms. 

That  I  had  myself  regarded  the  first  experi- 
ment as  a  failure,  was  sufficiently  shown  by 
my  relinquishment  of  it.  But,  as  the  published 
work  had  then  passed  through  several  editions, 
and  had  been  translated  into  most  of  the  lan- 
guages of  Europe,  it  was  thought  that  an  in- 
sight into  the  anxious  process  by  which  such 
success  had  been  attained,  might,  as  an  encour- 
agement, at  least,  to  the  humble  merit  of 
painstaking,  be  deemed  of  some  little  use. 

The  following  are  the  translations  of  this 
Tale  which  have  reached  me  :  viz.  two  in 
French  ;  two  in  Italian,  (Milan,  1836 — Venice, 
1835;)  one  in  German,  (Inspruc,  1828;)  and 
one  in  Dutch,  by  M.  Herman  van  Loghem, 
(Deventer,  1829.) 


1 


THE 


POETICAL  WOEKS 


THOMAS   MOORE. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON 

TRANSLATED    INTO   ENGLISH   VERSE. 

WITH  NOTES. 


HIS    ROYAL    inOHNESS 

THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES. 

Sm, 

In  allowing  me  to  dedicate  this  Work 
to  Your  Royal  Highness,  you  have  conferred  upon 
me  au  honor  which  I  feel  very  sensibly :  and  I  have 
only  to  regret,  that  the  pages  which  you  have 
thus  distinguished  are  not  more  deserving  of  such 
illustrious  patronage. 

Believe  me.  Sir, 
With  every  sentiment  of  respect. 

Your  Royal  Highness's 
Very  grateful  and  devoted  Servant, 

TuoMAS  Moore. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 
It  may  be  necessary  to  mention,  that,  in  arrang- 
ing the  Odes,  the  Translator  has  adopted  the  order 
of  the  Vatican  MS.  For  those  who  wish  to  refer  to 
the  original,  he  has  prefixed  an  Index,  which  marks 
the  number  of  each  Ode  in  Barnes  and  the  other 
editions. 


INDEX. 

ODE  BARKIS. 

1.  ANAKPEflN  i^tjr/ic  -  -  -  63. 

2.  Aorc  ftoi  \vpT]v  'OfiTjpov  -  -  -  -  48. 

3.  Aye,  ^t^ypa^dJi'  apiarc  -  -  -  -  49. 

4.  Tov  apyvpov  Topivtiiv  -  -  -  -  17. 

5.  KaWiTf^va  poi  roptvaov  -  -  -  -  18. 

6.  Srf^of  T:\cKUiv  iroO^  evpov  -  -  -  -  59. 

7.  Acyovciv  al  yvvatKE^ .  -  -  .  .  H, 

8.  Ov  fioi  picXci  ra  Tvyov  -  .  -  -  15. 

9.  A<pcs  fit  Tous  ^tovi  aoi  -  -  -  .  31. 

10.  Tt  cot  ^tXcii  •notijOiii  -  _  .  .  12. 

11.  Epura  KTiptvov  Tii        -  -  -  .  .  10, 

12.  Of  p£v  KaXrjv  Kv6r}6T}v  -  -  .  -  13. 

13.  0£X(i>,  ■SeAoj  ^(ATjffai     -----  14. 

14.  Ei  0iiAAa  TTflvra  6iv6piijv  -  -  .  -  32. 

15.  "Epaapirj  TTcXcia  ------       9. 

16.  Aye,  C,iiiypa<pu}v  aptarc  -  -  -  -  28. 

17.  TpQ<pe  poi  BaOvWov  ovrta  -  -  -  -  29. 

18.  Aorc  ftoi,  6oT£  yvvaiKcg  -  -  -  .  21. 

19.  Ilapa  Tr}v  aKiT}Vy  BaQvWc  -  -  -  -  22. 

20.  AI  Movcrai  tov  Epaira  -  -  -  -  30. 

21.  'H  yr}  pcXaiva  ttivei    -----  19. 

22.  *H  TavTaXov  ttot    ccrrj  •  -  -  -  20. 

23.  GtAw  Xeyciv  Arptti^uf  _  -  .  -       1. 

24.  i'VGig  Kcpara  raupois  .  -  -  •  -        2. 

25.  2u  licv  0iX»;  x^X'^wv  -  •  -  -  -  33. 


58 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ODK 

26. 
27. 
28. 
29. 
30. 
31. 
32. 
33. 
34. 
35. 
36. 
37. 
38. 
39. 
40. 
41. 
42. 
43. 
44. 
45. 
46. 
47. 
48. 
49. 
50. 
51. 
52. 
53. 
54. 
55. 
56. 
57. 
58. 
59. 
60. 

61. 
62. 

m. 

61. 
ft). 
66. 
67. 

68. 


^v  fitv  Xtyeti  TO  &tjSrii 

E(    tUXtOtS  litV  IffJTOI    - 

'O  (ii'Jjp  &  T-ijs  Ku0f;pFjff 
XqXejtoi'  to  firj  ^tXrjirat 
Edottovv  ovap  rpoxo^^tv 
'XaKli'6tvi>>  fiE  ^a6(5ui  - 
Eti  ^vpaivaii  Ttptivai^ 
Mftrovuffnojf  Tro6'  wpaij     - 
Ma*fap(^o/i£V  aCj  TtTTt^ 
Ep(i)5  TTQT  tv  ^oSotat   - 
'O  tXovtos  ciys  xpyffo*' 
Ata  WKTijs  tyKadiviiiiy 
'IXapoi  iTiuipiv  oivov   - 
'piXu)  ycpovTa  TEpnvov 
Eirtt^j;  PpoTO?  crv\6r}y 
T(  KaXov  tffrt  jGa(5l^f(V 

Ilodcd)  /iCV  AlOl'UtTOU 

Sr£0(ivoiis  ^£1'  KpoTa(poiac  - 

To  ^O^OV   TO  TU3V   ipWTWV 

Orav  Tried)  tov  otvov 
l&c,  Tidis  iapoi  tfiaucvroi 
Eyw  yeptiiv  ficv  ctpt    - 
'Orav  h  Baic^os  ciuc^Pt; 
Tou  Aios  &  TTatj  BaK;)(OS 
'Or'  fyu)  xiw  Tov  otvov 
Mf;  //£  ^uyjs  opwaa     • 
Ti  /<£  rous  vopovs  SiiacKEti 
'Or'  cyio  l'£t(>v  bplXov 
*  O  raupof  ovrof,  <i)  TTOt 
Er£^at';/0opou  /itr'  Hpos 

'  O  rOV    £V  TTOVOti  aTctptj 
Apa  Tif  TOptVGE  irovTOv 
'  O  SpaTTETijs  h  xpvffof 
Tov  pcAavoxpura  ^orpvv    - 
Kva  Pap&iTov  hovtjoia 


BARNrs. 

-  1& 

-  55. 

-  45. 

-  46. 

-  44 

-  7. 

-  4. 

-  3. 

-  43. 

-  40. 

-  28. 

-  & 

-  41. 

-  47. 

-  %i. 
.  66. 

-  42. 

-  6. 

-  5. 

-  25. 

-  37. 

-  38. 

-  26. 

-  27. 

-  39. 

-  34. 

-  36. 

-  54. 

-  35. 

-  53. 

-  60. 

-  51. 

-  65. 

-  52. 

-  64. 


IIoXioi  fttv  ^^tv  tjSt)    -          -  -  - 

Aye  hr},  (p£p^  '5/^'*'»  ^  "■«*      -  -  - 

Tov  Epwra  yap  tov  aSpov    -  •  - 

Tovvovjiai  o'  t\a(f>r)6oXs        -  -  - 

IlwXt  Gp'JftJ?,   Tl   ?IT}  jit 

Btauiv  avaacOf  Kvirpc           -  -  - 

n  trai  irapdcviov  PXerrtt^v     -  -  - 

Eyui  6'  ovT   av  A/iaXSei);;  -  -  - 

For  the  order  of  the  rest,  see  the  Notes. 


56. 
57. 
58. 
60. 
61. 
62. 
67. 


1.  TTOp<^vpfoi$  VOX  trisyllahica.  Anacr.  Fmgm.  xxit.  3. 
ed.  Flsrlicr.  Tropipvpcij  r'  'A<ppo6iTT].  Anacr.  Fragm.  xxxvi. 
].  (T<paipT)  AcvT£  ii€  TTOfj^upir),  ut  legendura  plane  ex  Atlienso. 


AN  ODE 

BT    THE    TRANSLATOR. 

Em  }ivi)ivoii  TaiTTjaiy 
Ti}tos  TTor*  b  jii\iCTr)i 
'iXapof  ytXwv  ckutOj 


Mc0u. 


liiV  T€  Kai  > 


fpi^uv 


AfK^l   aVTOV  01  6'   CpitiTtS 

'ATraXoi  (rwi'cxopei'O'aV 
*0  )3cX>7  ra  TTjg  KvdrjpTjs 
Eiroiet,  ipvx''<  oitrrous' 

*  O  Sc  Xevtca  n-  xupvpotui 
Kptva  aw  ftoSoiat  TrXe^aj, 
Ei^iXci  cTc(p(t)v  ytpovTo." 

*  H  ^c  ^tattiv  avaooOf 

SO*IH    JTOr'  £(   OXu^lTTOP 

Effopwa'  AvaupcovTa^ 
EtropoKra  -ouf  cporas, 
*XiT0jxEt6iiii  as  eiTre' 
So0£  6'  (lis  AvaKpeoi'Ta 
Toy  ao^ii}TaTov  aTavTUV, 
KaXeovuiv  ot  aoftiitjTai^ 
Tij  ytpuiv^  Tiov  Ptov  ft£v 
Toig  cpiijci,  Tw  AvaUj), 
K'  ovK  tfioi  Kpartiv  eSwKa^f 
T(  ipt'Xijjia  TTjs  Kvdr}pt}ij 
Ti  KUTTtXAu  TOV  AvaioVy 
Aiti  y'  crpv^Tjaas  a^ui', 
OuK  epovs  vopovs  6i6aaKiav, 
OvK  £pov  \ax^v  aiiiTov  ; 
'O  &£  Ttjio;  pcXioTtjs 
Mt}t£  ivff^epaivEy  ^7}<7i, 
'  On,  3£a,  aov  y*  avcv  p.cv^ 
'  O  aotpuiTaTOS  anavTUtv 
Hapa  Tiitv  co(pfiiv  KoXovfiai' 
^iXcO),  TTICJ,  XvpiC^ci), 
Mcra  nav  KaXtJi'  yvvaiKtav 

A^tXwf  5c   rCpTtva    TTQI^d), 

*i2s  Awpf?  yap,  c/ioy  )7rop 
Ai'aTrfij  /lOfov;  ipioras' 
*Q,6£  PiOTov  ya\r}i>7]v 
^iXciav  (ioXtara  n-avrwy^ 
Ou  (Toipoi  pc\u)5os  etfit ; 

T(f   COll>(jiT£pOS  fitV  JOTt; 


CORRECTIONS    OF  THE   PRECEDING    ODE, 

SUGGESTED  BY  AN  EMINENT  GREEK  SCHOLAR. 


*Eni*  T!op^vphi£  rajTijct 
T^Itfj  i:ot'  u^o-KOib-; 
i\apdi  ytXCiv  CKCiTOj 
ftcdviiiv  TC  Kai  XvpP^iav' 


^ijios  iror'  *o  fieXiTTTji 


AXiTTo/j^iJprttf  TcLTrjai  dixit    Pseud-Anacreon,  Od.  viii.  3. 
Theocr.  Id.  xv.  125.   vopipvpcoi  6i  TanriTcg  afui,  fiaXaKt^TEpot 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


59 


oTt  acu  troipoc  KuAov^ai 
TtapH  rujc  aAiav  mrdi/Tiiiv. 

[itTii  Tuiv  Ka\(vi,  yvvaiKi^Vj 
a^tAuJ;  ie  Tcpirva  Trot^w" 
,    Kiddprj  yap,  uii  Kfap  ftcv, 
avaiTvct  fidi'ovs  "Epuiruj. 
Pt6Tov  6f  Tiiv  yaXrii-Tjv 
0iX/u)v  pd\i<TTa  iravriiiv, 


ircpt  (V  avT^v  a[i(p*  'EpwTCf 
Tpofiepolg  TToalv  vApcvov. 
TO.  /3/Ac/ii/'  h  fitv  )\.vdripr)i 
{noiei  TuAi/?,  djtrrovq 

TTVpdtVTai,   tK  KtpuVVOV' 

6  i>£  \cvKa  KaXXi(pi'Woi^ 
Koli'd  cvv  fidi'.oiai  JrA/^fif, 
i<plX€i  ariipijiv  yipavra. 
JCrtrd  ^'  ivOvi  ff  'OAt'/tjTOU 
^oif>iT}  Staivii  Paaa, 
icopiad^  'A-vaKpiovTa, 
tffypujffii  Toiii  '"Epwruf, 

2(i(^', — ^rrcl  PporCJv  ae  tovto 
KaXiovai  ipi'Xa  ndvra, 
KnXtovciv  o\  (ro0(iTr«(, — 
t[,  yrpwv,  pidrJiv  biiiiei^ 
PidTov  TpldiiV  rcoT'  ptv 
ptrii  T(5v  KoAuii'    Epurcdv, 
ptTa  Tot  KaXou  Avaiov 
fV*  6'  i^c  A(if  drf^fiff  ; 
Ti  tpiXqpa  Tiji  KvO^ptii, 
tI  KVircXXa  Tov  AvuloVf 
icaLi  Tpv^uiv  (ici^Eif, 
ipci  5(£r/it'  ov  6tSd(TKii}v,f 
tpbv  Qv  \ax^v  dutTov  ; 
6  6f  Iriiag  ptXiaid;, 
Su  TTdptK  v6ov  ye  pn  /")* 
^aAfffiiii'C,  0f/cr',  ai'£U0£ 
on  crtC  0-0054  KiiXovt 


Ap(Pt  avrov  o\  5'  Epwrcf 
ETTotei,  ^v)(T}i  oXfjTovi 


'H  6c  Scaojv  avatrffa 


15 


'TiropsiSiaaffilg  cure 


19 


25 


30 


Toif  EpWCTi,  TtfJ  Await}) 


Aid  y'  CTpvip7](Tas  qdiov 
OiJK  cpov^  vopovi  6iSauKit}v 
OvK  tpov  Xax^^v  aitiTOV 

'On,  Sea,  (Tou  y*  avtv  pcv 
'O  fso^mraroi  arravruy 


36 

'flf  Aup7  yap,  £^ov  T}Top 
41     'ii^E  PioTOV  ya\r]vijv 
Ov  co(pos  pcXtfiSos  tipi 


5.  Tmesis  pro  dp^tx<^ptvov.  Theocr.  Id.  vii.  142.  Trwrwc- 
To  ^ovBai  TTtpX  TTtJairay  dp^\  piXiaaai,  h.  e.  dp<pnr(i}T(iii/TO. 

6.  Pseud-Anacr.  Od.  i-ii.  12.  rpopLipoti  noaXv  x'^P^v^'- 

7.  10.  6  /jEf,  Aic— i  6k,  ille.  Bion.  Id.  i.  83.  x^^  /'t"  ^'(^raif, 
I  5i  (5'  cfTi  rdfoi'  £Patu\  K.  T.  A.  itidem  de  Amoribus. 

8.  9.  EfToici — €K  KCpavvuv.  Pseud-Anacr.  Od.  xxviii.  18.  to 
61  (iXippa  vxiv  f\\r]OC}ii  I  and  tov  nvpos  itoiquov. 

10.  11.  KaXXt<puXXaii—^66oiai.  Pseud-Anacr.  Od.  v.  3.  ro 
p(5<3nc  r»  KaXXiipvWov. 

13.  Tmesis  pro  Karaffdaa.  Pseud-Anacr.  Od.  in.  15.  dva 
tj'  ciOv  AvX*"'**  "^"S.  h-  e.  aVui/zaf. 

18.  Supple  Sifopa,  quo  roCro  referatur.  Eurip.  Ph<pn.  12. 
TOVTO  yhn  TTarijp  |  eBcto.  h.  e.  rouro  ovopa,  (ff/ioraJf  ^{iXa 
jraira  jnhunUriiturn  ex  Pseud-Anacr.  Od.  iii.  4.  pepdwoiv  Si 
<pvXa  TTtii/ra. 

21.  Pieud-.A.nacr.  Od.  xxiv.  2.  0i6tov  Tpi0ov  hSewiv. 

25.  ^sch.  Euinen,  538.  firiSi  vtv,  [  xepSoi  i6C}v,  ddio}  noSi 
Xaf  QTi-  I  CT}g. 

32.  napLK  vdtv  yt  prj  pot  xaAtTratfc,  ne  prater  rationem  in 
mesavi.  II.  T.  133.  "Hon,  p']  X'^^^^'an'craptK  u6ov.  Siniilem 
positionem  particularum  ufj  pot  exhibt^  Pseud-Anacr.  Od. 
xxv^II.  13. 

1  IJe  is  quoted  by  Alhemus  f.v  rw  mpi  tov  AvaKpeovToq. 

»  Tbe  Hiitory  oI'Anacreon,  by  Ga^on  (le  Poete  sans  fard, 
as  he  styles  himself,)  is  professedly  a  romance ;  nor  does 


t(  cotputTcpov  yivQiT^  av  I 

ipidcv  ao^fbrcpos  rig  i  45     Tig  (rotptoTCpoi  pcv  cari 


REMARKS  ON  ANACREON. 

There  is  but  little  known  with  certainty  of  the 
life  of  Anacreon.  Chamceleon  Heracleotes,'  who 
wrote  upon  the  subject,  has  been  lost  in  the  general 
wreck  of  ancient  literature.  The  editors  of  the 
poet  have  collected  the  few  trifling  anecdotes  which 
are  scattered  through  the  extant  autliors  of  anti- 
quity, and,  supplying  the  deficiency  of  material.'^  by 
fictions  of  their  own  imagination,  have  arranged, 
what  they  call,  a  life  of  Anacreon.  These  specious 
fabrications  are  intended  to  uidulge  that  interest 
which  we  naturally  feel  in  the  biograpliy  of 
illustrious  men  ;  but  it  is  rather  a  dangerous  kind  of 
illusion,  as  it  confounds  the  limits  of  history  and 
romance,^  and  is  too  often  supported  by  unfaithful 
citation.^ 

Our  poet  was  born  in  the  city  of  T^os,^  in  the 
delicious  region  of  Ionia,  and  the  (irae  of  his  birth 
appears  to  have  been  in  the  sixth  century  before 
Christ.^  He  flourished  at  that  remarkable  period, 
when,  under  the  polished  tyrants  lilpparchus  and 
Polycrates,  Athens  and  Sanios  were  become  the 
rival  asylums  of  genius.  There  is  nothing  certain 
known  about  his  family,  and  those  who  pretend  to 
discover  in  Plato  that  he  was  a  descendant  of  the 
monarch  Codrus,  show  much  more  of  zeal  than  of 
either  accuracy  or  judgment.* 

Mademoiselle  Scuderi,  from  whom  he  borrowed  the  idea, 
pretend  to  historical  veracity  in  her  account  of  Anacreon 
and  Sappho.  These,  then,  are  allowable.  But  how  can 
Barnes  be  forgiven,  who,  with  all  the  confidence  of  a  bio- 
grapher, traces  every  wandering  of  the  poet,  and  settles  him 
at  last,  in  his  old  age,  at  a  country  villa  near  Teos  1 

3  TJie  learned  Bayle  has  detected  some  infidelities  of  quo- 
tation in  Le  Fevre.  (Dictionnaire  Historiquc,  &c.)  Madaiue 
Dacier  is  not  more  accurate  than  her  father:  they  have 
almost  made  Anacreon  prime  minister  to  the  monarch  of 
Samos. 

*  The  Asiatics  were  as  remarkable  for  genius  as  for  luxury. 
"Ingenia  Asialicainclyla  pergentesfccfirePoeta;,  Anacieon, 
indc  Mininermus  et  Antimtichus,"  &c. — Solinus. 

6  I  have  not  attempted  to  define  the  particular  Olympiad, 
but  have  adopted  the  idea  of  Bayle,  who  says,  "Je  n'ai 
point  marque  d'Olympiade  ;  car  pour  un  horame  qui  a  v^cu 
85  ans,  il  me  senible  que  Ton  ne  doit  point  s'enfermer  dans 
des  bornes  si  itroites." 

'^  This  mistake  is  founded  on  a  false  intcrprelation  of  a 
very  obvious  passage  in  Plato's  Dialogue  on  Teniperince  ;  it 
originated  with  Rladanie  Dacier,  and  has  been  received  im- 
plicitly by  many.  Gail,  alaie  editor  of  Anacreon,  seems  to 
claim  to  himself  the  merit  of  detecting  this  error;  but  Bayle 
had  observed  it  before  him. 


60 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  disposition  and  talents  of  Anacreon  recom- 
mendod  him  to  the  moaarcli  of  Samos,  and  he  was 
formed  to  be  the  friend  of  such  a  prince  as  Poly- 
crates.  Susceptible  only  to  the  pleasures,  he  felt 
not  the  corruptions  of  the  court  ;  and,  while  Pythag- 
oras lied  from  the  tyrant,  Anacreon  was  celebrating 
aij  praises  on  the  lyre.  We  are  told  too  by  Maxi- 
mus  Tyrius,  that,  by  the  influence  of  his  amatory 
songs,  he  softened  the  mind  of  Polycrates  into  a 
spirit  of  benevolence  towards  his  subjects.* 

The  amours  of  the  poet,  and  the  rivalship  of 
the  tyrant,^  I  shall  pass  over  in  silence  ;  and  there 
are  few,  I  presume,  who  will  regret  the  omission 
of  most  of  those  anecdotes,  which  the  industry  of 
some  editors  has  not  only  promulged,  but  dis- 
cussed. Whatever  is  repugnant  to  modesty  and 
virtue  is  considered  in  ethical  science,  by  a  suppo- 
sition very  favorable  to  humanity,  as  impossible; 
and  this  amiable  persuasion  should  be  much  more 
strongly  entertained,  whore  the  transgression  wars 
with  nature  as  well  as  virtue.  But  why  are  we 
not  allowed  to  indulge  in  the  presumption  ?  W^hy 
are  we  officiously  reminded  that  there  have  been 
really  such  instances  of  depravity? 

Hipparchus,  wlio  now  maintained  at  Athens  the 
power  which  his  father  Pisistratus  had  usurped, 
was  one  of  those  princes  who  may  be  said  to  have 
polished  the  fetters  of  their  subjects.  He  was  the 
first,  according  to  Plato,  who  edited  the  poems  of 
Homer,  and  commanded  them  to  be  sung  by  the 
rhapsodists  at  the  celebration  of  the  Panatheuoea. 
From  his  court,  which  was  a  sort  of  galaxy  of 
genius,  Anacreon  could  not  long  be  absent.  Hip- 
parchus sent  a  barge  for  him  ;  the  poet  readily 
embraced  the  invitation,  and  the  Muses  and  the 
Loves  were  wafted  with  him  to  Athens.^ 

The  manner  of  Auacreon's  death  was  singular. 

1  AvaKptuv  Tafiioti  UoXvKparTjv  Jjjif.oww.  Maxim. Tjt.  §  21. 
Maximus  Tyrius  mentions  this  among  other  instances  of  the 
influence  of  poetry.  If  Gail  had  read  Maximus  Tyrius,  how 
could  he  ridicule  this  idea  in  Moutonnct,asunauthenlicated  1 

2  In  the  romance  of  Clelia,  the  anecdote  to  which  I  allude 
is  told  of  a  young  girl,  with  whom  Anacreon  fell  in  love  while 
she  personated  the  god  Apollo  in  a  mask.  But  here  Blade- 
moiselle  Sender!  consulted  nature  more  than  truth. 

3  There  is  a  very  interesting  French  puem  founded  upon 
this  apecdote,  imputed  lo  Desy vctaux,  and  called  "  Anacr6on 
Ciloyen." 

*  Fabricius  appears  not  to  trust  verj'  implicitly  in  this 
story.  *'Uva;  passs  acino  tandem  sutfocatus,  si  credimus 
Suidce  in  oivoiroTrn  \  alii  enim  hoc  mortis  genere  periise  tra- 
dunl  Sophoclem." — Fabrieii  Btbliothre.  Gr<rc.  lib.  li.cap.  15. 
It  must  be  confessed  that  Lucian,  whn  lells  us  that  Sophocles 
was  choked  by  a  grape-stone,  in  the  very  same  treatise  men- 
tions the  longevity  of  Anacreon,  and  yet  is  silent  on  the 
manner  of  his  death.  Could  lie  have  been  ignorant  of  such 
It  remarkable  coincidence,  or,  knowing,  could  he  have  neg- 
lected lo  remark  it  T  See  Kcgnicr's  introduction  to  his 
Anacreon. 


We  are  told  that  in  the  eighty-fifth  year  of  his  age 
he  was  choked  by  a  grape-stone  ;*  and,  however 
we  may  smile  at  their  enthusiastic  partiality,  who 
see  in  this  easy  and  characteristic  death  a  peculiar 
indulgence  of  Heaven,  we  cannot  help  admiring 
that  his  fate  shonld  have  been  so  emblematic  of 
his  disposition.  Cfelius  Calcagninus  alludes  to  this 
catastrophe  in  the  following  epitaph  on  our  poet  :^ — 

Those  lips,  then,  hallow'd  sage,  which  pour'd  along 
A  music  sweet  as  any  tvgnet's  song, 

The  grape  hath  closed  forever! 
Here  let  the  ivy  kiss  the  poet's  tomb, 
Here  let  the  rose  he  loved  with  laurels  tAiom, 

In  bands  that  ne'er  shall  sever 
But  far  be  thou,  oh  !  far,  unholy  vine. 
By  whom  the  favorite  minstrel  of  the  Nine 

Lost  his  sweet  vital  breath  ; 
Thy  God  himself  now  blushes  to  confess, 
Once  hallow'd  vine!  he  feels  he  loves  thee  leas 

Since  poor  Anacreon's  death. 

It  has  been  supposed  by  some  writers  that  ^  iiac- 
reon  and  Sappho  were  contemporaries ;  and  the 
very  thought  of  an  intercourse  between  persons  so 
congenial,  both  in  warmth  of  passion  and  delicacy 
of  genius,  gives  such  play  to  the  imagination,  that 
the  mind  loves  to  indulge  in  it.  But  the  vision 
dissolves  before  historical  truth  ;  and  Chameleon 
and  Hermesianax,  who  are  the  source  of  the  sup- 
position, are  considered  as  having  merely  indulged 
in  a  poetical  anachronism." 

To  infer  the  moral  dispositions  of  a  poet  from 
the  tone  of  sentiment  which  pervades  his  works, 
is  sometimes  a  very  fallacious  analogy ;  but  the 
Boul  of  Anacreon  speaks  so  unequivocally  through 
his  odes,  that  we  may  safety  consult  them  as  the 
faithful  mirrors  of  his  heart.''  We  find  him  there 
tlie  elegant  voluptuary,  diffusing  the  seductive 
charm  of  sentiment  over  passions  and  propensities 

ft  At  te,  sancte  senex,  acinus  sub  Tartara  misit ; 
Cygnea;  clausit  qui  tibi  vocis  iter. 
Vos,  hedersp,  tumulum,  lumulum  vos  cingite,  lauri, 

Hoc  rosa  perpcluo  vernet  ndora  loco ; 
At  vitis  procul  hinc,  procul  hinc  odiosa  facessat, 

Qua;  causam  dirx  protulit,  uva,  necis, 
Creihuir  ipse  minus  vitem  jam  Bacchus  amare. 
In  valcm  tantum  qua?  fuit  ansa  nefas. 
The  author  of  this  epitaph,  Ciclius    Calcagninus,  has 
translated  or  imitated  the  epigrams  cis  ttjv  Mupwi'os /^juv, 
which  are  given  under  the  name  of  Anacreon. 

8  Barnes  is  convinced  (but  very  gratuitously)  of  the  syn- 
chronism of  Anacreon  and  Sappho.  In  citing  his  authorities, 
he  has  strangely  neglected  the  line  quoted  by  Fulvius  Ursi- 
nus,  as  from  Anacreon, aniung  the  testimonies  to  Sappho: — 

E(/((  \a0ii}v  cioapas  Sott^w  TrapOcyov  aSv^bivov. 

Fabricius  thinks  that  they  might  have  been  contemporary, 
but  considers  their  amour  as  a  tale  of  imagination.    Vossius 
rejects  the  idea  entirely;  as  do  also  Olaus  Borrichius  and 
others. 
''An  Italian  poet,  in  some  verses  on  Bctleau's  translation 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


61 


Et  which  rig'id  morality  must  frown.  His  heart, 
Hevoted  to  indolence,  seems  to  have  thouglit  tliut 
there  is  wealth  enongh  in  happiness,  but  seldom 
happiness  in  mere  wealth.  The  cheerfulness,  in- 
deed, with  which  he  brightens  his  old  ago  is  inter- 
esting and  endearing:  like  his  own  rose,  he  is  fra- 
grant even  in  decay.  But  the  most  peculiar  feature 
of  his  mind  is  that  love  of  simplicity  which  he 
attributes  to  himself  so  feelingly,  and  which  breathes 
characteristically  througliout  all  that  ho  has  sung. 
lu  truth,  if  we  omit  those  few  vices  in  our  estimate 
which  religion,  at  that  time,  not  only  connived  at, 
but  consecrated,  we  shall  be  inclined  to  say  that  the 
disposition  of  our  poet  was  amiable  ;  that  his  morality 
was  relaxed,  but  not  abandoned  ;  and  that  Virtue, 
with  her  zone  loosened,  may  be  an  apt  emblem  of 
the  character  cf  Anacreon.^ 

Of  his  person  ar.d  physiognomy  time  has  pre- 
served such  imcertain  memorials,  that  it  were  bet- 
ter, perhaps,  to  leave  the  pencil  to  fancy  ;  and  few 
can  read  the  Odes  of  Anacreon  without  imagining 

of  Anacreon,  pretends  to  imagine  that  our  bard  did  not  feel 
iis  he  wrote  : — 

Lyium,  Venereni,  Cupidineinque 
Ecnex  lusit  Anacreon  poeta. 
Sed  quo  tempore  nee  capaciores 
Rofiabat  cyathos,  nee  inquietis 
Urebaiur  amoribus,  sed  ipsis 
Tantuin  versibus  et  jocis  aniabal, 
Nullum  prffi  se  habitum  gerens  amaniis- 

To  Love  and  Bacchus  ever  youn^ 

While  sage  Anaereon  touch'd  the  lyre, 
He  neither  felt  the  loves  he  sung, 

Nor  fiird  his  bowl  to  Bacchus  higher. 
Tho'^e  fiowery  days  had  faded  long, 

When  youth  could  act  the  lover's  part ; 
And  passion  trembled  in  his  song. 

But  never,  never,  reach'd  his  heart. 

*  Anaercon's  character  h.is  been  variously  colored.  Barnes 
lingers  on  it  with  enthusiast!,  nd-niration  ;  but  he  is  always 
extravagant,  if  not  sometimes  also  a  little  profane.  Baillet 
runs  too  much  into  the  opposite  extreme,  exaggerating  also 
the  testimonies  which  he  has  consulted;  and  we  cannot 
surely  agree  with  him  when  he  cites  such  a  compiler  as 
AlheniEus,  as  "un  des  plus  savans  critiques  del*antiquit6." 
—Jtt^ement  des  Scavans,  M.  CV. 

Barnes  eould  hardly  have  read  the  passage  to  which  he 
refers,  when  he  accuses  Le  Fevre  of  having  censured  our 
poet's  character  in  a  note  on  Longinus  ;  the  note  in  question 
being  manifest  irony,  in  allusion  to  some  censure  passed 
upon  Le  Fevre  for  his  Anacreon.  It  is  clear,  indeed,  that 
praise  rather  than  censure  is  intimated.  See  Johannes  Vul- 
pius,  (de  Utilitate  Foetices,)  who  vindicates  our  poet's  repu- 
tation. 

3  It  is  taken  from  the  Bibliotheca  of  Fulvius  Ursinus. 
Bellori  has  copied  the  same  head  into  his  Imagines.  .Tohannes 
Faber,  in  his  description  of  the  coin  of  Ursinus,  mentions 
another  head  on  a  very  beautiful  cornelian,  which  he  sup- 
poses was  worn  in  a  ring  by  some  admirer  of  the  poet.  In 
the  Iconngraphiaof  Canini  there  is  a  youthful  head  of  Anac- 
reon from  a  Grecian  medal,  with  the  letters  TEIOS  around 
it ;  on  the  reverse  there  is  a  Neptune,  holding  a  spear  in  his 


to  themselves  the  form  of  the  animated  old  bard, 
crowned  with  roses,  and  singing  cheerfully  to  his 
lyre.  But  the  liead  of  Anacreon,  prefixed  to  this 
work,^  has  been  considered  so  authentic,  that  we 
scarcely  could  be  justiiied  in  the  omission  of  it ;  and 
some  have  even  tliought  that  it  is  by  no  means 
deficient  in  that  benevolent  suavity  of  expression 
which  should  characterize  the  countenance  of  such 
a  poet. 

After  the  very  enthusiastic  eulogiums  bestowed 
both  by  ancients  and  modems  unon  the  poems  of 
Anacreon,^  we  need  not  be  diffic.ent  in  expressing 
our  raptures  at  their  beauty,  nor  hesitate  to  pro- 
nounce them  the  most  polished  remains  of  anti- 
quity.* They  are,  indeed,  all  beauty,  all  enchant- 
ment.^ He  steals  us  so  insensibly  i  (Ong  with  him, 
that  we  sympathize  even  in  his  excessb-s  In  his 
amatory  odes  there  is  a  delicacy  of  compliment  not 
to  be  found  in  any  other  ancient  poet.  Love  °i 
that  period  was  rather  an  unrefined  emotion  :  and 
the  intercourse  of  the  sexes  was  animated  more  by 

right  hand,  and  a  dolphin,  with  the  word  TIANilN  inscribed, 
in  the  left;  "  volendoci  denotare  (says  Canini)  che  quelle 
cittadini  laconiassero  in  honnre  del  suo  conipatriota  poeta." 
There  is  also  among  the  coins  of  De  Wilde  one,  which 
though  it  bears  no  effigy,  w^as  probably  struck  to  the  memory 
of  Anacreon.  It  has  the  wordTHIIiN,  encircled  with  an  ivy 
crown.  "  At  quidni  respicit  ha^c  corona  Anacreontem,  nobi- 
lem  lyricum  ?"— 7>c  fVi/dc. 

3  Besides  those  which  are  extant,  he  wrote  hjTnns.  elegies, 
epigrams,  &c.  Some  of  the  epigrams  still  exist.  Horace,  in 
addition  to  the  mention  of  him,  (lib.  iv.  od.  9,)  alludes  also 
to  a  poem  of  his  upon  the  rivalry  of  Circe  and  Penelope  in 
the  affections  of  Ulysses,  lib.  i.  od.  17;  and  the  scholiast 
upon  Nicander  cites  a  fragment  from  a  poem  upon  Sleep  by 
Anacreon,  and  attributes  to  him  likewise  a  niedieinal  trea- 
tise. Fulgentius  mentions  a  work  of  his  upon  the  war  be- 
tween Jupiter  and  the  Titans,  and  the  origin  of  the  conse- 
cration of  the  engle. 

<  See  Horace,  Maxinms  TjTius,  &:c.  "His  style  (says 
Scaliger)  is  sweeter  than  the  juice  of  the  Indian  reed."— 
Pact.  lib.  i.  cap.  44.  "  From  the  softness  of  his  verses  (■snys 
Olaus  Borrichius}  the  ancients  bestowed  on  him  the  epithets 
sweet,  delicate,  graceful,  &:c.''~DisseTtatw7ics  AcadeviiaE, 
de  Pcetis.  diss.  2.  Scaliger  again  praises  him  thus  in  a  pun  ; 
speaking  of  the  ^rXo?,  or  ode,  "  Anaereon  autcm  non  solum 
dedii  ha;c  jxe'Xt}  sed  etiani  in  ipsis  mella."  See  the  passage 
of  Rapin,  quoted  by  all  the  editors.  I  cannot  omit  citing 
also  the  following  very  spirited  apostrophe  of  the  author  of 
the  CommenUiry  prefixed  to  the  Parma  edition:  "O  vos 
sublimes  animx,  vos  Apollinis  alumni,  qui  post  unum  Alc- 
manem  in  tota  Hellade  lyricam  poesim  exsuscitastis,  coluis- 
tis,  amplificastis,  qufcso  vos  an  ullus  unquam  fueril  vates 
qui  Teio  cantori  vel  naturae  candore  vel  metri  suavilate 
palmam  pra:;ripnerit."  See  likewise  Vincenzo  Gravini  della 
Rag.  Poetic,  libro  primo,  p.  97.  Among  the  Ritratti  of  Ma- 
rino, there  is  one  of  Anacreon  beginning  "Cingetcmi  la 
fronte,"  &c.  &.c. 

5  "We  may  perceive,"  says  Vossius.  "  that  the  iteration  of 
his  words  conduces  very  much  to  the  sweetness  of  his  style." 
Henry  Stephen  remarks  the  same  beauty  in  a  note  on  the 
forty-fourth  ode.  This  figure  of  iteration  is  his  most  appro- 
priate grace: — but  the  modern  writers  of  Juvenilia  andBasla 
have  adopted  it  to  an  excess  which  destroys  the  effect. 


62 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


passion  than  by  sentiment  They  knew  not  those  ! 
little  tendenic8sps  v/hich  form  the  spiritual  part  of 
affection  ;  their  expression  of  feeling  was  therefore 
nido  and  unvaried,  and  the  poetry  of  love  deprived 
it  of  its  most  captivating  graces.  Anacrcon,  how- 
ever, attained  some  ideas  of  this  purer  gallantry  ; 
and  the  same  delicacy  of  mind  which  led  him  to  this 
refinement,  prevented  him  also  from  yielding  to  the 
freedom  of  language  which  has  sullied  the  pages 
of  all  the  other  poets.  His  descriptions  are  warm  ; 
but  the  warmth  is  in  the  ideas,  not  the  words.  He 
is  sportive  without  being  wanton,  and  ardent  with- 
out being  licentious.  His  poetic  invention  is  always 
most  brilliantly  displayed  in  those  allegorical  fictions 
which  so  many  have  endeavored  to  imitate,  though 
all  have  confessed  them  to  be  inimitable.  Sim- 
plicity is  the  distinguishing  feature  of  tliese  odes, 
and  they  interest  by  their  innocence,  as  much  as 
they  fascinate  by  their  beauty.  They  may  be  said, 
indeed,  to  be  the  very  infants  of  the  Muses,  and  to 
lisp  in  numbers. 

I  shall  not  be  accused  of  enthusiastic  partiality 
by  those  who  have  read  and  felt  the  original  ;  but, 
to  others,  I  am  conscious,  this  should  not  be  the 
language  of  a  translator,  whose  faint  reflection 
of  such  beauties  can  but  ill  justify  his  admiration 
of  them. 

In  the  age  of  Anacreon  music  and  poetry  were 
inseparable.  These  kindred  talents  were  for  a  long 
time  associated,  and  the  poet  always  sung  his  own 
compositions  to  the  lyre.  It  is  probable  that  they 
were  not  set  to  any  regular  air,  but  rather  a  kind 
of  musical  recitation,  which  was  varied  according 
to  the  fancy  and  feelings  of  the  moment.'  The 
poems  of  Anacreon  were  sung  at  banquets  as  late 
as  the  time  of  Aulus  Gellius,  who  tells  us  that  he 
hoard  one  of  the  odes  performed  at  a  buthday  enter- 
tainment.'' 

The  singular  beauty  of  our  poet's  style,  and  the 
a|>parent  lacility,  perhaps,  of  his  metre,  have  at- 
tracted, as  I  have  zdready  remarked,  a  crowd  of 


1  In  the  Paris  edition  there  are  four  of  the  original  odes 
set  ti)  music,  by  Le  Sueur,  Cosscc,  Mehul,  and  Cherubini. 
"On  chante  du  LaUn.  et  de  I'ltalien,"  says  Gail,  "quclque- 
fois  mOnie  sans  les  entendre;  qui  emp&che  que  nous  ne 
chantinns  des  odes  Grecques  ?"  The  chromatic  learning  of 
these  composers  is  very  unlike  what  we  ore  tnhl  of  the 
simple  melody  of  the  ancients;  and  Ihey  have  all.  ns  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  mistaken  the  accentuation  of  the  words. 

s  The  Parma  commentator  is  rather  careless  in  referring 
to  this  passage  of  Aulus  Gellius,  (lib.  six.  cap.  0.)  The  ode 
was  not  sung  by  the  rhetorician  Julianus,  as  he  says,  but  by 
the  minstrel?  of  both  sexes,  who  were  introduced  at  the 
entertainment. 

3  See  what  Colomeslus,  in  his  "  Literary  Treasures,"  has 
quoted  from  Alcyonius  dc  Exilio :  it  may  be  found  in  Bai- 
ter. Colomesius,  after  citing  the  passage,  adds,  "Hffc  auro 
contra  cara  non  polui  non  npponere." 


miitators.  Some  of  these  have  succeeded  with 
wonderful  felicity,  as  may  be  discerned  in  the  few 
odes  which  are  attributed  to  writers  of  a  later 
period.  But  none  of  his  emulators  have  been  half 
so  dangerous  to  his  fame  as  those  Greek  ecclesi- 
astics of  the  early  ages,  wlio,  being  conscious  of 
their  own  inferiority  to  their  great  prototy-pes,  deter- 
mined on  removing  all  possibility  of  comparison, 
and,  imder  a  semblance  of  moral  zeal,  deprived  the 
world  of  some  of  the  most  exquisite  treasures  of 
ancient  times.^  The  works  of  Sappho  and  Alcceus 
were  among  those  flowe^>^  ^f  Grecian  literature 
whicli  thus  fell  beneath  the  ude  hand  of  ecclesi- 
astical presumption.  It  is  true  they  pretended  that 
this  sacrifice  of  genius  was  hallowed  by  the  inter- 
ests of  religion  ;  but  I  have  already  as5.igned  the 
most  probable  motive  ;^  and  if  Gregorius  Nazian- 
zenns  had  not  written  Anacreontics,  we  might 
now  perhaps  have  the  works  of  the  Teian  unmu- 
tilated,  and  be  empowered  to  say  exultingly  with 
Horace, 

Nee  si  quid  olim  lusit  Anacreon 
Delevit  setas. 

The  zeal  by  which  these  bishops  professed  to  be 
actuated,  gave  birth  more  innocently,  indeed,  to  an 
absurd  species  of  parody,  as  repugnant  to  piety  as 
it  is  to  taste,  where  the  poet  of  voluptuousness  was 
made  a  preacher  of  the  gospel,  and  his  muse,  like 
the  Venus  in  armor  at  Laceda>mon,  was  arrayed  in 
all  the  severities  of  priestly  instruction.  Such  was 
the  "  Anacreon  Recantatus,"  by  Carohis  dc  Aquino, 
a  Jesuit,  published  1701,  which  cousisted  of  a  series 
of  palinodes  to  the  several  songs  of  our  poet.  Such, 
too,  was  the  Christian  Anacreon  of  Patriganus, 
another  Jesuit,^  who  preposterously  transferred  to  a 
most  sacred  subject  all  that  the  Grecian  poet  had 
dedicated  to  festivity  and  iovo. 

His  metre  has  frequei\tly  been  adopted  by  the 
modem  Latin  poets  ;  and  Scaiiger,  Tanbman, 
Barthius,*  and  others,  have  shown  that  it  is  by  no 


*  We  may  perceive  by  the  beginnin?  of  the  first  hymn  of 
Bishop  Synesius,  that  he  made  Anacreon  and  Sappho  his 
models  of  composition. 

Ayr.  fioi,  Xiycia  <f>op}ti}^, 
Mtra  Tijiai'  aoiiav, 
Rkra  A.io(itav  tc  fioXnav. 

Margunius  and  Daraascenus  were  likewise  authors  of  pious 
Anacreontics, 

s  This,  ])crhaps,  is  the  "Jesuita  qnidam  Grffculus"  al- 
luded to  by  Barnes,  who  has  himself  composed  an  AvuKpCDv 
XptcTiavoi,  as  absurd  as  the  rest,  but  somewhat  more  skil- 
fully executed. 

6  I  have  seen  somewhere  an  account  of  the  MSS.  of  Bar- 
thius.  written  just  al^er  his  death,  which  mentions  many 
more  Anacreontics  of  his  than  I  believe  have  ever  been 
published. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


63 


means   uncongenial   with    that    language.*       The 

Anacreontics  of  Scaliger,  however,  scarcely  deserve 
the  name  ;  as  they  ghtter  all  over  with  conceits,  and, 
though  often  elegant,  are  always  labored.  The 
beautiful  fictions  of  Angerianus^  preser\'e  more  hap- 
pily tiian  any  others  the  dehcate  tiuii  of  those  alle- 
gorical fables,  which,  passing  so  frequently  through 
the  mediums  of  version  and  unitation,  have  gener- 
ally lost  their  finest  rays  in  the  transmission.  Many  of 
the  Italian  poets  have  indulged  their  fancies  upon  the 
subjects,  and  in  the  manner  of  Anacreon.  Bernardo 
Tasso  first  introduced  the  metre,  which  was  after- 
wards polished  and  enriched  by  Chabriera  and  others.' 

To  judge  by  the  references  of  Degeu,  the  Ger- 
man language  abounds  in  Anacreontic  imitations ; 
and  Hagedom*  is  one  among  many  who  have  as- 
sumed him  as  a  model.  La  Farre,  Chaidieu,  and 
tlie  other  light  poets  of  France,  have  also  professed 
to  cultivate  the  muse  of  T6os ;  but  they  have  at- 
tained all  her  negligence  vrith  httle  of  the  simple 
grace  that  embellishes  it.  In  the  delicate  bard  of 
Schiras^  we  find  the  kindred  spirit  of  Anacreon : 
some  of  his  gazelles,  or  songs,  possess  all  the  char- 
acter of  our  poet. 

We  come  now  to  a  retrospect  of  the  editions  of 
Anacreon.  To  Henry  Stephen  we  are  indebted  for 
having  first  recovered  his  remains  from  the  obscurity 
in  which,  so  singularly,  they  had  for  many  ages  re- 
posed. He  foimd  the  seventh  ode,  as  we  are  told, 
on  the  cover  of  an  old  book,  and  communicated  •'• 
to  Victorius,  who  mentions  the  circumstance  in  his 
"  Various  Readings."  Stephen  was  then  very  joung ; 
and  this  discovery  was  considered  by  som*  critics  of 
that  day  as  a  literary  imposition."  In  l554,  how- 
ever, ho  gave  Anacreon  to  the  worlr?/  accompanied 

1  Thus  too  Alberlus,  a  Danish  i»oet:— 

Fidii  t^  iv^ister 
Gaudeb"  semper  esse, 
Gau'^^bo  semper  illi 
jj/are  thure  mulso; 
Gaudebo  semper  Ulum 
Laiidare  pumilillis 
AnacreonticUlis. 
See  the  Danish  Poets  collected  by  Rotsgaard. 

These  pretty  littlenesses  defy  translation.  A  beauUfnl  Anac- 
reontic by  HiigD  Grolius,  may  be  found  Lib.  i.  Farraginis. 

3  To  Angerianus  Prior  is  indebted  for  some  of  his  happiest 
mythological  subjects. 

3  See  Crescimbeni,  Ilistoria  della  Volg.  Pees. 

*  "li'aimable  Hagedom  vaut  quelquefois  Anacr6on."— 
Dorat,  Idee  de.  la.  Poisie  Jiltemande. 

6  See  Toderiai  on  the  learning  of  the  Turks,  as  translated 
bydeCournard.  Prince  Cantemir  has  made  the  Russians 
acquainted  with  Anacreon.  See  his  Life,  prefixed  to  a  trans- 
lation of  his  Satires,  by  the  Abb6  de  Guasco. 

6  Robortellus,  in  his  work  "  De  Ratione  corrigendi,"  pro- 
nounces these  verses  to  be  the  triflings  of  some  insipid 
Grscist. 


with  annotations  and  a  Latin  version  of  the  greater 
part  of  the  odes.  The  learned  still  hesitated  to  re- 
ceive them  as  the  relics  of  the  Teian  bard,  and  sus- 
pected them  to  be  the  fabrication  of  some  monks 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  This  was  an  idea  from 
which  the  classic  muse  recoiled ;  and  the  Vatican 
manuscript,  consulted  by  Scaliger  and  Salmasiiis, 
confirmed  the  antiquity  of  most  of  the  poems.  A 
very  inaccurate  copy  of  this  MS.  was  taken  by 
Isaac  Vossius,  and  this  is  the  authority  which  Barnes 
has  followed  in  liis  collation.  Accordingly  he  mis- 
represents almost  as  often  as  he  quotes;  and  i.ie 
subsequent  editors,  relying  upon  his  authority,  Iiave 
spoken  of  the  manuscript  with  not  less  confidence 
than  ignorance.  The  hterary  world,  however,  Has 
at  length  been  gratified  with  this  curious  memorial  ^x 
the  poet,  by  the  mdustry  of  the  Abbe  Spaletti,  who 
published  at  Rome,  m  1781,  a  fac-simile  of  those 
pages  of  the  Vatican  manuscript  which  contained 
the  odes  of  Anacreon.^ 

A  catalogue  has  bep^i  given  by  Gail  of  all  the 
different  editions  a--»d  translations  of  Anacreon. 
Finding  their  nu-^iber  to  be  much  greater  tlian  I 
could  possibly  *»ave  had  an  opportunity  of  consult- 
ing, I  shall  Here  content  myself  with  enumerating 
only  tho"3  editions  and  versions  which  it  has  been 
in  nv  power  to  collect ;  and  which,  though  very 
fen,  are,  I  beheve,  the  most  important. 

The  edition  by  Henry  Stephen,  1554,  at  Paris — 
the  Latin  version  is  attributed  by  Colomesius  to  John 
Dorat.' 

The  old  French  translations,  by  Ronsard  and 
Belleau — the  former  published  in  1555,  the  latter  in 
1556.  It  appears  from  a  note  of  Muretus  upon  one 
of  the  sonnets  of  Ronsard,  that  Henry  Stephen  coni- 

^  Ronsard  commemorates  this  event  ;— 

Je  vay  boire  a  Henrie  Etienne 

Qui  des  enfers  nous  a  rendu, 

Du  vieil  Anacreon  perdu, 

La  douce  lyre  Teienne.  Ode  srv  book  5. 

I  fill  the  bowl  to  Stephen's  name, 
Who  rescued  from  the  gloom  of  night 

The  Teian  bard  of  festive  fame. 
And  brought  his  living  lyre  to  light. 

fi  This  manuscript,  which  Spaletti  thinks  as  old  as  the 
tenth  century,  was  brought  from  the  Palatine  into  the  Vati- 
can library;  it  is  a  kind  of  anthology  of  Greek  epigrams,  and 
in  the  676th  page  of  it  are  found  the  'H.amit0ta  HvfirroaiaKa 
of  .\nacreon. 

9  "Le  mfime  (M.  Vossius)  m'a  dit  qu'il  avoit  poss6d6  no 
Anacr6on,  oii  Scaliger  avoit  marqu^  de  sa  main.  qu'Henri 
Elienne  n'6toit  pas  I'aiUeur  de  la  version  Laiine  des  odesde 
ce  po6te,  mais  Jean  Dorat." — Paulus  Colomesius,  Partteu- 
larites. 

IJoIomesius,  however,  seems  to  have  relied  too  iniplicilly 
:in  Vossius;— almost  all  these  Particularit6s  begin  with 
"  Bi.  Vossius  m'a  dit." 


64 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


raunicated  to  this  poet  his  manuscript  of  Anacreon, 
before  ho  promulgated  it  to  tlie  world.' 

The  edition  by  Le  Fevre,  IGGO. 

The  edition  by  Madame  Dacier,  1681,  with  a 
prose  translation." 

The  edition  by  Longepierre,  1C84,  with  a  transla- 
tion in  verse. 

The  edition  by  Baxter;  London,  1695. 

A  French  translation  by  la  Fosse,  1704. 

"  L'Histoire  des  Odes  d' Anacreon,"  by  Ga^on  ; 
Rotterdam,  1712. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  several  hands, 
1713,  in  which  the  odes  by  Cowley  are  inserted. 

The  edition  by  Barnes;  London,  1721. 

The  edition  by  Dr.  Trapp,  1733,  with  a  Latin 
version  in  ek-jriac  metre. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  John  Addison, 
1733. 

A  collection  of  Itai^n  translations  of  .tVnacreon, 
published  at  Venice,  17S6,  consisting  of  those  by 
Corsini,  Regnier,^  Salvini,  Marchetti,  and  one  by 
several  anonymous  authors.'' 

A  translation  m  English  verse,  by  Fawkes  and 
Doctor  Broome,  1760.» 

Another,  anonymous,  1768. 

The  edition  by  Spaletti,  at  Rome,  1731  ;Tyiththc 
fac-s'unile  of  the  Vatican  MS. 

Tlio  edition  by  Degen,  1786,  who  publist^d 
also  a  German  translation  of  Anacreon,  esteemed 
the  best. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  Urquhart, 
1787. 

1  *-La  fiction  tie  ce  sonnet,  comme  Tautenr  mfime  m'a  dit, 
est  prise  cl'une  ode  d' Anacreon,  encore  non  imprimte,  qu'il 
a  deimia  traduit,  Su  ^ttv  0iXr)  x^AtiJojc." 

=  The  author  of  Nouvclles  de  la  RSpub.  des  Lett,  bestows 
on  this  translation  much  more  praise  than  its  merits  appear 
In  nie  to  justify. 

3  The  notes  of  Regnier  are  not  inserted  in  this  edition; 
liut  tlicy  must  be  interestinfr.  as  they  were  for  the  most  part 
cdiuiiuiiiicated  by  the  ingenious  IVlenage,  who,  we  may  per- 
ceive, from  a  passage  in  the  Menagiana,  bestowed  some  re- 
search on  the  subject.  "C'est  aussi  lui  {M.  Bigot)  qui  s'est 
donn6  la  peine  de  conft^rer  des  manuscrits  en  Italie  dans  Ic 
terns  que  je  travaillois  sur  Anacr6on."— Jl/cno^iana,  secondo 
p;irtie. 

^  I  tind  in  Hayni's  Nolizia  de*  Libri  rari.  Venice,  1070,  an 
Italian  translation  by  Cappone,  mentioned. 

6  This  is  tiie  most  complete  of  the  English  translations. 


«  This  ode  is  the  first  of  the  series  in  the  Vatican  manu- 
script, which  attributes  it  to  no  other  poet  than  Anacreon. 
They  who  assert  that  the  manuscript  imputes  it  to  Basilius, 
have  been  n)isled  by  the  words  Toti  avTov  0aat'\tK(iis  in  the 
margin,  which  are  merely  intended  as  a  title  to  the  fullow- 
ing  ode.  Whether  it  be  the  production  of  Anacreon  or  not, 
it  has  all  the  tealures  of  ancient  simplicity,  and  is  a  beauti- 
ftrl  imitation  of  the  poet's  happiest  manner. 

'  Sparkled  in  his  eyes  ofjire, 
Through  the  mist  of  soft  ilesirc]    "How  could  he  know 


The  edition  by  Gail,  at  Paris,  1799,  with  a  prose 
translation. 


ODES  OF  anacreon: 


3DE  I. 


I  SAW  the  smiL.ig  bard  of  pleasure, 
The  minstrel  of  the  Teian  measure  ; 
'Twas  in  a  vision  of  the  night, 
He  beam'd  upon  my  wondering  sight 
I  heard  his  voice,  and  wamily  press'd, 
The  dear  enthusiast  to  my  breast. 
His  tresses  wore  a  silvery  dye, 
But  beauty  sparkled  in  his  eye ; 
Sparkled  in  his  eyes  of  fire, 
Through  the  mist  of  soft  desire.*' 
His  lip  exhaled,  whene'er  ho  sigh'd, 
The  fragrance  of  the  racy  tide  ; 
And,  as  with  weak  and  reeling  feet 
He  came  my  cordial  kisb  to  meet, 
An  infant,  of  the  Cyprian  band, 
Guided  him  on  with  tender  hand. 
Quick  from  his  glowing  brows  he  drew 
His  braid,  of  many  a  wanton  hue  ; 
I  took  the  wreath,  whose  inmost  twine 
Breathed  of  hmi  and  blush'd  witli  wine." 

at  the  first  loov  (says  Baxter)  that  the  poet  was  ^tXcvyosV 
There  are  surely  many  tell-tales  of  this  propensity  ;  and  the 
following  are  the  indices,  which  the  physioiinoniist  gives, 
describing  a  disposition  b^rhaps  not  unlike  that  of  Anacreon : 
Oi{6a\fioi  KXti^u^Et'ot,  K«pqivovT£S  iv  avTOis,  eis  aiJipo6t(na  vai 
ivtradetav  tT:TOf]i>Taf  ovrt  ^i  a6tK0t,  ovre  Kaxovpyoi,  ovtc 
0v(rca)$  ^avX/j?,  ovre  ajiovab-^—j^dainantius.  "The  eyes 
that  are  humid  and  fluctuating  smw  a  propensity  to  pleasure 
and  love;  they  bespeak  too  a  mind  of  integrity  and  benefi- 
cence, a  generosity  of  disposition,  and  i,  genius  for  poetry." 

Baptista  Torta  tells  us  some  strange  upinions  of  the  an- 
cient physiognomists  on  this  subject,  their  loasons  for  which 
were  curious,  and  perhr.ps  not  altogether  ianciful.  Vide 
Physiognom.  Johan.  Baptist.  Porlte. 

■  I  took  the  wreath,  tchosc  inmost  twine 
Breathed  of  him,  S,-c.]  Philostratus  has  the  same  thought 
in  one  of  hisEpwnicn,  where  he  speaks  of  the  garland  which 
he  had  sent  to  his  mistress.  Ki  6c  0t}v\£i  ti  0(Xaj  x''/"C^o'- 
6ai,Ta  ^citpava  avmrcfiipav,  ftrjKCrt  TrrsoiTT  ^oSuiV  {xoiov  aWa 
Kut  aov.  "  If  thou  art  inclined  to  gratify  thy  lover,  send  him 
back  the  remains  of  the  garland,  no  longer  breathing  of  roses 
only,  but  of  thee  !'*  Which  pretty  conceit  is  borrowed  {as 
the  author  of  the  Observer  remarks)  in  a  well-known  little 
song  of  Ben  Jonson's ; — 

"  But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe 
And  sent  it  back  to  me  ; 
Since  when  it  looks  and  smells,  I  swear, 
Not  of  itself,  but  thee!" 


ODES  OF  ANACREON.                                           65 

I  hung  it  o'er  my  thoughtless  brow 

Many  a  city,  revelling  free. 

And  all !  I  feel  its  magic  now  :' 

Full  of  loose  festivity. 

I  feel  that  even  his  garland's  touch 

Picture  then  a  rosy  train, 

Can  malce  the  bosom  love  too  much. 

Bacchants  straying  o'er  the  plaui ; 

Piping,  as  they  roam  along. 

Roundelay  or  sheplierd-song. 
Paint  me  next,  if  painting  may 

Such  a  theme  as  this  portray, 

ODE  II. 

All  the  earthly  heaven  of  love 

Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song, 

These  delighted  mortals  prove. 

Which  Homer's  finger  thriU'd  along ; 

But  tear  away  the  sanguine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  sing. 

Frocluiin  the  laws  of  festal  rito,^ 

I'm  monarch  of  the  board  to-night ; 

ODE  IV.* 

And  all  around  shall  brim  as  high, 

Vulcan  !  hear  your  glorious  task  ; 

And  quaff  the  tide  as  deep  as  I. 

I  do  not  from  your  labors  ask 

And  when  the  cluster's  mellowing  dews 

In  gorgeous  panoply  to  shine. 

Tlieir  warm  enchanting  balm  infuse. 

For  war  was  ne'er  a  sport  of  mine. 

Our  feet  shall  catcli  th'  elastic  bound, 

No — let  me  have  a  silver  bowl, 

And  reel  us  through  the  dance's  round. 

Wliero  I  may  cradle  all  my  soul  ; 

Great  Baccluis  !  we  shall  sing  to  thee, 

But  mind  that,  o'er  its  simple  frame 

In  wild  but  sweet  ebriety ; 

No  mimic  constellations  flame ; 

Flasliing  around  such  sparks  of  thought. 

Nor  grave  upon  the  swelling  side, 

As  Bacchus  could  alone  have  taught. 

Orion,  scowling  o'er  the  tide. 

I  care  not  for  the  glitt'ring  wain, 

Then,  give  the  harp  of  epic  song. 

Nor  yet  the  weeping  sister  train. 

Wliich  Homer's  finger  tbj-ill'd  along ; 

But  let  tlie  vine  luxuriant  roll 

But  tear  away  the  sanguine  string. 

Its  blushing  tendrils  round  the  bowl, 

For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  smg. 

While  many  a  rose-lipp'd  bacchant  maid 

Is  culling  clusters  in  their  shade. 

Let  sylvan  gods,  in  antic  shapes. 
Wildly  press  the  gushing  giapes, 

And  flights  of  Loves,  in  wanton  play. 

ODE  IIU 

Wing  through  the  air  theu-  wmding  way ; 

LiBTEN  to  the  Muse's  lyre. 

While  Venus  from  her  harbor  green, 

Master  of  the  pencil's  fire  ! 

Looks  laughing  at  the  joyous  scene. 

Sketch'd  in  painting's  bold  display, 

And  young  Lyceus  by  her  side 

Many  a  city  first  portray ; 

Sits,  worthy  of  so  bright' a  bride. 

1  .^nd  ah !  I  fed  its  magic  now :]  This  idea,  as  Longcpierre 

considerable  interpolations  of  his  own,  which  he  thinks  are 

remarks,  occurs  in  an  epigram  of  the  seventh  book  of  the 

indispensably  necessary  to  the  completion  of  the  description. 

Anthologia. 

*  This  ode,  Aulus  Gellius  tells  us,  was  performed  at  an 

entertainment  where  he  was  present. 

Eforc  ftoi  nivovTi  cvvcaraovaa  KapiKXcj 

AaBprj  Tovs  ((Jiouj  afi(pEl3a\e  are^avovs, 

fi  While  many  a  rose-lipp'd  bacchant  maid,  S-e.]    I  have 

llvp  oXoov  danrsi  [le. 

availed   myself  here  of  the  additional  lines  given  in  the 

Vatican  manuscript,  which  have  not  been  accurately  in- 

While I  unconscious  quafTd  my  wine, 

serted  in  any  of  the  ordinarj'  editions  : — 

'Twas  then  thy  fingers  slyly  stole 

Upon  my  brow  that  wreath  of  thine, 

Tiniriaov  afiTreXovs  fiOt 

Which  since  has  mailden'd  all  my  soul. 

Kai  0oTpvai  kqt'  niroiv 

Kat  naivaSas  rpvyujaas. 

a  Proclaim  the  laics  of  festal  rite.]  The  ancients  prescribed 

Tloi£i  Se  A^ffuv  oivov, 

certain  laws  of  drinking  at  their  festivals,  for  an  account  of 

Ajivofiarai  Trarouira;, 

which  see  the  commentators.     Anacreon  here  acts  the  sym- 

Totyjo-  arvpovi  yeXoivras^ 

posiarch,  or  master  of  the  festival.  I  have  translated  accord- 

K«i xi''i"^<"'S  Tovi  epotras, 

ing  to  those  who  consider  KVTTc\}<a  ■Sttr^wi'  as  an  inversion  of 

Kai  Kvd£pi)v  yt\(^iTavt 

5ttr/iou!  icuiTEXAajf. 

'O/iou  Ka\u)  Atiuio), 

8  La  Fosse  has  thought  proper  to  lengthen  this  poem  by 

EjO'jTa  K*  'Aippo6tTrtv. 

66 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ODE  V.i 
Sculptor,  wouldst  thou  ghid  my  60nl, 
Grave  for  me  an  ample  bowl, 
Worthy  to  shine  in  hall  or  bower, 
Wlieu  spring-time  brings  tlie  reveller's  hour. 
Grave  it  with  themes  of  chaste  design, 
Fit  for  a  simple  board  like  mine. 
Display  not  there  the  barbarous  rites 
In  which  religious  zeal  delights  ; 
Nor  any  tale  of  tragic  fate 
Which  History  shudders  to  relate. 
No — cull  thy  fancies  from  above, 
Themes  of  heav'u  and  themes  of  love. 
Let  Bacchus,  Jove's  ambrosial  boy, 
Distil  the  grape  in  drops  of  joy, 
And  while  he  smiles  at  every  tear, 
Let  wann-eyed  Venus,  dancing  near, 
With  spirits  of  the  genial  bed, 
Tlie  dewy  herbage  deftly  tread. 
Let  Love  be  there,  without  his  arms,' 
In  timid  nakedness  of  charms  j 
And  ail  the  Graces,  link'd  with  Ijove, 
Stray,  laughing,  through  the  shadowy  grove ; 

1  Degen  tliinks  that  this  ode  is  a  more  modem  ".mitationof 
the  preceding.  There  is  a  poem  by  C^lius  Calcagninus,  in 
the  manner  of  both,  where  he  gives  instructions  about  the 
malting  of  a  ring. 

Tornabis  annulum  mihi 

Et  fubre,  et  apte,  et  commode,  &.C.  &c. 

a  Let  Love  be  there,  without  his  arms,  ^-c]  Thus  Sannaz- 
aro  in  the  eclogue  of  Gallicio  neli'  Arcadia : — 
Vegnan  U  vaghi  Amori 
Senza  fiammelle,  6  strali, 
Scherzando  insieme  pargoletti  e  nadi. 
Fluttering  on  the  busy  wing, 

A  train  of  naked  Cupids  came, 
Sporting  around  in  harmless  ring, 
Without  a  dart,  without  a  flame. 
And  thus  in  the  Per\'igilium  Veneris  : — 

Ite  nymphte,  posuit  arnia,  ferialus  est  amor. 
Love  is  disarm'd — ye  nymphs,  in  safety  stray, 
Your  bosoms  now  may  boast  a  holiday  ! 
3  But  ah  I  if  there  ,fipollo  toys, 

1  tremble  for  the  rosy  boys.]  An  allusion  to  the  fable,  that 
Apollo  had  killed  his  beloved  boy  Hyacinth,  while  playing 
with  him  at  quoits.  "  This  {says  M.  La  Fosse)  is  assuredly 
the  sense  of  the  te.^t,  and  it  cannot  admit  of  any  other." 

The  Italian  iransUitors,  to  save  themselves  the  trouble  of  a 
note,  have  taken  the  liberty  of  making  Anacreon  himself 
explain  this  fable-  Thus  Sulvini,  the  most  literal  of  any  of 
them  :— 

Ma  con  lor  non  giuochl  Apollo ; 

Che  in  fiero  risco 

Col  duro  disco 

A  Giacinto  fiaccd  il  collo. 

*  This  beautiful  fiction,  which  ihc  commentators  have  at- 
tributed to  Julian,  a  royal  poet,  the  Vatican  MS.  pronounces 
to  be  the  genuine  ofiVpring  of  Anacreon.  It  hax,  indeed,  all 
the  features  of  the  parent : — 


While  rosy  boys  disporting  round, 
In  circlets  trip  the  velvet  ground. 
But  ah  !  if  there  Apollo  toys, 
I  tremble  for  the  rosy  boys.* 


As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers. 
To  cull  a  wreath  of  matin  flowers, 
AVhere  many  an  early  rose  was  weeping 
found  the  urchin  Cupid  sleeoing.* 
caught  the  boy,  a  goblet's  tiae 
Was  richly  mantling  by  my  side, 
I  caught  him  by  his  downy  wing. 
And  whelm'd  him  in  the  racy  spring. 
Then  drank  I  down  the  poison'd  bowl. 
And  Love  now  nestles  in  my  eoul 
Oh  yes,  my  soul  is  Cupid's  nest, 
I  feel  liim  fluttering  in  my  breast. 


et  facile  insciia 
Noscitetur  ab  omnibus. 

6  W%ere  many  an  early  rose  was  weeping, 
J  found  the  urchin  Cupid  sleeping-.]    This  idea  is  prettily 
imitated  in  the  following  epigram  by  Andreas  Naugerius : — 

Florentes  dum  forte  vagans  mea  Hyella  per  hortos 

Texit  odoraiis  lilia  cana  rosis, 
Ecce  rosas  inter  latitantem  invenit  Amorem 

Et  simul  annexis  floribus  implicuit. 
Luctatur  primo,  et  contra  nitentibus  alis 

Indomitus  tentat  solvere  vincla  piier: 
Wox  ubi  lacieolas  et  dignas  matre  papillas 

Vidit  et  ora  ipsos  nnla  movere  Deos, 
Impositosque  comie  ambrosios  ut  sentit  odores 

Quosq^ue  legit  diti  messe  beatus  Arabs  ; 
"I  (dixit)  mea,  quaere  novum  tibi,  maler,  Amorem 

Imperio  sedes  ha-c  erit  apta  meo." 

As  fair  Hyella.  through  the  bloomy  grove, 
A  wreath  of  many  mingled  flow'rets  wove, 
Within  a  rose  a  sleeping  Love  she  found, 
And  in  the  twisted  wreaths  the  baby  bound. 
Awhile  he  struggled,  and  impatient  tried 
To  break  the  rosy  bonds  the  virgin  tied  ; 
But  when  he  saw  her  bosom's  radiant  swell, 
Her  features,  where  the  eye  of  Jove  might  dwell ; 
And  caught  Ih'  ambrosial  odors  of  her  hair, 
Rich  as  the  breathings  of  Arabian  air; 
*'0h  !  mother  Venus,"  (said  the  raptured  child. 
By  charms,  of  more  than  mortal  bloom,  beguiled.) 
"Go,  seek  another  boy.  thou'st  lost  thine  own, 
"Hyella*s  arms  shall  now  be  Cupid's  throne  !" 

This  epigram  of  Naugerius  is  imitated  by  Lodovico  Dolce 
in  a  poem,  beginning 

Mentre  raccoglie  hor  nno,  hor  altro  fiore 
Vicina  a  un  rio  di  chlare  et  lucid*  onde, 
Lidia,  &c.  &.C. 


I 

I 


I 


mm 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


67 


OPE  viu 

The  women  tell  me  every  day 
That  ail  my  bloom  has  pass'd  away. 
*'  Beliold,"  the  pretty  wantons  cry, 
"  Behold  this  mirror  with  a  sigh  ; 
The  locks  upon  thy  brow  are  few, 
And,  like  the  rest,  they're  withering  too  ! 
Whether  decline  has  thinn'd  my  hair, 
Fm  sure  I  neither  know  nor  care  f 
But  this  I  know,  and  this  I  feel, 
As  onward  to  the  tomb  I  steal, 
That  still  as  death  approaches  nearer. 
The  joys  of  life  are  sweeter,  dearer  f 
And  had  I  but  an  hour  to  live, 
That  little  hour  to  bliss  I'd  give. 


ODE  vm.* 

I  CARE  not  for  the  idle  state 
Of  Persia's  king,^  the  rich,  the  great: 
I  envy  not  the  monarch's  throne, 
Nor  wish  the  treasured  gold  my  owb. 

I  Allierti  has  imitited  this  ode  in  a  poem,  beginning 
Nisa  mi  dice  e  C!ori 
Tirsi,  tu  se'  pur  veglio. 
3  Whether  dedive  has  thintCd  my  hair, 
Vm  sure  I  neither  know  -nor  care ;]    Henry  Stephen  very 
justly  remarks  the  elegant  negligence  of  expression  in  the 
original  here : 

EytJ  (?£  Tif  KO^a^  ficv, 

OvK  oiSa. 
And  Lnngepierre  has  adduced  from  Catullus,  what  he  thinks 
a  similar  instance  of  this  simplicit>'  of  manner : — 

Ipse  quis  sit,  utrum  sit,  an  non  sit,  id  quoque  nescit 
Lonsepierre  was  a  good  critic ;  but  perhaps  the  line  which 
he  has  selected  is  a  specimenof  a  carelessness  not  very  com- 
mendable.   At  the  same  time  I  confess,  that  none  of  the 
Latin  poets  have  ever  appeared  to  me  so  capable  of  imitating 
the  graces  of  Anacreon  as  Catullus,  if  he  had  not  allowed  a 
depraved  imagination  to  hurry  him  so  often  into  mere  vulgar 
licentiousness. 
3  That  still  as  death  approaches  nearer. 
The  joys  of  life  are  sweeter,  dearer;]  Pontanushasa  very 
delicate  thought  upon  the  subject  of  old  age: 

Quid  rides,  Matrona  T  senem  quid  temnis  amantem  ? 
Qiiisquis  amal  null&  est  conditione  senex. 
Why  do  you  scorn  my  want  of  youth, 
And  with  a  smile  my  brow  behold  1 
La<Iy  dear  I  believe  this  truth. 
That  he  who  loves  cannot  be  old. 

*  "The German  poet  Lessing  has  imitated  this  ode.  Vol. 
i.  p.  24.'*     Degen.    Gail  de  Editionibus. 

Baxter  conjectures  that  this  was  written  upon  the  occasion 
of  our  poet's  returning  the  money  to  Polycrates,  according 
to  the  anecdote  in  StobTUs. 

6    I  care  vol  for  the  idle  state 

Of  Persians  king,  &-c.]  "  There  is  a  fragment  if  Archilo- 
chas  ia  Plutarch,  '  De  tranquiUitite  animi,'  which  our  poet 
has  very  closely  imitated  here ;  it  begins, 


But  oh !  be  mine  the  rosy  wreath, 

Its  freshness  o'er  my  brow  to  breathe  ; 

Be  mine  the  rich  perfumes  that  flow, 

To  cool  and  scent  my  locks  of  snow.° 

To-day  I'll  haste  to  quaff  my  wine, 

As  if  to-morrow  ne'er  would  shine  : 

But  if  to-morrow  comes,  why  then — 

I'll  haste  to  quaff  my  wine  again. 

And  thus  .while  all  our  days  are  bright. 

Nor  time  has  dhnm'd  their  bloomy  light, 

Let  us  the  festal  hours  beguile 

With  mantling  cup  and  cordial  smile ; 

And  shed  from  each  new  bowl  of  wine 

The  richest  drop  on  Bacchus'  shrine. 

For  Death  may  come,  with  brow  unpleasant. 

May  come,  when  least  we  wish  him  present, 

And  beckon  to  the  sable  shore. 

And  grimly  bid  us — drink  no  more  I 


ODE  IX. 
I  PRAY  thee,  by  the  gods  above,"' 
Give  me  the  mighty  bowl  I  love, 

Ou  y.nt  ra  Tvyeui  ruv  noXvxp'vao-o  fieXct."     Barnes. 
In  one  of  the  monkish  imitators  of  Anacreon  we  find  the 
same  thought : — 

Ti  (Tot  ^fXeij  ytveaSai  ; 
OeXei  J.  Tvyeiji  ra  Kai  ra  ; 

"  Be  mine  the  rich  perfumes  that  flow. 

To  conl  and  scent  my  locks  of  snow.]  In  the  original, /inpof- 
ci  KaTa(ipcxi^iv  vT:r]vriv.  On  accountof  this  idea  of  perfuming 
the  beard,  Cornelius  de  Pauw  pronounces  the  whole  ode 
to  be  the  spurious  production  of  some  lascivious  monk,  who 
was  nursing  his  beard  with  unguents.  But  he  should  have 
known,  that  this  was  an  ancienteastern  custom,  which,  if  we 
may  believe  Savarj',  still  exists:  "Vous  voyez,  Monsieur, 
(says  this  traveller,}  que  I'usage  antique  de  se  parfnmer  la 
tfile  et  Iabarbe,*c616br6  par  le  prophete  Roi,  subsiste  encore 
de  nos  jours."  Letlre  12.  Savary  likewise  cites  this  very 
ode  of  Anacreon.  Angerianus  has  not  thought  the  idea  in- 
consistent, having  introduced  it  in  the  following  lines: 
Ha;c  mihi  cura,  rosls  et  cingere  tempora  nijTto, 

Et  curas  nmlto  delapidare  mero. 
Hxc  mihi  cura,  comas  et  barbam  tingere  succo 

Assyrio  et  dulces  conlinuare  jocos. 
This  be  my  care,  to  wreathe  my  brow  with  flowers, 

To  drench  my  sorrows  in  the  ample  bowl ; 
To  pour  rich  perfumes  o'er  my  beard  in  showers, 
And  give  full  loose  to  mirth  and  joy  of  soul  I 
T  The  poet  is  here  in  a  phrensy  of  enjoyment,  and  it  is,  in- 
'deed,  "amabilis  insania  ;" — 

Furor  di  poesia, 
Dilascivia,  e  di  vino, 
Triplicato  furore, 
Baccho,  Apollo,  et  Amore. 

Hitratti  del  Cavalier  ^Jarino. 
This  Is  truly,  as  Scaliger  expresses  it, 

Insanire  dulce 

Et  sapidum  furere  furoreni 
•  "Sicut  unKuentura   in  capile   quod  desceudit    in  barbum   AumaiH, 
Putume  czxxiii." 


68 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  let  me  sing,  in  wild  delight, 
"  I  will — I  will  be  mad  to-night !" 
Alcniaeon  once,  as  legends  toll, 
AVas  phrensied  by  the  fiends  of  hell ; 
Orestes  too,  with  naked  tread, 
Frantic  paced  the  mountain-head ; 
And  why  ?  a  murder'd  mother's  shade 
Haunted  them  still  where'er  they  stray'd. 
But  ne'er  could  I  a  murderer  be, 
The  grape  alone  shall  bleed  by  me ; 
Yet  can  I  shout,  with  wild  delight, 
"  I  will — I  will  be  mad  to-night." 

Alcides'  self,  in  days  of  yore, 
Imbrued  his  hands  in  youthful  gore, 
And  brandish'd,  with  a  maniac  joy, 
The  quiver  of  th'  expiring  boy : 
And  Ajax,  witli  tremendous  shield. 
Infuriate  scour'd  the  guiltless  field. 
But  I,  whoso  hands  no  weapon  ask. 
No  annor  but  this  joyous  flask  ; 
The  trophy  of  whose  frantic  hours 
Is  but  a  scatter'd  wreath  of  flowers, 
Ev'n  I  can  suig  witli  wild  delight, 
"  I  will^I  will  be  mad  to-night !" 


ODE  X.' 


How  am  I  to  punish  thee. 
For  the  wrong  thou'st  done  to  me. 
Silly  swallow,  pratuig  tiling^ — 
Shall  I  clip  that  wheeling  wing? 
Or,  as  Tereus  did,  of  old,^ 
(So  the  fabled  tale  is  told,) 
Shall  I  tear  that  tongue  away. 
Tongue  that  ntter'd  such  a  lay  ? 


1  This  oiic  is  addressed  to  a  swallow.  I  find  from  Degen 
and  frnm  Gail's  index,  that  the  German  poet  VVeisse  has 
imitated  it,  Scherz.  Lieder.  lib;  ii.  carin.  5. ;  that  Itamler  also 
has  imitated  it,  Lyr.  Blumenlese,  lib.  iv.  p.  335;  and  some 
others.    See  Gail  de  Editionibns. 

We  are  here  referred  by  DcL'Cn  to  that  dull  book,  the  Epis- 
tles of  Alciphron,  tenth  epistle,  third  bonk;  where  lophon 
coinplains  to  Erastoo  of  being  awakened  by  the  crowing  of  a 
cock,  from  his  vision  of  riches. 

2  Sitty  swrtllotD.  prating  tbinsr.  i-f^-)  The  loquacity  of  the 
swallow  was  proverbialized  ;  thus  Nicoslratus ; — 

Ei  Tit  awcx^'ti  Xf"  ttoX}q  kci  ra;^ftjf  AaAcir 
Hi'  rov  tftpofcif  nannffrjjiov,  al  ;^cXnjO»'£j 
EXt>-ocr'  av  fiuioy  oLjipiiaviaTcpai  ttoXv. 

If  in  prating  from  morning  till  night 

A  sign  of  our  wisdom  there  be. 
The  swallows  are  wiser  by  right, 

For  they  prattle  much  faster  than  we. 


Ah,  how  thoughtless  hast  thou  been  I 
Long  before  the  dawn  was  seen. 
When  a  dream  came  o'er  my  mind, 
Pictiu"ing  her  I  worship,  kind. 
Just  when  I  was  nearly  blest. 
Loud  thy  matins  broke  my  rest ! 


"  Tell  me,  gentle  youth,  I  pray  thee, 

A'iTiat  in  purchase  shall  I  pay  thee 

For  this  little  waxen  toy, 

Image  of  the  Faphian  boy  ?" 

Thus  I  said,  the  other  day, 

To  a  youth  who  pass'd  my  wtj 

"  Sir,"  (he  answer'd,  and  the  wii>  8 

Ans^ver'd  all  in  Doric  style,) 

"  Take  it,  for  a  trifle  take  it ; 

'Twas  not  I  who  dared  to  make  it ; 

No,  believe  me,  'twas  not  I ; 

Oh,  it  has  cost  me  many  a  sigh. 

And  I  can  no  longer  keep 

Little  gods,  who  murder  sleep  I'*'* 

"  Here,  then,  here,"  (I  said  with  joy,) 

'*  Here  is  silver  for  the  boy : 

He  shall  be  my  bosom  guest. 

Idol  of  my  pious  breast !" 

Now,  yomig  Love,  I  have  thee  mine 
Warm  mo  with  that  torch  of  thine  ; 
Make  me  feel  as  I  have  felt. 
Or  thy  waxen  frame  shall  melt : 
I  must  burn  with  warm  desire. 
Or  thou,  my  boy — iu  yonder  fire.' 


3  Or,  as  Tereus  did,  of  old,  &-e.]  Modern  poetry  has  con- 
firmed tbe  name  of  Philomel  upon  the  nightingale  ;  but  many 
respectable  autborities  among  the  ancients  assigned  this 
metamorphose  to  Progne,  and  made  Philomel  the  swallow, 
as  Anacreon  does  here. 

*  It  is  difficult  to  preserve  with  any  grace  the  narrative 
sim[)licity  of  this  ode,  and  the  humor  of  the  turn  with  which 
it  concludes.  I  feel,  indeeil,  that  the  translation  must  ap- 
pear vapid,  if  not  ludicrous,  to  an  English  reader. 

*  ^nd  lean  no  longer  hecp 

Little  pods,  who  murder  sleep  I]  I  have  not  literally  ren- 
dered the  epithet  navropEKTa  ;  if  it  has  any  meaning  here,  it 
is  one,  perhaps,  better  omitted. 

*  I  must  bum  with  warm  desire. 

Or  thou,  my  boy — in  yonder  Jire.]  From  this  Lougepietre 
conjectures,  that,  whatever  Anacreon  might  say,  he  felt 
sometimes  the  inconveniences  of  old  age,  and  here  solicits 
from  the  power  of  Lovea  warmth  which  he  could  no  longer 
expect  fi-om  Nature. 


i 


I 
I 


i 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


69 


ODE  XII. 
They  toll  how  Atys,  wild  with  love, 
Roams  tlie  mount  and  haunted  grove  ;* 
Cybcle's  name  lie  howls  around,^ 
The  gloomy  blast  returns  the  sound  I 
Oft  too,  by  Claros'  hallow'd  spring,* 
The  votaries  of  the  laurell'd  king 
Quaff  the  inspiring,  magic  strea^m, 
And  rave  in  wild,  prophetic  dream. 
But  phreusied  dreams  are  not  for  me, 
Great  Bacchus  is  my  deity ! 
Full  of  mirth,  and  full  of  liim, 
While  floating  odors  round  me  swim,* 
While  mantling  bowls  are  full  supplied, 
And  you  sit  blushing  by  my  side, 
I  will  be  mad  and  raving  too — 
iMad,  my  girl,  with  love  for  you! 


I  witL,  I  will,  the  conflict's  past. 
And  I'll  consent  to  love  at  last 


1  Tkey  tell  how  Mys^  v}ild  tciik  love. 

Roams  the  vwunt  and  haunted  grove  fl  There  are  many 
contnidictory  stories  of  the  loves  of  Cyliele  and  Atys.  It  is 
certain  that  he  was  mutilated,  hut  whether  hy  his  own  fury, 
or  Cybele's  jealousy,  is  a  point  upon  which  authors  are  not 
agreed. 

2  Cybde^s  name  he  hotels  around,  iS-c]  T  have  here  adopted 
the  accentuation  whieh  Elias  Andreas  gives  to  Cybele  : — 

In  montibus  Cybelen 
Magno  sonans  boatu. 

3  Oft  too,  by  Claras^  haUow''d  spring,  S,-c.'\  This  fountain  was 
in  a  grove,  consecrated  to  ApoUn,  and  situated  between  Colo- 
phon and  Lebedos,  in  Ionia.  The  god  had  an  oracie  there. 
Scaliger  thus  alludes  to  it  in  his  Anacreonlica  : 

Semel  ut  concitus  ceslro, 
Veluti  qui  Clarias  aquas 
Ebibere  loquaces, 
Q.UO  plus  canunt,  plura  volunt. 

*  While fioating  odors,  &-C.}  Spaletti  has  quite  nnstakcn  the 
import  of  Kootc-Oiif,  as  applied  to  the  poet's  mistress — "MeS, 
fatigatus  amic4  ;" — thus  interpreting  ii  in  a  sense  which 
raustwant  either  delicacy  or  gallantry-;  if  not,  pei  haps,  both. 

5  Jlnd  what  did  J  unthinking  do  1 

I  took  to  arms,  undaunted,  too ;]  Longepierre  has  here 
quoted  an  epigram  from  the  Anthologia,  in  which  the  poet 
assumes  Reason  as  the  armor  against  Love. 

GTrAtCT/ifl*  Jrpos  cpojTa  -ncpi  arcpvotvi  ^oytafjov, 

OvSc  \tc  vtKtiGEt,  iiovviis  Eaif  n-pof  iva' 
Ofaro^  ^'  adavario  avvc^cvcopiar  ijv  6c  0orj9ov 

HaKXOv  exit  T"!  [jui'os  iTpoi  ^u'  ey'jj  ivvaftat 

With  Reason  I  cover  my  breast  as  a  shield, 
And  fearlessly  meet  little  Love  In  the  field  ; 
Thus  fighting  his  godsliip.  I'll  ne'er  be  dismay'd; 
But  if  Bacchus  should  ever  advance  to  his  aid. 


Cupid  has  long,  with  smiling  art, 
Invited  me  to  yield  my  lieart ; 
And  I  have  thought  that  peace  of  mind 
Should  not  be  for  a  smile  resign'd : 
\.nd  so  repcll'd  the  tender  lure, 
And  hoped  my  heart  would  sleep  secure 

But,  slighted  in  his  boasted  charms, 
The  angry  infant  flew  to  arms ; 
He  slung  his  quiver's  golden  frame, 
He  took  his  bow,  h.is  thafts  of  flame, 
And  proudly  summon'd  me  to  yield. 
Or  meet  him  on  the  martial  field 
And  what  did  I  unthinking  do? 
I  took  to  arms,  undaunted,  too  ;* 
Assimied  the  corslet,  shield,  and  speE. 
And,  like  Pelides,  sniiled  at  fear. 
Then  (hear  it,  all  ye  powers  above !) 
I  fought  with  Love  !  I  fought  with  Love ! 
And  now  his  arrows  all  were  shed, 
And  I  had  just  in  terror  fled — 
When,  heaving  an  indignant  sigh, 
To  see  me  thus  unwounded  fly, 
And,  having  now  no  other  dart, 
He  shot  Iiiraself  into  my  heart  !* 


Alas',  then,  unable  to  combat  the  two, 
Unfortunate  warrior,  what  sliould  I  do  ? 

This  idea  of  the  irresistibility  of  Cupid  and  Bacchus  uni- 
ted, is  delicately  expressed  in  an  Italian  poem,  which  is  so 
truly  Anacreontic,  that  its  introduction  here  may  be  par- 
doned.   It  is  an  imitation,  indeed,  of  our  poet's  sixth  ode. 

Lavossi  Amore  in  quel  vicino  fiume 

Ove  giuro  (Pastor)  che  bevend'  io 

Bevei  le  fiamme,  anzi  I'istesso  Die, 

Ch'or  con  Thuniiiie  piume 

Lascivetto  mi  schcrza  al  cor  intorno. 

Ma  che  sarei  s'io  lo  bevessi  un  giorno, 

Bacco,  nel  tuo  liqnore  ? 

Sarei,  piu  che  nan  sono  ebro  d'Amore. 

The  urcliin  of  the  bow  and  quiver 

Was  bathing  in  a  neighboring  river, 

Where,  as  I  drank  on  yester-eve, 

(Shepherd-youth,  the  tale  believe,) 

•Twas  not  a  cooling,  crystal  draught, 

'Twas  liquid  flame  I  madly  quaft^'d; 

For  Love  was  in  the  rippling  tide, 

I  felt  him  to  my  bosom  gliile  ; 

And  now  the  wily,  wanton  minion 

Plays  round  my  heart  with  restless  pinion. 

A  day  it  Avas  of  fatal  star, 

But  ah,  "twere  e'en  more  f'ltal  far, 

If,  Bacchus,  in  thy  cup  of  fire, 

I  found  this  flutt'ritig,  young  desire: 

Then,  then  indeed  my  soui  would  prove. 

E'en  more  than  ever,  drunk  with  love! 
6  ^nd,  having  now  no  other  dart. 

He  shut  himsc/f  into  my  heart  /]     Dryden  has  parodied  this 
thought  in  the  following  extravagant  lines: — 
I'm  all  o'er  Love  ; 

Nay,  I  am  Love,  Love  shot,  and  shot  so  fai^ 

He  shot  himseK"  into  my  breast  at  last. 


70                                                  MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

My  heart — alas  the  luckless  day  ! 

All  the  gentle  n\-mphs  I  love. 

Received  the  god,  and  died  away. 

First,  of  pure  Athenian  maids 

Farewell,  farewell,  my  faitiiless  shield! 

Sporting  in  their  olive  sliades, 

Thy  lord  at  lengtli  is  forced  to  yield. 

You  may  reckon  just  a  score, 

Vain,  vain,  is  every  outward  care, 

Nay,  ril  grant  you  fifteen  more. 

The  foe's  within,  and  triumplis  there. 

In  the  famed  Corinthian  grove, 

Where  such  countless  wantons  rove," 

Chains  of  beauties  may  be  found. 

Chains,  by  which  my  heart  is  bound ; 

ODE  XIV.i 

There,  indeed,  are  nymphs  divine. 

Count  me,  on  the  summer  trees, 

Dangerous  to  a  soul  lilie  mine.* 

Every  leaf  that  courts  the  breeze  ;' 

Many  bloom  in  Lesbos'  isle  ; 

Count  me,  on  the  foamy  deep, 

Many  in  Ionia  smile ; 

Every  wave  that  sinks  to  sleep ; 

Rhodes  a  pretty  swasm  can  boast ; 

Then,  wlicn  you  have  number'd  these 

Caria  too  contains  a  host- 

BiIlo^vy  tides  ainl  leafy  trees, 

Sum  them  all — of  brown  and  fair 

Count  me  all  the  flames  I  prove, 

You  may  count  two  thousand  there. 

1  The  poet,  in  litis  catalupue  of  his  mistresses,  means  noth- 

Oh :  I'm  such  a  roving  elf. 

ing  more  thiin,  by  a  lively  hyperbole,  to  inform  us,  that  his 

That  the  Queen  of  love  herself, 

heart,  unfettered  by  any  one  object,  was  warm  with  devo- 

Though she  practised  all  her  wiles, 

tion  towards  the  sex  in  general.    Cowley  is  indebted  to  this 

Rosy  blushes,  wreathed  smiles. 

ode  for  the  hint  of  his  ballad,  called  "The  Chronicle  ;"  and 

All  her  beauty's  proud  endeavor 

the  learned  Menage  has  imitated  it  in  a  Greek  Anacreontic, 

Could  not  chain  my  heart  forever. 

which  has  so  much  ease  and  spirit,  that  the  reader  may  not 

a  Count  mc,  on  the  summer  trees. 

be  displeased  at  seeing  it  here  :— 

Every  leaf,  &-c.\    Tliis  figure  is  called,  by  rhetoricians,  the 

Impossible,  {aSwarov,)  and  is  very  frequently  made  use  of 

npos  BmNA. 

in  poetry.    The  amator>'  writers  have  exhausted  a  worlil  of 

Et  aXo-fcJc  TO  (pvWa, 

imagery  by  it,  to  express  the  infinite  numberof  kisses  which 

AetiiOiviovg  t£  Trniag, 

they  require  from  the  lips  of  their  mistresses :  in  this  Catullus 

El  vVKTos  aarpa  iravra^ 

led  the  way. 

TlafiaKTiov^  Tt  ipafifiovi, 

— Qnam  sidera  multa,  cum  tacet  nox,   ■ 

A\os  T£  KV^arii}6r}, 

Furtivos  hominum  vident  amores  ; 

Awn,  Biwi',  aptOiiCiv, 

Tarn  te  basia  multa  basiare 

Kai  roTif  £/<ovs  Epuras 

Vesano  satis,  et  super,  Catullo  est : 

AvfT],  Bujv,  apidficiy. 

Q.u:b  nee  pernumerare  curiosi 

Koprjf,  yvi/aiKO,  Xfipan, 

Possint,  nee  mala  fascinare  lingua.        Carm.  7. 

JlpiKprji',  Meariv,  Mcj-Kirijv, 

As  many  stellar  eyes  of  light. 

A£VKr]v  T€  Kai  ^If-Xaivav, 

As  through  the  silent  wasle  of  night, 

Opiia6ai,  Nan-aias, 

Gazing  upon  this  world  of  shade, 

^npni^<iS  rs.  jracraf 

Witness  some  secret  youth  and  maid. 

"O  aoi  <pi'Soi  <pi\r}(T£ 

Who  fair  as  thou,  and  f<md  as  I, 

Tiavnov  Koptis  fttu  coriv. 

In  stolen  joys  enamor'd  lie,— 

Avrni'  vtMV  E/Joirou', 

So  many  kisses,  ere  I  slumber. 

Ai(JT;oivav  AcfjpoStTTjv, 

Upon  those  dew-bright  lips  I'll  number; 

XpuffTji',  KoXfjc  yXvKuav, 

So  many  kisses  we  shall  count. 

Epaofitav,  iroOcivrjv, 

Envy  can  never  tell  th*  amount. 

Aci  povrji'  <pi\T]tTai 

No  tongue  shall  blab  the  sum,  but  mine  ; 
No  lips  shaft  fascinate,  but  thine  ! 

E}'to)£  firi  dovatfiijv. 

Tell  the  fnliage  of  the  woods, 

s  fn  the  famed  Corinthian  g^rove. 

Tell  ibe  billows  of  the  Hoods, 

fVhcre  such  count/ess  jraiitons  rove,  iS'f-J  Corinth  was  very 

Number  iiiidiiighi's  starry  store, 

famous  for  the  beauty  and  number  of  its  courtesans.  Venus 

And  the  sands  that  crowd  the  shore, 

was  the  deity  principally  worshipped  by  the  people,  and  their 

Then,  my  Bion,  thou  mayst  count 

constant  prayer  was,  that  the  gods  should  increase  the  num- 

Of my  loves  the  vast  amount. 

ber  of  her  worshippers.  We  may  perceive  from  the  ap[ilica- 

I've  been  loving,  all  my  days, 

tion  of  the  verb  KoptvOta^eii',  in  Aristophanes,  that  the  lu- 

Many nymphs,  in  many  ways; 

bricity  of  the  Corinthians  had  become  proverbial. 

Virgin,  widow,  maid.  »nd  wife— 

*  There,  indeed,  arc  nymphs  divine. 

I've  been  doling  all  my  life. 

Dangerous  to  a  soul  like  mine .']  "  With  justice  has  the  poet 

Naiads,  Nereids,  nymphs  of  fountains, 

attributed  beauty  to  the  women  of  Greece."— Z)ffl'fH. 

Goildesses  of  groves  and  mountains, 

M.  de  Pauw.  the  author  of  Dissertations  upon  the  Greeks, 

Fair  and  sable,  great  and  small, 

is  of  a  dilferent  opinion  ;  he  thinks,  that  by  a  capricious  par- 

Ves, I  swear  I've  loved  them  all ! 

tiality  of  nature,  the  other  ses  had  all  the  beauty  ;  and  by 

Soon  was  every  passion  over. 

this  supposition  endeavors  to  account  fora  very  sing^ liar  de- 

1 was  but  the  moment's  lover  ; 

pravation  of  instinct  among  that  people. 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


71 


Wliat,  you  stare  ?  I  pray  you,  peace  1 
More  ril  find  before  I  cease. 
Have  I  told  you  all  my  flames, 
'Mong  the  amorous  Syrian  dames? 
Have  I  numbcr'd  every  one, 
Glowing  under  Egypt's  sun? 
Or  the  nymphs,  who,  blushing  sweet. 
Deck  the  shrine  of  Love  in  Crete ; 
Wher«  the  God,  with  festal  play, 
Holds  eternal  holiday  ? 
Still  in  clusters,  still  remain 
Gades'  warm,  desiring  train  ;* 
Still  there  lies  a  myriad  more 
On  the  sable  India's  shore  ; 
These,  and  many  far  removed, 
All  are  loving — all  are  loved ! 


ODE  XV. 

Tell  me,  wliy,  my  sweetest  dove,* 
Thus  your  humid  pinions  move, 
Shedding  through  the  air  in  showers 
Essence  of  the  balmiest  flowers  ? 
Tell  me  whither,  whence  you  rove, 
Tell  me  all,  my  sweetest  dove. 

Curious  stranger,  I  belong 
To  the  bard  of  Teian  song  ; 
With  his  mandate  now  I  fly 
To  the  nymph  of  azure  eye  ; — 
She,  whose  eye  has  maddeu'd  many,' 
But  the  poet  more  than  any. 

1  Oades'  warm^  desiring  train  ;}  The  Gaililanian  girls  were 
like  the  Baladieres  of  ln(fi*  whose  dances  are  thus  described 
by  a  French  author  ;  "  Les  danses  sont  presque  toutes  des 
pantomimes  d'amonr ;  le  plan,  le  dessein,  les  attitudes,  les 
mesures,  les  sons  el  les  cadences  de  ces  ballets,  lout  respire 
ceite  passion  et  enexprimeles  volupiesetlesfureurs." — /f/y- 
toire  du.  Commerce  dcs  Europ.  dans  les  deux  Indcs.     Raxjnal. 

The  music  of  Ihe  Gaditanian  females  had  all  the  volup- 
tuous character  of  their  dancing,  as  appears  from  Martial: — 
Cantica  qui  Nili,  qui  Gaditana  susurrat. 

Lib.  iii.  epig.  63. 

Lodovico  Arioslo  had  this  ode  of  our  bard  in  his  mind, 
when  he  wrote  his  poem  "  De  diversis  amoribus."  See  the 
Antholocia  Italorum. 

*  The  dove  of  Anacreon,  hearing  a  letter  from  the  poet  to 
his  mistress,  is  mel  by  a  stranger,  wiih  whom  this  dialogue  is 
imagined. 

The  ancients  made  use  of  letter-carrying  pigeons,  when 
they  went  any  distance  from  home,  as  the  most  certain  means 
of  conveying  intelligence  back.  That  tender  domestic  attach- 
ment, which  attracts  this  delicate  little  bird  through  every 
danger  and  difficulty,  till  it  settles  in  its  native  nest,  affords 
to  the  author  of  "  The  Pleasures  of  Memory"  a  fine  and  In- 
teresting exemplification  of  his  subject. 

Led  by  what  chart,  transports  the  timid  dove 
The  wreaths  of  conquest,  or  the  vows  of  love ! 


Venus,  for  a  hymn  of  love. 
Warbled  in  her  votive  grove,* 
('Twas  ui  sooth  a  gentle  lay,) 
Gave  me  to  the  bard  away. 
See  me  now  his  faitliful  minion.— 
Thus  with  softly-gliding  pinion, 
To  his  lovely  girl  I  bear 
Songs  of  passion  through  the  air 
Oft  he  blandly  whispers  me, 
"  Soon,  my  bird,  Fli  set  you  free." 
But  in  vain  he'll  bid  me  fly, 
I  shall  serve  him  till  I  die. 
Never  could  my  plumes  sustain 
Ruflling  winds  and  chilling  rain, 
O'er  the  plains,  or  !a  the  dell, 
On  the  mountain's  savage  swell, 
Seeking  in  the  desert  wood 
Gloomy  shelter,  rustic  food. 
Now  I  lead  a  life  of  ease. 
Far  from  nigged  haunts  like  these. 
From  Anacreou's  hand  I  eat 
Food  delicious,  viands  sweet ; 
Flutter  o'er  }iis  goblet's  brim, 
Sip  the  foamy  wine  with  him. 
Then  when  I  have  wautou'd  round 
To  his  lyre's  beguiling  sound  ; 
Or  with  gently-raoving  wings 
Fann'd  the  minstrel  while  he  sings : 
On  his  harp  I  sink  in  slimibers, 
Dreaming  still  of  dulcet  numbers! 

This  is  all — away — away — 
You  have  made  me  waste  the  day. 
How  I've  chatter'd  I  prating  crow 
Never  yet  did  chatter  so. 

See  the  poem.  Daniel  Heinsius,  in  speaking  of  Dousa,  who 
adopted  this  method  at  the  siege  of  Leyden,  expresses  a 
similar  sentiment. 

Quo  patriff  non  tendit  amor  1    Mandata  referre 

Postquam  hominem  nequiit  miltere,  misit  avem. 

Fuller  tells  us,  that  at  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  the  Chris- 

Uans  intercepted  a  letter,  tied  to  the  legs  of  a  dove,  in  which 

the  Persian  Emperor  promised  assistance  to  the  besieged. — 

Holy  War,  cap.  24,  book  i. 

5  SAc,  whose  eye  has  maddeu'd  many,  *^*c.]  For  rvnavvov,  in 
the  original,  Zeune  and  Schneider  conjecture  that  we  should 
read  rvpaviiov,  in  allusion  to  the  strong  influence  which  this 
object  of  his  love  held  over  the  mind  of  Polycrates.  See  Degen. 

*  Venus,  for  a  hymn  of  love, 

Warbled  in  her  votive  ffrore,S-c.j  "This  passage  is  invalu- 
able, and  I  do  not  think  that  any  thicg  so  beautiful  or  so 
delicate  has  ever  been  said.  What  an  idea  does  it  give  of 
the  poetry  of  the  man,  from  whom  Venus  herself,  the  mother 
of  the  Graces  and  the  Pleasures,  purchases  a  little  hymu 
with  one  of  her  favorite  doves  I"     Longepicrre. 

De  Pauw  objects  to  the  authenticity  of  this  ode,  because  it 
makes  Anacreon  his  own  paneg^Tist;  but  poets  have  a  li- 
cense for  praising  themselves,  which,  with  some  indeed, 
may  be  considered  as  comprised  under  their  general  privi- 
lege of  fiction. 


72 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ODE  XVI.i 

Tirou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues 
Mimic  form  and  soul  infuse,* 
Best  of  painters,  come,  portray 
The  lovely  maid  that's  far  away.' 
Far  away,  my  soul !  thou  art, 
But  I've  thy  beauties  all  by  heart. 
Paint  her  jetty  ringlets  playing, 
Silky  locks,  like  tendrils  straying  ;* 
And,  if  painting  hath  the  skill 
To  make  the  spicy  balm  distil,* 
Let  every  little  lock  exhale 
A  sigh  of  perfume  on  the  gale. 
Where  her  tresses'  curly  flow 
Darkles  o'er  the  brow  of  snow, 
Let  her  foreliead  beam  to  light, 
Bumish'd  as  the  ivory  bright. 

*  This  ode  and  the  next  may  be  called  companion -pictures ; 
they  are  highly  finished,  and  give  us  an  excellent  idea  of  the 
taste  of  the  ancients  in  beauty.  Franciscus  Junius  quotes 
them  in  his  third  book  "De  Pictura  Vcteruni.** 

This  ode  has  been  imitated  by  Ronsard,  Giuliann  Goselini, 
&c.  &c.    Scaliger  alludes  to  it  thus  in  his  Anacreontica  ; 
Oliin  lepore  blando, 
Litis  versibus 
Candidus  Anacreon 
Q,uam  pingeret  amicus 
Descripsit  Venerem  suam. 
The  Teian  bard  of  former  days, 
Attuned  his  sweet  descriptive  lays, 
And  taught  the  painter's  hand  to  trace 
His  fair  beloved's  every  grace. 
In  the  dialogue  of  Caspar  Burlceus,  entitled  "  An  formosa  sit 
ducenda,"  the  reader  will  find  many  curious  ideas  and  de- 
scriptions of  womanly  beauty. 

2  Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues, 

Mimic  form  and  soul  infuse,'}  I  have  followed  here  the 
reading  of  the  Vatican  MS.  pocJcfj?.  Painting  is  called  "  tho 
rosy  art,"  either  in  reference  to  coloring,  or  as  an  indefinite 
epithet  of  excellence,  from  the  association  of  lieauly  with 
that  flower.  Salvini  has  adopted  this  reading  in  his  literal 
translation : — 

Delia  rosea  arte  signore. 

3  The  lovely  maid  thaVs  far  away.]  If  this  portrait  of  the 
poet's  mistress  be  not  merely  ideal,  the  omission  of  her  name 
is  much  to  he  regretted.  Meleager,  in  an  epigram  on  Anac- 
reon, mentions  "the  golden  Eurypyle"  as  his  mistress. 

*  Paint  her  jetty  ringlets  playing. 

Silky  locks  like  tendrils  straying  ;\  The  ancients  have 
been  ver>'  enthusiastic  in  their  praises  of  the  beauty  of  hair. 
Apiileius,  in  the  second  book  of  his  Milesiacs,  says,  that 
Venus  herself,  if  she  were  bald,  though  surrounded  by  the 
Graces  and  the  Loves,  could  not  be  pleasing  even  to  her 
husband  Vulcan. 

Stesichorus  gave  the  epithet  Ka\\n:\nKanQi  to  the  Graces, 
and  Simonides  bestowed  the  same^^pon  the  Muses.  See 
Hadrian  Juuius's  Dissertation  upon  Hair. 

To  this  passage  of  our  poet,  Seldon  alluded  in  a  note  on 
the  Polyolbion  of  Drayton,  Song  the  Second,  where  observ- 
ing, that  the  epithet  "  black-haired"  was  given  by  some  of 


Let  her  eyebrows  smoothly  rise 
In  jetty  arches  o'er  her  eyes, 
Eacli,  a  crescent  gently  gliding, 
Just  comminghng,  just  dividing. 

But,  hast  thou  any  sparkles  wamii 
The  lightning  of  her  eyes  to  form  r 
Lot  them  effuse  the  azure  raya 
That  in  Minen'a's  glances  blaze, 
Mix'd  with  the  liquid  light  that  lies 
Iq  Cytherea's  languid  eyes.® 
O'er  her  nose  and  cheek  be  shed 
Flushing  white  and  soften'd  red  ; 
Mingling  tints,  as  when  there  glows 
In  snowy  milk  the  bashful  rose.' 
Then  her  lip,  so  rich  in  blisses, 
Sweet  petitioner  for  kisses,* 
Rosy  nest,  where  lurks  Persuasiou, 
Mutely  courting  Love's  invasion. 

the  ancients  to  the  goddess  Isis,  he  says,  "  Nor  will  I  swear, 
but  that  Anacreon,  (a  man  very  judicious  in  the  provoking 
motives  of  wanton  love,)  intending  to  bestow  on  his  sweet 
mistress  that  one  nf  the  titles  of  woman's  special  ornament, 
well-haired,  (*:uAXi7rXo»ra/io?,)  thought  of  this  when  he  gave 
his  paihtcr  direction  to  make  her  black-haired." 
&  ^ind,  if  painting  hath  the  skill 

To  make  the  spicy  balm  distil.  /\-c.]  Thus  Philostratus, 
speaking  of  a  picture  :  cttoipm  kui  tui/  tvfipoaov  Tf^v  poSoii', 
Kai  (prjjit  ycypa4>6ai  avra  ftera  Trj<:  ouprti-  "I  admire  the 
dewiness  of  these  roses,  and  could  say  that  their  very  smell 
was  painted." 

6  J\Iix'd  with  the  liquid  light  that  lies 

In  Cytherea^s  languid  eyes.]  Marchetli  explains  thus  the 
vypov  of  the  original  :— 

Dipingili  umidetti 
Trennili  e  lascivettl, 
Quai  gli  ha  Ciprigna  I'alma  Dea  d'Amore. 
Tasso  has  painted  in  tlie  same  manner  the  eyes  of  Armida  :— 
Qual  raggio  in  onda  le  scintilla  un  riso 
Negli  umidi  occhi  tremulo  e  lascivo. 
AVithin  her  humid,  melting  eyes 
A  brilliant  ray  of  laughter  lies, 
Soft  as  the  broken  solar  beam, 
That  trembles  in  the  azure  stream. 
The  mingled  expression  of  dignity  and  tenderness,  which 
Anacreon  requires  the  painter  to  infuse  into  the  eyes  of  his 
mistress,  is   more  amply  described  in  the  subsequent  ode. 
Doth  descriptions  arc  so  exquisitely  touched,  that  the  artist 
must  have  been  great  indeed,  if  he  did  not  yield  in  painting 
to  the  poet. 

'  Mingling  tints,  as  when  there  glows 
In  anoicy  milk  the  bashful  rose.]    Thus  Propertius,  eleg.3, 
lib.  ii. 

Utque  rosa?  puro  lacte  natant  folia. 
And  Davenant,  in  a  Utile  poem  called  "The  Mistress," 
Catch  as  it  falls  the  Scythian  snow, 
Bring  blushing  roses  sleep'd  in  milk. 
Thus  too  Taygeius : — 

Qua;  lac  atquc  rosas  vincis  candore  rubenti. 
These  last  words  may  perhaps  defend  the  "flushing  white" 
of  the  translation. 
*  Then  her  lip,  so  rich  in  blisses. 
Sweet  petitioner  for  kisses,]    The  "  lip,  provoking  kisses," 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


73 


Next,  beneath  the  velvet  chin, 
Wliose  dimple  hides  a  Love  within,* 
Mould  her  neck  witli  jrrace  descending, 
In  a  heaven  of  beauty  ending  ; 
While  countless  charms,  above,  below. 
Sport  and  flutter  round  its  snow. 
Now  let  a  tioating,  lucid  veil, 
Shadow  her  form,  but  not  conceal  f 
A  cliami  may  peep,  a  hue  may  beam, 
And  leave  the  rest  to  Fancy's  dream. 
Enough — 'tis  she  !  'tis  all  I  seek  ; 
It  glows,  it  hves,  it  soon  will  speak  ! 


ODE  xvn.3 
And  now  with  all  thy  pencil's  tnitli, 
Portray  Batiiyllus,  lovely  youth  I 
Let  his  hair,  in  masses  bright, 
Fall  like  floating  rays  of  light  ;* 

in  the  original,  is  a  strong  and  beautiful  expression.  Achilles 
Tatius  speaks  of  x-'^l  ita}i6iiKa  r/joi,-  to  tpi^Tj/iaTa,  "  Lips 
soil  and  delicate  for  kissing."  A  fjrave  old  commentator, 
Dionysius  Lainhinus,  in  his  notes  upon  Lucretius,  tells  us 
with  the  apparent  authority  of  experience,  that  "  Suavius 
viros  osculantur  puella?  labiosse,  quam  qme  sunt  brevibns 
labris."  And  j^neas  Sylvius,  in  his  tedious  uninteresting 
story  of  the  loves  of  Eurj'alus  and  Lucretia,  where  he  par- 
ticularizes the  beauties  of  the  heroine,  (in  a  very  false  and 
labored  style  of  latinity,)  describes  her  lips  thus  : — "  Os  par- 
vum  (lecensque.  labia  corallini  colurisad  morsum  aptissima." 
— Epist.  114,  lib.  i. 

1  JWzf,  beneath  the  velvet  chin, 

Tf'hose  dimple  Hides  a  love  within,  Se-]  Madame  Dacier 
has  quoted  here  two  pretty  lines  of  Varro  :— 

Sigilla  in  mento  impressa  Anioris  digitulo 
Vestigio  deinonstrant  oiolliludinem. 
In  her  chin  is  a  delicate  dimple, 

By  Cupid's  own  finger  impress'd  ; 
There  Beauty,  bewitchingly  simple, 
Has  chosen  her  innocent  nest. 
s  .Vow  let  afioatinfr^  lucid  veil, 

Shadow  kerform,  but  not  conceal ;  iS-c]  This  delicate  art 
of  description,  which  leaves  imagination  to  complete  the 
picture,  has  been  seldom  adopted  in  the  imitations  of  this 
beautiful  poem.  Konsard  is  exceptionably  minute  ;  and 
Politianus,  in  his  charming  portrait  of  a  girl,  full  of  rich  and 
exquisite  diction,  has  lifted  the  veil  rather  too  much.  The 
*'  questo  che  tu  m'  intendi"  should  be  always  left  to  fancy. 
3  The  reader  who  wishes  to  acquire  an  accurate  idea  of 
the  judgment  of  the  ancients  in  beauty,  will  be  indulged  by 
consulting  Junius  de  Pictura  Veterum.  lib.  iii.  c.  9,  where  he 
vnW  find  a  ver>' curious  selection  of  descriptions  and  epithets 
of  personal  perfections.  Junius  compares  this  ode  with  a 
description  of  Theodoric,  king  of  the  Goths,  in  the  second 
epistle,  first  book,  of  Sidonius  Apollinaris. 
*   Let  his  hair,  in  masses  bright, 

Fall  like  fioativg  rays  of  light ;  iS-c]  He  here  describes 
the  sunny  hair,  the  "  flava  coma,"  which  the  ancients  so 
much  admired.  The  Romans  gave  this  color  artificially  to 
their  hair.    See  Stanisl.  Kobienzyck.  de  Luxa  Romanorum. 


And  there  the  raven's  dye  confuse 

With  the  golden  sunbeam's  hues. 

Let  no  wreath,  with  artful  twine,^ 

The  flowing  of  liis  locks  confine  ; 

But  leave  them  loose  to  every  breeze, 

To  take  wliat  shape  and  course  they  please. 

Beneath  the  forehead,  fair  as  snow. 

But  flush'd  with  manhood's  early  glow, 

And  guileless  as  the  dews  of  dawn,° 

Let  tlie  majestic  brows  be  drawn, 

Of  ebon  hue,  enrich'd  by  gold. 

Such  as  dark,  shining  snakes  unfold. 

Mix  in  his  eyes  t;  t  power  alike, 

With  love  to  win,  with  awe  to  strike  ;"" 

Borrow  from  Mais  Iiis  look  of  ire. 

From  Venus  her  soft  glance  of  fire  ; 

Blend  ;hem  in  such  expression  here, 

That  wo  by  turns  may  hope  and  fear  ! 

Now  from  the  sunny  apple  seek 
The  velvet  down  that  spreads  his  cheek ; 

5  Let  no  wreath,  with  artful  twine,  f,-c.^  If  the  oriffinal 
here,  which  is  particularly  beautiful,  can  admitof  any  addi- 
tional value,  that  value  U  conferred  by  Gray's  admiration  of 
it.    See  his  letters  to  West. 

Some  annotators  have  quoted  on  this  passage  the  descrip- 
tion of  Photis's  hair  in  Apuleius ;  but  nothing  can  be  more 
distant  from  the  simplicity  of  our  poet's  manner,  than  that 
atfectation  of  richness  which  distinguishes  the  slyleof  Apu- 
leius. 

s  Butjfush'd  with  manhood's  early  /rlow, 

And  guileless  as  the  dews  of  dawn,  iS-c]  Torrentius,  upon 
the  words  "  insignem  tenui  fronte,"  in  Horace,  Od.  33.  lib.  i., 
is  of  opinion,  incorrectly,  I  think,  that  "tenui"  here  bears 
the  same  meaning  as  the  word  arrnXov. 

'  JMix  in  his  erjes  the  power  alike. 

With  love  to  win,  with  awe  to  strike;  (§-c.}  Tasso  gives  a 
similar  character  to  the  eyes  of  tJlorinda  : — 

Lampeggiar  gli  occlii,  e  folgorar  gli  sguardi 
Dolci  ne  1'  ira. 
Her  eyes  were  flashing  with  a  heavenly  heat, 
A  fire  that,  even  in  anger,  still  was  sweet. 

The  poetess  Veronica  Cambara  is  ciore  dilfuse  upon  this 
variety  of  expression  : — 

Occhi  lucenti  e  belli. 

Come  esser  puo  ch'  in  un  medesmo  istante 
Nascan  de  voi  si  nuove  forme  et  tante  ? 
Lieti.  mesti,  superbi,  huniil',  altieri, 
\'i  mostrate  in  un  punto,  onde  di  speme, 
Et  di  timor,  de  empiete,  fcc.  &.c. 
Oh  !  tell  me.  brightly-beaming  eye, 
Whence  in  your  little  orbit  lie 
So  many  ditfercnt  tniits  of  fire, 
Expressing  each  a  new  desire. 
Now  with  pride  or  scorn  you  darkle, 
Now  with  love,  with  gladness,  sparkle, 
While  wc  who  view  the  varying  mirror, 
Feel  by  turns  both  hope  and  terror. 
Chevreau,  citing  the  lines  of  our  poet,  in  his  critique  on 
the  poems  of  Malherbe,  produces  a  Latin  vorsion  of  them 
tVom  a  manuscript  which  he  had  seen,  entitled  "Joan.  Fal- 
conis  Anacreontici  Lusus." 


74 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  there,  if  art  so  far  can  ^o, 
Th'  ingenuous  blush  of  boyiiood  show. 
Wiiile,  for  liis  mouth — but  no, — in  vain 
Would  words  its  witching  charm  explain. 
Make  it  the  very  seat,  the  throne, 
That  Eloquence  would  claim  her  own  ;* 
And  let  the  lips,  though  silent,  wear 
A  life-look,  as  if  words  were  there.'* 

Next  thou  liis  ivory  neck  must  'race, 
Moulded  with  soft  hut  manly  grace  ; 
Fair  as  the  neck  of  Paphia's  boy, 
Where  Paphia's  arms  have  hung  in  joy. 
Give  him  the  winged  Hermes'  hand,^ 
With  wliich  lie  waves  his  snaky  wand  ; 
Let  Bacchus  the  broad  cliest  supply, 
And  Leda's  sons  the  sinewy  thigh  ; 
While,  through  his  whole  transparent  frame. 
Thou  show'st  the  stirrings  of  that  flame, 
Whicli  kindles,  when  the  first  love-sigh 
Steals  from  the  heart,  unconscious  why. 

But  sure  thy  pencil,  thougli  so  bright, 
Is  envious  of  the  eye's  delight, 
Or  its  enamor'd  touch  would  show 
The  shoulder,  fail"  as  sunless  snow, 

1  That  Eloquence  would  claim  her  own  ;]  In  the  original, 
as  in  the  preceding  ode,  Pitho,  the  goddess  of  persuasion,  or 
eloquence.  It  was  worthy  of  the  delicate  imagination  of 
the  Greeks  to  deify  Persuasion,  and  give  her  the  lips  for  her 
throne.  We  are  here  reminded  of  a  very  interesting  frag- 
ment of  Anacreon,  preserved  by  the  scholiast  upon  Pindar, 
and  supposed  to  belong  to  a  poem  reflecting  with  some  se- 
verity on  Simonides,  who  was  the  first,  we  are  told,  that 
ever  made  a  hireling  of  his  muse  i — 

Oud*  apyvpcr]  iTOT^  eXapipc  ITfi^cj. 

Nor  yet  had  fair  Persuasion  shone 

In  silver  splendors,  not  her  own. 

*  ^nd  let  the  lips,  though,  silent,  wear 

Jl  life-looky  as  .'  icords  were  there.]  In  the  original  XaXwv 
aicjiTt).  The  mistress  of  Petrarch  "  parla  con  silenzio," 
which  is  perhaps  the  best  method  of  female  eloquence. 

3  Give  him  the  winged  Hermes'  hand,  S-c]  In  Shakspeare's 
Cymbeliae  there  is  a  similar  method  of  description  : — 

this  is  his  hand. 

His  foot  mercurial,  his  martial  thigh, 
The  brawns  of  Hercules. 
We  find  it  likewise  in  Hamlet.  Longepierre  thinks  that  the 
hands  of  Mercury  are  selected  by  Anacrcon,  on  account  of 
the  gracel'ul  gestures  which  were  supposed  to  characterize 
the  god  of  eloquence  ;  but  Blercury  was  also  the  patron  of 
thieves,  and  may  perhaps  be  praised  as  a  light-fingered  deity. 

*  But  hold— forbear— 

I  see  the  svn-god''s  portrait  there  ;]  The  abrupt  turn  here 
is  spirited,  but  requires  some  explanation.  While  the  artist 
is  pursuing  the  portrait  of  Bathyllus,  Anacreon,  we  must 
suppose,  turns  round  and  sees  a  picture  of  Apollo,  which 
was  intended  for  an  alliir  at  Samos.  He  then  instantly  tells 
the  painter  to  cease  his  work  ;  thai  iliis  picture  will  serve 
for  Bathyllus;  and  that,  when  he  goes  to  Samos,  he  may 
make  an  Apollo  of  the  portrait  of  the  boy  which  be  had  begun. 


Wliich  now  in  veiling  shadow  lies, 
Removed  from  all  hut  Fancy's  eyes. 
Now,  for  his  feet — but  hold — forbear— 
I  see  the  sun-god's  portrait  there  ;* 
Why  paint  Bathyllus  ?  when,  in  truth, 
There,  in  that  god,  thou'st  eketch'd  the  youtll 
Enough — let  this  bright  fonn  be  mine, 
And  send  the  boy  to  Samos'  shrine  j 
Phoebus  shall  then  Bathyllus  be, 
Bathyllus  then,  the  deity  ! 


ODE  xvin.fi 


Now  the  star  of  day  is  high, 

F!y,  my  girls,  in  pity  fly, 

Bring  me  wine  in  brimming  nms,* 

Cool  my  lip,  it  bums,  it  bums ! 

Sunn'd  by  the  meridian  fire, 

Panting,  languid  1  expire. 

Give  me  all  those  hitmid  flowers,'' 

Drop  tlicm  o'er  my  brow  in  showers. 

Scarce  a  breathing  chaplet  now 

Lives  upon  my  feverish  brow  ; 

"  Bathyllus  (says  Madarwe  Dacier)  could  not  be  more  tt>  i- 
pantly  praised,  and  this  one  passage  does  him  more  ho\  ;r 
than  the  statue,  however  beautiful  it  might  be,  which  Po  ,■- 
crates  raised  to  him." 

fi  An  elegant  translation  of  this  ode,  says  Degcn,  may  ftc 
found  in  Ramler's  Lyr.  Blumenlcse,  lib.  v.  p.  40U. 

*  Brivff  me  wine  in  brimming  urns,  iS-c.J  Orig.  ttukv 
a^vari.  Theaniystis  was  a  method  of  drinking  used  among 
the  Thracians.  Thus  Horace,  "Threicift  vincat  amysUde." 
Mad.  Dacier,  Longepierre,  &.c.  &c. 

Parrhasius,  in  his  twenty-sixth  epistle,  (Thesaur.  Critic, 
vol. ).,)  explains  the  amystis  as  a  draught  to  be  exhausted 
without  drawing  breath,  "  uno  haustu."  A  note  in  the  mar- 
gin of  this  epistle  of  Parrhasius  says,  "Polilianus  veatem 
esse  pulabat,"  but  adds  no  reference. 

'  Give  me  alt  (hose  humid  jlowers,  ^c]  According  to  the 
original  reading  of  this  line,  the  poet  says,  "Give  me  the 
flower  of  wine" — Date  flosculos  Lyai,  as  it  is  in  the  version 
of  Elias  Andreas  ;  and 

Dch  porgctimi  del  fiore 
Di  quel  almo  e  Ijuon  liquore, 
as  Regnier  has  it,  who  supports  the  reading.    The  word 
Avfuf  would  undoubtedly   bear  this  application,  which  is 
somewhat  similar  to  its  import  in  the  epigram  of  Simonides 
upon  Sophocles : — 

EaPcffdiji  yepatc  Sd^okAec?,  avdoi  aoiScov 
and  flos  in  the  Latin  is  frequently  applied  in  the  same  man- 
ner— thus  Cethegus  is  called  by  Ennius,  Flos  inlibatus  pop- 
uli,  suadrpque  medulla,  "The  immaculate  flower  of  the 
people,  and  tlie  very  marrow  of  persuasion."  Pee  these 
verses  cited  by  AulnsGellius,  lib.  xii.,  which  Cicero  praised, 
and  Seneca  thought  ridiculous. 

But  in  the  passage  before  us,  if  we  admit  CKcivitiv,  accord- 
ing lo  Faber*s  conjecture,  the  sense  is  sufliciently  clear,  with- 
out having  recourse  to  such  refinements. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


75 


Every  dewy  rose  I  wear 

Sheds  its  tears,  and  witliers  there,^ 

But  to  you,  my  burning  lieart,* 

What  can  now  rehef  impart  ? 

Can  brimming  bowl,  or  flowret's  dew, 

Cool  the  flame  that  scorches  you? 


ODE  XIX.3 

Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid,* 
Sweet  is  this  embowering  shade ; 
Sweet  the  yomig,  the  modest  trees, 
Ruffled  by  the  kiting  breeze ; 

1  Every  dewy  rose  I  wear 

Sheds  its  tears,  and  withers  there.]  There  are  some  beau- 
tiful lines,  by  Aiigerianus,  upon  a  garland,  which  I  cannot 
resist  quoting  here  : — 

Ante  fores  niadida  sic  sic  pendete  corolloB, 

Mane  orto  iinponet  Cfflia  vos  capiii ; 
At  quutn  per  niveam  cervitem  influ\erit  humor, 

Dicite,  non  roris  sed  pluvia  hac  lacrinije. 
By  Celia's  arbor  all  the  nipht 

Hang,  humid  wreath,  ihe  lover's  vow; 
And  haply,  at  the  morning  light. 

My  love  shall  twine  thee  round  her  brow. 
Then,  if  upon  her  bosom  bright 

Some  drops  of  dew  shall  fall  from  thee. 
Tell  ber,  they  are  not  drops  of  night, 
But  tears  of  sorrow  shed  by  me  I 
In  the  poem  of  Mr.  Sheridan's,  "Uncouth  is  this  moss- 
covered  grotto  of  stone,"  there  is  an  idea  very  singularly  co- 
incident with  this  of.Angerianus  :^ 

And  thou,  stony  grot,  in  thy  arch  may'st  preserve 

Some  lingering  drops  of  the  night-fallen  dew  ; 
Let  them  fall  on  her  bosom  of  snow,  and  they'll  serve 
As  tears  of  my  sorrow  intrusted  to  you. 
3  But  to  you,  my  hurning  heart,  .S-c]    The  transition  here 
is  peculiarly  delicate  and  impassioned  ;  but  the  commenta- 
tors have  perplexed  the  sentiment  by  a  variety  of  readings 
anil  conjectures. 

\  The  description  of  this  bower  is  so  natural  and  animated, 
that  we  almost  feel  a  degree  of  coolness  and  freshness  while 
we  peruse  it.  Loiigepierre  has  quoted  from  the  first  book  of 
the  Anthologia,  the  following  epigram,  as  somewhat  resem- 
bling this  ode  : — 

^i)\zQ  Kai  *far'  Sfiav  i!^cv  ttitvv,  a  to  ficXtXPOv 

Hpos  fiaXaKovs  VX^^  KiKXtfteva  !^c(pvpovs. 
Hi-'nJf  111  KpovvtOfia  fiE\t[TTaye<;,  ivOii  ycXiQitjiv 
'H(Juc  ipTjjiatoii  i'TTfup  ayoi  KaXafiois. 
Come,  sii  by  the  shadowy  pine 

That  covers  my  sylvan  retreat; 
And  see  how  the  branches  incline 
The  breathing  of  zephyr  to  meet. 
See  the  fountain  that,  flnwing,  diffuses 

Ariiund  me  a  glittering  spray  ; 
By  its  brink,  as  the  traveller  muses, 
I  sooth  him  to  sleep  with  my  lay. 
*  Here  recline  you,  gentle  viaid,  <S-c.J    The  Vatican  MS. 
reads/?a0l'^Aol',which^enderslhe  whole  poem  metaphorical. 
Some  commentator  suggests  the  reading  of /?jOuXAof,  which 
makes  a  pun  upon  the  name  ;  a  grace  that  Plato  himself  has 
condescended  to  in  writing  of  his  boy  AaT^p.  See  the  epigram 
of  this  philosopher,  which  I  quote  on  the  twenty-second  ode. 


Sweet  the  little  founts  that  weep, 
Lulling  soft  the  mind  to  sleep ; 
Hark  !  tliey  whisper  as  they  roll, 
Calm  persuasion  to  the  soul ; 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  is  not  this 
All  a  stilly  scene  of  bliss? 
Who,  my  girl,  would  pass  it  by? 
Surely  neither  you  nor  I.^ 


One  day  the  Muses  twined  the  hands 
Of  infant  Love  with  flow'ry  bands  ; 

There  is  another  epigram  by  this  philosopher,  preserved 
in  Laertius,  which  turns  u|)on  the  same  word. 

Aarrip  npti'  piv  eXafiwcg  cci  ^i^otaiv  tojn§ 

Nui/  Se  Sapoiv  Xa^treig  tampon  cv  tpdiuefoi^. 
In  life  thou  wert  my  morning  star, 

But  now  that  death  has  stolen  thy  light, 
Alas  !  thou  shinesl  dim  and  far, 
Like  the  pale  beam  that  weeps  at  night. 
In  the  Veneres  BIyenburgiciB,  under  the  head  of"Alla- 
siones,"  we  find  a  number  of  such  frigid  conceits  upon  names, 
selected  from  the  poets  of  the  middle  ages. 
^  fVho,  my  girl,  would  pass  it  by  ? 

Surely  neither  younor  I.]  The  finish  given  to  the  picture 
by  this  simple  exclamation  rtg  av  oui/  bpojf  naptXdai,  is  inim- 
itable. Yet  a  French  translator  says  on  the  passage,  "  This 
conclusion  appeared  to  me  too  trifling  after  such  a  descrip- 
tion, and  I  thought  proper  to  add  somewhat  to  the  strength 
of  the  original." 

fi  The  poet  appears,  in  this  graceful  allegory,  to  describe  the 
softening  influence  which  poetry  holds  over  the  mind,  in 
making  it  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  impressions  of  beauty. 
In  the  following  epigram,  however,  by  the  philosopher  Plato, 
(Ding.  Laert.  lib.  3.)  the  Muses  are  represented  as  disavow- 
ing the  influence  of  Love. 

'A  Kvirpig  Mouffaict,  Kopaaia,  rau  k^pvdtrav 

TipaT\  rjTOv  Kpura  vfifiiv  i^oTtXiaofiai. 
Ai  yiovcai  TiOTt  Kvir/Jii',  Afci  raoroj/JuAa  ravTCL' 
'Hjiiv  ov  irerarai  tovto  to  TratSapiov. 
"Yield  to  my  gentle  power,  Parnassian  maids  ;" 

Thus  to  the  Muses  spoke  the  Queen  of  Charms — 
"  Or  Love  shall  flutter  through  your  classic  shades, 

And  make  your  grove  the  camp  of  Paphian  arms  !" 
"No,"  said  the  virgins  of  the  tuneful  bower, 
*'  We  scorn  thine  own  and  all  thy  urchin's  art; 
Though  Mars  has  trembled  at  the  Infant's  power, 
His  shaft  is  pointless  o'er  a  Mme's  heart!" 
There  is  a  sonnet  by  Benedetto  Guidi,  the  thought  of 
which  was  suggested  by  this  ode. 

Scherzava dentro  all'  auree  chiome  Amore 

DcU'  alma  donna  della  vita  mia: 
E  tanta  era  il  piacer  ch'  ei  ne  sentia, 

Che  non  sapea,  ue  volea  uscirne  fore. 
Quando  ecco  ivi  annodar  si  sente  il  core, 

Si,  che  per  forza  ancor  convien  che  stia: 
Tai  lacci  alta  beltate  ordili  avia 

Del  crespo  crin,  per  farsi  etenio  onore. 
Onde  off're  infin  dal  ciel  degna  niercede, 

A  chi  scioglie  il  figliuol  la  bella  dea 

Da  tanti  nodi,  in  ch'  ella  stretto  il  vede. 


76 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  to  celestial  Beauty  gave 

The  captive  infant  for  her  slave. 

His  mother  conies,  with  many  a  toy, 

To  ransom  her  beloved  boy  ;' 

His  mother  sues,  but  all  in  vain, — 

Ho  ne'er  will  leave  his  chains  again. 

Even  should  they  take  his  chains  away, 

Tlie  little  captive  still  would  stay. 

"  If  this,"  he  cries,  "  a  bondage  be, 

Oh,  who  could  wish  for  liberty  ?" 


4 


ODE  XX I.'* 
Observe  when  mother  earth  is  dry, 

She  drinks  the  dropping  of  the  sky, 
And  tlieii  the  dewy  cordial  gives 
To  ev'ry  tliii*sty  plant  that  lives. 

Ma  r  i  vinto  a  due  occhi  1*  nrme  cede  : 

Et  t'  afiaiichi  indarno,  Citerea  ; 

Che  s'  allri  'I  scioglie,  egli  a  legar  si  riede. 
Love,  wandering  through  the  golden  maze 

Of  mv  beloved's  hair. 
Found,  at  each  step,  such  sweet  delays, 

Th:tt  rapt  he  linger'd  there. 
And  how,  indeed,  was  Love  to  fly, 

Or  how  his  freedom  find, 
When  every  ringlet  was  a  tie, 

A  chain,  by  Deauty  twined. 
In  vain  to  seek  her  boy's  release 

Comes  Venus  from  above  : 
Fond  mother,  let  thy  efforts  cease, 

Love's  now  the  slave  of  Love. 
And,  should  we  loose  his  golden  chain. 
The  prisoner  would  return  again  I 

*  His  mother  comes,  with  many  a  toy. 
To  ransom  her  beloved  boy ;  S,-c.]     In  the  fir.st  idyl  of  Mos- 
chus,  Venus  thus  proclaims  the   reward  for  her  fugitive 

child  : 

'O  ^(ifuraf  jEpa?  tf£(, 
MiffOoj  rot,  TO  <fn\ana  to  Kun-pfjos"  t}v  6*  ayayrj^  viv 
Ov  )V[(i'Ov  TO  ipiXaita,  tv  i',  w  Jfi'f,  KOi  ttXeok  c^fij. 

On  him,  who  the  haunts  of  my  Cupid  can  show, 
A  liiss  of  the  tcnderest  stamp  I'll  bestow  ; 
But  he,  who  can  bring  back  the  urchin  in  chains, 
Shall  receive  even  something  more  sweet  for  his  pains. 

Subjoined  to  this  ode.  we  find  in  the  Vatican  MS.  the  fol- 
lowing lines,  which  appear  to  me  to  boast  as  lUtle  sense  as 
metre,  and  which  are  most  probably  the  interpolation  of  the 
transcriber : — 

HiviapiKov  TO  ie  fioi  fttXos 

HvyKCpaca;  Ttg  ejx^'" 

Td  Tpia  rjvra  /loi  6o<€l 

Kai  Ai'jvvao^  cktcXPcjv 

Kat  Tla<l>iTj  Tiapaxpoos 

Kat'avTo;  EptJS  Kav  errcctv. 

2  Those  critics  who  have  endeavored  lo  throw  the  ;hains 

of  precision  over  the  spirit  of  this  lieauliful  tritlc,  require  too 

much  from  Anacreontic  philosophy.    Among  others,  Gail 

very  sapiently  thinks  that  the  poet  uses  tlie  epithet  /JcXaiCfj, 


The  vapors,  which  at  evening  weep, 
Arc  beverage  to  tlie  swelling  deep; 
And  when  the  rosy  sun  appears, 
Ho  drinks  the  ocean's  misty  tears. 
The  moon  too  quairr,  her  paly  stream 
Of  lustre,  from  the  solar  beam. 
Then,  hence  with  all  your  sober  thinking  I 
Since  Nature's  holy  law  is  drinking  : 
I'll  niake  the  laws  of  nature  mine, 
And  pledge  the  universe  in  wine. 


ODE  xxn. 

TirE  Phrygian  rock,  that  braves  the  storm, 
Was  once  a  weeping  matron's  form  f 
And  Progue,  haplebs,  .Vantic  maid, 
Is  now  a  swallow  m  the  shade. 


because  black  earlh  absorbs  moisture  more  quickly  than  any 
oLhcr ;  and  accordingly  he  indulges  us  with  an  experimental 
disquisition  on  the  subject. — See  Gail's  notes- 

One  of  the  Capilupi  has  imitated  this  ode,  in  an  epitaph  on 
a  drunkard : — 

Dum  vixi  sine  fine  bibi,  sic  imbrifer  arcus 

Sic  tellu3  pluvias  sole  perusta  bibit. 
Sic  bibit  assidue  fimtes  ct  flumina  Pontus, 

Sic  semper  sitiens  Sol  maris  haurit  aquas. 
Ne  te  igitnr  jactes  plus  me.  Silene,  bibisse  ; 
Et  mihi  da  victas  tu  quoque,  Bacche,  manus. 

HiPPOLYTUS  CaPILUPDS. 

While  life  was  mine,  the  little  hour 

In  drinking  still  unvaried  flew  ; 
I  drank  n^s  earlh  imbibes  Ihe  shower. 

Or  as  the  rainbow  drinks  the  dew  ; 
As  ocean  quails  the  rivers  up. 

Or  flushing  sun  inhales  tJie  sea : 
Silenu^  trembled  at  my  cup. 

And  Bacchus  was  outdone  by  me ! 

I  cannot  omit  citing  those  remarkable  lines  of  Shakspeare, 
nhcre  the  tho-Ji;hts  of  the  ode  before  us  are  preserved  with 
such  striking  similitude  : 

I'll  example  you  with  Ihicveiy. 
The  sun's  a  thief,  and  with  his  great  attraction 
Robs  Ihe  vast  sea.    The  moon's  an  arrnnt  thief, 
And  her  pale  fire  she  snatches  from  the  sun. 
The  sea's  a  thief,  whose  liquid  surge  resolves 
The  mounds  into  salt  tears.    The  earth's  a  thief. 
That  feeds,  and  breeds  by  a  compostiire  stolen 
From  general  excrements. 

Ti7no7i  of  Jlthcns,  Act  iv.  se.  H. 

3 fl  weeping  matron's  form  ;]  Niolie.— Ogilvie,  in  his 

Essjiy  on  the  Lyric  Poetry  of  the  Ancients,  in  roniarkini:  upon 
the  Odes  of  Anacreon,  says,  "  In  some  of  his  piece*  there  is 
exube.'ance  and  even  wildness  of  imfigination  ;  in  ih:it  par- 
ticularly, wnich  is  addressed  to  a  young  girl,  where  he  wishes 
alternately  to  be  transfonneil  to  a  mirror,  a  cont.a  stream,  a 
bracelet,  and  a  pair  of  shoes,  for  the  riiflerent  purposes  which 
he  recites  :  this  is  mere  sport  and  wantonness." 

It  is  the  wantonness,  however,  of  a  very  graceful  Muse  ; 
"luditamabiliier."  The  compliment  of  this  ode  is  exquisitely 
delicate,  and  so  singular  for  the  period  in  which  AnacreOD 
lived,  when  the  scale  of  love  had  not  yet  been  graduated  into 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


77 


Oh !  that  a  mirror's  form  were  mine, 
That  I  migiit  catch  that  smile  divine ; 
And  like  my  own  fond  fancy  be, 
Reflecting  tiice,  and  only  thee  ; 
Or  could  I  be  the  robe  which  holds 
That  graceful  form  within  its  folds ; 
Or,  tarn'd  into  a  fountain,  lave 
Thy  beauties  in  my  circling  wave. 
AV'^ould  I  were  perfume  for  thy  hair, 
To  breathe  my  soul  in  fragrance  there ; 
Or,  better  still,  the  zone,  that  lies 
Close  to  thy  breast,  and  feels  its  sighs  !* 
Or  e'en  those  envious  pearls  that  show 
So  faintly  round  that  neck  of  snow — 
Yes,  I  would  be  a  happy  gem, 
Like  them  to  hang,  to  fade  like  them 
What  more  would  thy  Anacreon  be? 
Oh,  any  thing  that  touches  thee  ; 

till  Us  little  progressive  refinements,  thai  if  we  were  inclined 
to  question  the  authenticity  nf  the  poem,  we  should  find  a 
much  more  plausible  arsninent  in  the  features  nf  modern  gal- 
lantry which  it  bears,  than  in  any  of  those  fastidious  conjec- 
tures upon  which  some  commentators  have  presumed  so  far. 
Dej:en  lliinks  it  spurious,  and  De  Pauw  pronounces  it  to  be 
miserable.  Longepierreand  Barnes  refer  ns  to  several  imita- 
tions of  this  ode,  from  which  I  shall  only  select  the  following 
epigram  ofDionysius : — 

E(9'  ai'f^of  yEVOfirjv,  av  St  yt  trreixo'^'^f^  to/)*  avya^, 
'S.rn^ca.  yvfivoyGai^,  Kai  ftf.  trveovTa  Xa^ot^;. 

"EtOc  /)o6ov  yenOfiTjy  VTZOrropfpvpoi',  o<ppa  y.£  "X/piyw 
ApnfiEvi},  Koptaaii  ctcOcti  xiqdeqi';. 

EiOe  Kptvov  yevofirji'  X£VKoxpt*<}f,  o^pa  uc  x^P^'^ 
Apapcvi},  paWov  o-j/j  X/^"'"'")?  <fop£ffi)f. 

I  wish  I  could  like  zephyr  steal 

To  wanton  o*er  thy  mazy  vest; 
And  thou  wouldst  ope  thy  bosom-veil. 

And  take  me  panting  to  thy  breast ! 
I  wish  I  might  a  rose-bud  grow. 

And  thou  wouldst  cull  me  from  the  bower. 
To  place  me  on  that  breast  of  snow, 

Where  I  should  bloom,  a  wintry  flower. 
I  wish  I  were  the  lily's  leaf, 

To  fade  upon  that  bosom  warm. 
Content  to  wither,  pale  and  brief, 

The  trophy  of  thy  fairer  form  I 
I  may  add,  that  Plato  has  expressed  as  fanciful  a  wish  in 
a  distich  preserved  by  Laerlius: 

Arrrtpa^  ciaaOpsig,  Karqp  (fto^-  £i9e  yevoifiqv 

Ovoavoi,  (js  TToXAoiff  o^pauiv  fitf  ac  0X£7Toj. 
•  TO    STELLA. 

Why  dost  thou  paze  upon  the  sky  f 

Oh  :   that  I  were  that  spangled  sphere, 
And  every  star  should  be  an  eye. 
To  wonder  on  thy  beauties  here ! 
Apuleius  quotes  this  epigram  of  the  divine  philosopher,  to 
justify  himself  for  his  verses  on  Critias  and  Charinus.    See 
his  Apoloj-T,  where  he  also  adduces  the  example  of  Anac- 
reon : — "  Fecere  tamen  et  alii  talia,  et  si  vos  ignoralis,  apud 
GnECOs  Teius  quidani,  &c.  &.c.'* 

1  Or,  better  stiU,  the  zone,  that  lies 

Close  to  thy  breast,  and  feels  its  siphs  /]    This  raivij}  waa 
a  riband,  or  band,  called  by  the  Romans  fascia  and  strophium, 


Nay,  sandals  for  those  airy  feet — 
E'en  to  bo  trod  by  them  were  sweet  I'* 


ODE  xxin.3 


I  orrEN  wish  tins  languid  l)Te, 
This  warbler  of  my  soul's  desire, 
CouM  raise  the  breath  of  song  sublime, 
To  men  of  fame,  in  fonner  time. 
But  when  the  soaring  theme  I  trj'. 
Along  the  chords  my  numbers  die, 
And  whisper,  with  dissolving  tone, 
"  Our  siglis  are  given  to  love  alone  !" 
Indignant  at  the  fet;  le  ay, 
I  tore  the  panting  chords  away. 
Attuned  them  to  a  nobler  swell, 
And  stnick  again  the  breathing  shell ; 

which  the  women  wore  for  the  purpose  of  restraining  the 
exuberance  of  tlie  bosom.  Vide  Polluc.  Ononiast.  Thus 
Martial : — 

Fasci!!  crescentes  dominje  compesce  papiilas. 
The  women  of  Greece  not  only  wore  this  zone,  but  con- 
demned themselves  to  fastiiiii.  and  made  use  of  certain  drugs 
and  powders  for  the  same  purpose.  To  these  expedients  they 
were  compelled,  in  consequence  of  their  inelegant  fashion  of 
compressing  the  waist  into  a  very  narrow  compass,  which 
necessarily  caused  an  excessive  tumidity  in  the  bosom.  See 
Dioscorides,  lib.  v. 

3  JVfly,  sandals  for  those  airy  feet~~ 

E'en  to  be  trod  by  them  were  sweet  !'\  The  sophist  Pliilos- 
Iratus,  in  one  of  his  love-letters,  has  borrowed  this  thought ; 
w  a&tTOt  )ro(5c;,  oj  kqWo^  tXcvOapo^,  tj  Tptcav^aifiuv  cy  'o  koi 
piKaptoi  c-iv  ruT^ffcrc  fit. — "Oh  lovely  feel !  oh  excellent 
beauty  I  oh!  thrice  happy  and  blessed  should  I  be,  i*"  you 
would  but  tread  on  me  I"  In  Shakspeare,  Romeo  desires  to 
be  a  glove  :— 

Oh  !  that  I  were  a  glove  upon  that  hand, 
That  I  might  kiss  that  cheek  I 
And.  in  his  Passionate  Pilgrim,  we  meet  with  an  idea  some- 
what like  that  of  the  thirteenth  line^ — 

He,  spying  her,  bounced  in,  where  as  he  stood, 
"  O  Jove  1"  quoth  she,  "  why  was  not  I  a  flood  ?" 
In  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  that  whimsical  fir- 
rago  of  "all  such  reading  as  was  never  read,"  we  find  a 
translation  of  this  ode  made  before  1632. — "Englished  by 
Mr.  B.  Holiday,  in  his  Technog.  act  i.  scene  7." 

^  According  lo  the  order  in  which  the  odes  are  usually 
placed,  this  (Oe^w  Xzyeif  ArpuSag)  forms  the  first  of  the  se- 
ries ;  and  is  thought  to  be  peculiarly  designed  as  an  intro- 
duction to  the  rest.  It  however  characterizes  the  genius  of 
the  Teian  but  very  inadequately,  as  wine,  the  burden  of  his 
lays,  is  not  even  mentioned  in  it: 

cum  niulto  Venerem  confundere  mero 

Precepit  Lyrici  Teia  Musa  seals.  OviD. 

The  twenty-sLxth  Ode,  Su  fiiv  'Xeyei^-ra  Sr]0i}S,  might,  with 
just  as  much  propriety,  be  placed  at  the  head  of  his  songs. 

We  find  the  sentiment  of  the  ode  belbre  us  expressed  by 
Bion  with  much  simplicity  in  his  fourth  idyl.  The  above 
translation  is,  perhaps,  too  paraphrustical ;  but  the  ode  has 
beeu  so  frequently  translated,  that  I  could  not  othenvise 
avoid  triteness  and  repetition. 


78 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


In  all  the  glow  of  epic  fire,* 
To  Hercules  I  wake  the  lyre.' 
But  still  its  fainting  eighs  repeat, 
"  The  tale  of  love  alone  is  sweet !" 
Then  fare  thee  well,  seductive  dream, 
That  mad'st  mo  follow  Glory's  theme  ; 
For  thou  my  lyre,  and  thou  my  heart, 
Siiall  never  more  in  spirit  part ; 
And  all  that  one  has  felt  so  well 
The  other  shall  as  sweetly  tell ! 


ODE  XXIV.3 
To  all  that  breathe  the  air  of  heaven, 
Some  boon  of  strength  has  Nature  given. 
In  forming  the  majestic  bull, 
She  fenced  with  wreathed  horns  his  skull ; 
A  hoof  of  strength  she  lent  the  steed. 
And  wing'd  the  timorous  hare  with  speed. 
She  gave  the  lion  fangs  of  terror, 
And,  o'er  the  ocean's  crystal  mirror, 
Taught  the  unnumber'd  scaly  throng 
To  trace  their  liquid  path  along ; 
While  for  the  umbrage  of  the  grove, 
She  plumed  the  warbling  world  of  love. 

1   In  all  the  glow  of  epic  Jire, 

To  Hcrcuies  I  wake  the  tyre.]  Madame  Dacier  generally 
translates  Xvprj  inlo  a  lute,  which  I  believe  is  inaccumie. 
"D'expliquer  la  lyredes  anciens  (says  M.Sorel)  paton  luth, 
c'est  ifrnorer  la  difference  qu'il  y  aentre  ces  deiu  instrumens 
de  niusique." — Bibliotheque  Pranccise. 

-  But  still  its  fainting  sighs  repeat, 

"  The  tale  of  love  alone  is  sweet!"]  The  word  avrrtpon'ci  in 
the  original,  may  imply  that  kind  of  musical  dialogue  prac- 
tised by  the  ancients,  in  which  the  IjTe  was  made  to  respond 
to  the  questions  proposed  by  the  singer.  This  was  a  method 
which  Sappho  used,  as  we  are  told  by  Ilermogenes ;  '■  brav 
rijv  Xvpii>  epiiira  Sair^dj,  Kai  orav  avrrj  (iroffpinjrai," — Tlepi 

iJfWf,  TOfl.  SCVT. 

3  Henry  Stephen  has  imitated  the  idea  of  this  ode  in  the 
following  lines  of  one  of  his  poems: — 

Provida  dat  cunclis  Nalura  animantibus  arma, 

Et  sua  foemineum  possidet  arma  genus, 
Unguldquc  ut  defendit  equum.  atque  ut  cornua  tanruin, 

Annata  est  forniS.  fcemina  pnlchra  suft. 
And  the  same  thought  occurs  in  those  lines,  spoken  by 
Corisca  in  Pastor  Fido: 

Cosi  noi  la  bellezza 

Ch'  e  vertii  nostra  cosi  propria,  come 

La  forza  del  leone, 

E  I'ingegno  de  V  huomo. 

The  lion  boasts  his  savage  powers, 

And  lordly  man  his  strength  of  mind; 
Hut  be;iuty's  charm  is  solely  ours, 
Peculiar  boon,  by  lleav'n  assign'd. 
•'  An  elegant  explication  of  the  beauties  of  this  ode  (says 
Degen)  may  be  found  in  Grimm  an  den  Anmerk.  iiber  einigo 
Oden  des  Anakr." 

4  To  man  she  gnve.  in  that  proud  hour. 

The  boon  of  intellectual  power.]     In  my  first  attempt  to 


To  man  she  gave,  in  that  proud  hoiir. 
The  boon  of  intellectual  power.* 
Then,  what,  oh  woman,  what,  for  thee, 
Was  left  in  Nature's  treasury  ? 
She  gave  thee  beauty — mightier  far 
Than  all  the  pomp  and  power  of  war.* 
Nor  steel,  nor  fire  itself  hath  power 
Like  woman  in  her  conquering  hour. 
Be  thou  but  fair,  mankind  adore  thee, 
Smile,  and  a  world  is  weak  before  thee  !° 


ODE  XXV.' 


Once  in  each  revolving  year, 
Gentle  bird  I  we  find  thee  here. 
When  Natiu-e  wears  her  summer-vest. 
Thou  com'st  to  weave  thy  simple  nest : 
But  when  the  chilling  winter  lowers, 
Again  thou  seek'st  the  genial  bowers 
Of  Memphis,  or  the  shores  of  Nile, 
Where  sunny  hours  forever  smile. 
And  thus  thy  pinion  rests  and  roves, — 
Alas  !  unlike  the  swarm  of  Loves, 
That  brood  within  this  hapless  breast. 
And  never,  never  change  their  nest  !* 

translate  this  ode,  I  had  interpreted  ^povrjpa,  with  Baxter  and 
Barnes,  as  implying  courage  and  militjiry  virtue;  but  I  do 
not  think  that  the  gallantry  of  the  idea  suffers  by  the  import 
which  I  have  now  given  to  it.  For,  why  need  we  consider 
this  possession  of  wisdom  as  exclusive  1  and  in  truth,  as  the 
design  of  Anacreon  is  to  estimate  the  treasure  of  beauty, 
above  all  the  rest  which  Nature  has  distributed,  it  is  perhaps 
even  refining  upon  the  delicacy  of  the  coniplin)ent,  to  prefer 
the  radiance  of  female  charms  to  the  cold  illumination  of 
wisdom  and  prudence  ;  and  to  think  that  women's  eyes  are 

•  the  books,  the  academies, 

From  whence  doth  spring  the  true  Promethean  fire. 

s  She  gave  thee  beauty — mightier  far 

Than  all  the  pomp  and  power  of  war.]  Thus  Achilles  Ta- 
tius : — KaWos  o^vripov  rirpuiaKCi  ^cXovi,  Kai  Sia  ruiv  o<t>daX- 
p<iiv  €iq  Trjv  l^BX''^  Karappci.  OipdaXpos  yap  idoj  cpc^TiKoi 
rpavpari.  "  Beauty  wounds  more  swiftly  than  the  arrow, 
and  passes  through  the  eye  to  the  very  soul ;  for  the  eye  is 
the  inlet  to  the  wounds  of  love." 

0  Be  thou  but  fair,  mankind  adore  thee, 

Smile,  and  a  icorld  is  weak  before  thee  l\  Longepierre's  re- 
mark here  is  ingenious: — "  The  Romans,"  says  he,  "were 
so  convinced  of  the  power  of  beauty,  that  they  used  a  word 
implying  strength  in  the  place  of  the  epithet  beautiful.  Thil* 
Plaulus,  act  2,  scene  2.     Bacchid. 

Sed  Bacchis  etiam  fortis  tibi  visa. 

'Forlis.  id  est  formosa,*  say  Servius  and  Nonius." 

'  We  have  here  another  ode  addressed  to  the  swallow. 
Albeni  has  imitated  both  m  one  poem,  beginning 
Perch'  io  pianga  al  tuo  canio, 
Rondinella  importuna,  &c. 

8  .^Itts  !  unlike  the  .•'warm  of  T.^v.t. 

That  brood  tcithin  Oiis  hapless  brcust, 

Jind  ni:ver,  never  change  their  nest !]  Thus  I.ove  is  repre- 
sented as  a  bird,  in  an  epigram  cited  by  Longepierre  from 
the  Anthologia: — 


ODES  OF  ANACREON.                                           79 

Still  every  year,  and  all  the  year, 

Nor  naval  arms,  nor  mailed  steed, 

They  fix  their  fated  dwelling  here  ; 

Have  made  this  vanquish'd  bosom  bleed  ; 

And  some  their  infant  plumage  try, 

No — 'twas  from  eyes  of  liquid  blue, 

And  on  a  tender  winglet  fly  ; 

A  host  of  quiver'd  Cupids  flew  ;^ 

While  in  the  shell,  impregn'd  with  fires, 

And  now  my  heart  all  bleeding  lies 

Still  lurk  a  thousand  more  desires  ; 

Beneath  that  eirmy  of  the  eyes ! 

Some  from  their  tiny  prisons  peeping, 

And  some  in  formless  embryo  sleeping. 

Thus  peopled,  like  the  venial  groves, 

My  breast  resounds  with  warbling  Loves  ; 

ODE  xxvn.3 

One  urchin  imps  tlie  other's  feather. 

We  wad  the  flying  coureer's  name 

Then  twin-desires  they  wing  together, 

Upon  his  side,  in  marks  of  flame  ; 

And  fast  as  they  thus  take  their  flight, 

And,  by  their  turban'd  brows  alone, 

Still  other  urchins  spring  to  light. 

The  warriors  of  the  East  are  known. 

But  is  there  then  no  kindly  art, 

But  in  the  lover's  glowing  eyes, 

To  chase  these  Cupids  from  my  heart  ? 

The  inlet  to  his  bosom  lies  ;* 

Ah,  no  !  I  fear,  in  sadness  fear, 

Through  them  we  see  the  small  faint  mark. 

Tiiey  will  forever  nestle  here  I 

Wliere  Love  has  dropp'd  his  burning  spark  I 

ODE  XXVI.i 

ODE  XXVIIL6 

Tm'  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms, 

As,  by  his  Lemnian  forge's  flame, 

Or  tell  the  tale  of  Theban  arms ; 

The  husband  of  the  Paphian  dame 

With  other  wars  my  song  shall  bum, 

Moulded  the  glowing  steel,  to  form 

For  other  wounds  my  harp  shall  mourn. 

Arrows  for  Cupid,  thrilling  warm  ; 

'Twas  not  the  crested  warrior's  dart. 

And  Venus,  as  he  plied  lijs  art, 

That  drank  the  current  of  my  heart ; 

Shed  honey  round  each  new-made  dart, 

Aisi  fiot  ivi/Ei  ficv  cv  ouacriv  rixos  epWTO^, 

hut  few  have  turned  the  thought  so  naturally  as  Anacreoii. 

Opifia  ic  aiya  TTodoi^  to  yXvKV  6aKpv  0e/)E(. 

Ronsard  gives  to  the  eyes  of  his  mistress  "  ud  petit  camp 

Ov6*  1)  fuf,  ov  ipeyyoi  £K-ot(ii(T£f,  aW  vjto  <jn\Tp(,}v 

d'amours." 

IIJfj  ttov  Kpa&iT}  yvwiTu^  cvtari  Tiwof. 

3  This  ode  forms  a  part  of  the  preceding  in  the  Vatican 

SL  TTTavoi,  fir)  Kat  Tror'  E^pfiTTaaOai  ^cv  epojTCs 

MS.,  but  I  have  conformed  to  the  editions  in   translating 

0((5ar',  aJTOTTTJiuat  i^  qv9'  Otrov  iO';^u£rr. 

them  separately. 

*Tis  Love  thai  murmurs  in  my  breast, 

"Compare  with  this  (says  Degen)  the  poem  of  Ramler 

And  makes  me  shed  the  secret  tear; 

Wahrzeichen  der  Liebe,  in  Lyr.  Blumenlese,  lib.  iv.  p.  313." 

Nor  day  nor  night  my  soul  hath  rest, 

*  But  in  thelover^s  glowing  eyes, 

For  night  and  day  his  voice  I  hear. 

The  inlet  to  hrs  bosom  lies  ;\  "We  cannot  see   into  the 

A  wound  within  my  heart  I  find, 

heart,"  says  Madame  Dacier.    But  the  lover  answers— 

And  oh  I  'tis  plain  where  Love  has  been  ; 

n  cor  ne  gli  occhi  et  ne  la  fronte  ho  scritto. 

,                    For  still  he  leaves  a  wound  behind, 

Such  as  within  my  heart  is  seen. 

M.  La  Fosse  has  given  the  folloiving  lines,  as  enlarging  on 

the  thought  of  Anacreon:— 

Oh,  bird  of  Love  I  with  song  so  drear, 

Make  not  my  soul  the  nest  of  pain  ; 

Lorsque  je  vols  un  amant, 

But,  let  the  wing  which  brought  thee  here, 

II  cache  en  vain  son  tourment, 

In  pity  waft  thee  hence  again! 

A  le  trahir  tout  conspire, 

Sa  langueur,  son  embarras, 

1  "  The  German  poet  Uz  has  imitated  this  ode.     Compare 

Tout  ce  qu'il  pent  faire  ou  dire, 

also  Weisse  Scherz.  Lieder.  lib.  Ui.,  der  Soldat."  Gail,  Degen. 

Menie  ce  qu'il  ne  dit  pas. 

2  J^o—' twos  from  «/f5  of  liquid  blue 

A  host  of  quivered  Cupids  Jleto ;]  Longepierre  has  quoted 

In  vain  the  lover  tries  to  veil 

part  of  an  epigram  from  the  seventh  book  of  the  Anlhologia, 
which  has  a  fancy  something  like  this. 

The  flame  that  in  his  bosom  lies ; 
His  cheeks'  confusion  tells  the  tale, 

We  read  it  in  his  languid  eyes: 

Ov  fxc  Xf.Xn^ai, 

And  while  his  words  the  heart  betray, 

Toforu,  Zt}vo^i\as  oftftafjt  KpvTrrofievoi 

His  silence  speaks  e'en  more  than  they. 

Archer  Love !  though  slyly  creeping, 

6  This  ode  is  referred  to  by  La  Mothe  le  Vayer.  who  t 

Well  I  know  where  thou  dost  lie  ; 

believe,  was  the  author  of  that  curious  little  work,  called 

I  saw  thee  through  the  curtain  peeping, 

"Hexameron  Kustique."    He  makes  use  of  this,  as  well  as 

That  fringes  Zenophelia's  eye. 

the  thirty-fifth,  in  his  ingenious  but  indelicate  e.xplanation 

The  poets  abound  with  conceits  on  the  archery  of  the  eyes, 

of  Homer's  Cave  of  the  Nymphs.— Joumtte  Quatri-me. 

80 


MOORE'S  WORKS, 


Wliile  Love,  at  hand,  to  fiixish  all, 

Tipp'd  every  arrow's  point  with  gall  ;* 

It  chanced  the  Lord  of  Battles  came 

To  visit  that  deep  cave  of  flame. 

'Twas  from  the  ranks  of  war  he  rush'd 

His  spear  with  many  a  life-drop  blush'd ; 

He  saw  the  fieiy  darts,  and  smiled 

Contemptuous  at  the  archcr-cliild. 

"  What  I"  said  the  urcliin,  "  dost  thou  smile  ? 

Here,  hold  this  little  dart  awhile, 

And  thou  wilt  find,  though  swift  of  flight, 

My  bolts  are  not  so  featherj^  light." 

Mars  took  the  shaft — and,  oh,  thy  look. 
Sweet  Venus,  when  the  shaft  he  took! — 
Sighing,  he  felt  the  urchin's  art. 
And  cried,  in  agony  of  heart, 
"  It  is  not  light — 1  sink  with  pain  I 
Take — take  thy  arrow  back  again." 
"  No,"  said  the  child,  "  it  must  not  be  ; 
That  little  dart  was  made  for  thee  I" 

1  JfOiilc  Love,  at  hand,  to  finish  all, 

Tipped  evcrij  arrow's  point  with  gall ;]    Thus  Claudian  .— 
Labuniur  geinini  fontes,  hie  dulcis,  amarus 
Alter,  et  infusis  corrunipit  mella  venenis, 
Unde  Cupidineas  aniiavit  lama  sagittas. 
In  Cyprus'  isle  two  rippling  fountains  fall, 
And  one  with  honey  tiuvvs,  and  one  with  gall ; 
In  these,  if  we  may  take  the  tale  from  fame, 
The  son  of  Venus  dips  his  darts  of  flame. 
See  Alciatus.  emblem  91.  on  the  close   connection  which 
sul)sists  between  sweets  and  bitters.    "Apes  ideo  pungunt, 
(says  Petronius.)  quia  uhi  diilce,  ibi  et  acidum  invenies." 

The  allegorical  description  of  Cupid's  employment,  in 
Horace,  may  vie  with  this  before  us  in  fancy,  though  not  in 
delicacy  : — 

ferus  et  Cupido 

Semper  ardentes  acuens  sagittas 
Cote  craenta. 
And  Cupid,  sharpening  all  his  fiery  darts, 
Upon  a  whetstone  stain'd  with  blood  of  hearts. 
Secundiis  has  borrowed  this,  but  has  somewhat  softened 
the  image  by  the  omission  of  the  epithet  "cruenta." 
Fallor  an  ardentes  acuebal  cote  sagittas  1    Eleg.  1. 

2  Yes — loving  is  a  painful  thrill 

Jlnd  not  to  love  more  painful  still ;  S-c]  The  following 
Anacreontic,  addressed  by  Menage  to  Daniel  Huet,  enforces, 
with  much  grace,  the  "  necessity  of  loving  ;" — 

Xlcpt  Tov  itiv  (piXrjaai. 
Tlpo^  UiTpoy  AnftijXa  'Xerrov. 

Mcj  a  5(ii>/ja  rwv  aoiSoiVf 

KaptToyu  5hAo?,  "Yirrc, 

't'l\z(i>li^V,  (li  iTdipC 

ftiXeijaav  ol  aotpttrTat. 

^iXcijac  (repvui  avrjp, 

To  T£KfOV  TOV  ^(JiltpUVlOKOV, 

So0ir;s  ~arr)p  arrapjjs. 
Ti  6'  avzv  )Ci'oir'  Epwroj  ; 
Akoi/tj  pev  can  ipt'Xni* 
Ylrcfjvyeaaiu  fij  OXvftnov 
KaTUKCiittvovi  aiatpct, 
'  ThiB  line  is  borrowpJ  rroin  ko  cpi^iam  by  Alpheus  of  Mitylene  which 
HenB^r,  1  ihiok,  saya  Boin«wher«  be  was  liim»cir  the  first  to  produce  to 
the  wurlJ : — 

"fvxns  ccriv  E/)(i)s  aKOVtj. 


ODE  XXIX. 

Yes — loving  is  a  painful  thrill, 
And  not  to  love  more  painfid  still  f 
But  oh,  it  is  the  worst  of  pain. 
To  love  and  not  be  loved  again ! 
Affection  now  has  fled  from  earth, 
Nor  fije  of  genius,  noble  birth, 
Nor  heavenly  vutue,  can  beguile 
From  beauty's  cheek  one  favoring  emile 
Gold  is  the  \j'oman"s  only  theme, 
Gold  is  the  woman's  only  dream. 
Oh  !  never  be  that  wretch  forgiven — 
Forgive  him  not,  indignant  heaven  ! 
Whose  grovelling  eyes  could  first  adore, 
Whose  heart  could  pant  for  sordid  ore. 
Since  that  devoted  thirst  began, 
Man  has  forgot  to  feel  for  man  ; 
The  pulse  of  social  life  is  dead. 
And  all  its  fonder  feelings  fled ! 
War  too  has  stdlied  Nature's  charms, 
For  gold  provokes  the  world  to  arms ; 

Bpa^EflS  T£Triyii£vot(Ti 
BeXeecti  elayiipei. 
Jlvpi  \ap7Ta6os  (^ativfn 
PvTraptoTSpovs  Kadaipti. 

^tXcU)p£V  OVV,   'YtTTi, 

<fiXtwu£v  to  tratpc. 
ASikios  6e  )<oiiopovvTl 
'Aytovi  epdiTQi  /j^cjv 
Ka»foi'  ev^opat  to  povvoi', 
'Iva  pj}  6watT^  £KUvoi 
*^i\tttv  Tt  Kai  (piXctaOai. 

Thou  !  of  tuneful  bards  the  first, 
Thou  !  by  all  the  Graces  nursed ; 
Friend  !  each  other  friend  above, 
Come  with  me,  and  learn  to  love. 
Loving  is  a  simple  lore, 
Graver  men  have  learn'd  before  ; 
Nay,  the  boast  of  former  ages, 
Wisest  of  the  wisest  sages, 
Sophroniscus'  prudent  son, 
Was  by  love's  illusion  won. 
Oh  I  liow  heavy  life  would  move. 
If  we  knew  not  how  to  love  I 
Love's  a  whetstone  to  the  mind  ; 
Thus  'tis  pointed,  thus  refined. 
When  the  soul  dejected  lies, 
Love  can  wafl  it  to  the  skies : 
When  in  languor  sleeps  the  heart, 
Love  can  wake  it  with  his  dart; 
When  the  mind  is  dull  and  dark, 
Love  can  light  it  with  his  spark  ! 
Come,  oh  !  come  then,  let  us  haste 
All  the  bliss  of  love  to  taste; 
Let  us  love  both  night  and  day, 
Let  us  love  our  lives  away  ! 
And  when  hearts,  from  loving  free, 
(If  indeed  such  hearts  there  be,) 
Frown  upon  our  gentle  flame, 
And  the  sweet  delusion  blame; 
This  shall  be  my  only  curse, 
(Could  I,  could  I  wish  them  worse  1) 
May  they  ne'er  the  rapture  prove, 
Of  the  smile  from  lips  we  love  I 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


81 


And  oh  I  the  worst  of  all  its  arts, 
It  rends  asunder  loving  hearts. 


ODE  XXX.i 
*TwAS  in  a  mocking  dream  of  night — 
I  fancied  I  had  wings  as  light 
As  a  young  bird's,  and  Hew  as  fleet ; 
While  Love,  around  wliose  beauteous  feet, 
I  knew  not  why,  hung  chains  of  lead, 
Pursued  me,  as  I  trembling  fled ; 
And,  strange  to  say,  as  swift  as  thought, 
Spite  of  my  pinions,  I  was  caught ! 
What  does  the  wanton  Fancy  mean 
By  such  a  strange,  illusive  scene? 
I  fear  she  whispers  to  my  breast, 
That  you,  sweet  maid,  have  stol'n  its  rest ; 
That  though  my  fancy,  for  a  while, 
Hath  hung  on  many  a  woman's  smile, 
I  soon  dissolved  each  passing  vow, 
And  ne'er  was  caught  by  love  till  now  ! 

1  Barnes  imagines  from  this  allegory*,  that  our  poet  married 
very  late  in  lil'e.  But  I  see  nothing  in  the  ode  which  alludes 
tn  niatriinony,  except  it  be  the  lead  upon  the  feet  of  Cupid ; 
and  I  agree  in  the  opinion  of  Madame  Dacier.  in  her  litis  of 
the  poet,  that  he  was  always  too  fond  of  pleasure  to  marry. 

2  The  design  of  this  little  fiction  is  to  intimate,  that  much 
greater  pain  attends  insensibility  than  can  ever  result  from  the 
tenderest  impressions  of  love.  Longepierre  has  quoted  an 
ancient  epigram  which  bears  some  similitude  lo  this  ode:— 

Lecto  compositus,  vix  prima  siientia  noctls 

Carpebam,  et  somno  luinina  victa  dabam  ; 
Cum  me  skvus  Amor  prensuni,  sursumque  capiUis 

Excitat,  et  laceriun  pervigilare  jubet. 
Tu  fanuilus  meus,  inqiiit,  ames  cum  mille  puellas. 

Solus  lo,  solus,  dure  jacere  potes  ? 
Exilio  et  pedihus  nudis.  tunicaque  soluta, 

Omne  iter  impedio,  nullum  iter  expedio. 
Nunc  propero,  nunc  ire  pigel;  rursumque  red'ire 

Pcenitet ;  et  pudor  est  stare  via  media. 
Ecce  tncent  voces  hominum,  strepiiusque  ferarum, 

Et  volucruni  cantus,  turbaque  fida  canum. 
Solus  ego  ex  cunctis  paveo  sonmumquetorumque, 

Et  sequor  imperium,  sKve  Cupido.  tnum. 
Upon  my  couch  I  lay,  at  night  profound, 
My  languid  eyes  in  magic  slumber  bound, 
When  Cupid  came  and  snalch'd  me  from  my  bed, 
And  forced  me  many  a  weary  way  to  tread. 
''  What !  (said  the  god)  shall  you.whose  vows  are  known, 
Who  love  so  many  nymphs,  thus  sleep  alone  ?" 
I  rise  and  follow  ;  all  the  niglit  I  stray, 
Unsheiter'd.  trembling,  doubtful  of  my  way  ; 
Tracing  with  naked  foot  the  painful  track, 
Lualh  to  proceed,  yet  fearful  to  go  back. 
Yes,  at  that  hour,  when  Nature  seems  interr*d, 
Nor  warbling  birds,  nor  lowing  flocks  are  heard, 
I,  I  alone,  a  fugitive  from  rest, 
Passion  my  guide,  and  madness  in  my  breast. 
Wander  the  world  around,  unknr  -ving  where, 
The  slave  of  love,  the  victim  of  aespair ! 


ODE  XXXI.« 
Arm'd  with  liyacinthine  rod, 
(Anns  enougli  for  sucii  a  god,) 
Cupid  bade  mo  wing  my  pace, 
And  try  with  him  tlie  rapid  race. 
O'er  many  a  torrent,  wild  and  deep, 
By  tangled  brake  and  pendent  steep, 
With  wearj'  foot  I  panting  flew. 
Till  my  brow  dropp'd  with  chilly  dew.^ 
And  now  my  soul,  exhausted,  dying, 
To  my  lip  was  faintly  flying  '* 
And  now  I  thought  the  spark  had  fled, 
When  Cupid  hovcr'd  o'er  my  head, 
And  fanning  light  his  breezy  pinion, 
Rescued  my  soul  from  deatii's  dominion  ;' 
Then  said,  in  accents  lialf-reproviug, 
"  Why  hast  thou  been  a  foe  to  loving?" 


ODE  xxxn.8 

Strew  me  a  fragrant  bed  of  leaves, 
Where  lotus  with  the  myrtle  weaves ; 

3  Till  my  brow  dropped  icitk  chithj  dew.']  I  have  followed 
those  who  read  retptv  It^pw?  for  nctptv  v^poi ;  the  former  is 
partly  authorized  by  the  MS.  which  reads  iritpiv  iSpu)i. 

*  .Ind  now  viy  soul,  exhausted,  dying; 

To  my  lip  was  faintly  jlying ;  iS-c]  In  the  original,  he 
says,  his  heart  flew  to  his  nose  ;  but  our  manner  more  natu- 
rally transfers  it  to  the  lips.  Such  is  the  elfect  that  Plato 
tells  us  he  felt  from  a  kiss,  in  a  distich  quoted  by  Aulus 
Gellius  :— 

Tr\v  \pvx^v,  Ayadcova  ^i^ww,  erri  ^ci^cffii*  icx^v. 
llXde  yap  }]  T\r}fiwv  W5  Sia0r)<TOiitVT}. 

Whene'er  thy  nectar'd  kiss  I  sip, 

And  drink  thy  breath,  in  trance  divine, 

My  soul  then  flutters  to  my  lip. 
Ready  to  fly  and  mix  with  thine. 

Aulus  Gellius  subjoins  a  paraphrase  of  this  epigram,  in 
which  we  find  a  number  of  those  miirnardises  of  expression, 
which  mark  the  effcmination  of  the  Latin  language. 
6  .Andfannivg  light  his  breezy  pinion, 
R^cued  my  soul  from  dcatWs  dominion  ;]  "  The  facility 
with  which  Cupid  recovers  him,  signifies  that  the  sweets  of 
love  make  us  easily  forget  any  solicitudes  which  he  may 
occasion." — L,a  Fosse. 

6  We  here  have  the  poet,  in  his  true  attributes,  reclining 
upon  myrtles,  with  Cupid  for  his  cupbearer.  Some  inter- 
preters have  ruined  the  jiiciure  by  making  Eooig  the  name  of 
his  slave.  None  but  Love  should  fill  the  goblet  of  Anacreon. 
Sappho,  in  one  of  her  fragments,  has  assigned  this  othce  to 
Venus.  EX0r,  KuTrpt,  xpvffEtatffff  £c  Kv\tKtuaiv  aflpoi^  avfific- 
uiyucvov  ^a\iaiat  vCKTap  oivox'JV(Ta  royrtiiiri  TOis  traipois 
£^(jif  y£  KQi  aoii- 
Which  may  be  thus  paraphrased  : — 

Hither.  Venus,  queen  of  kisses, 
This  shall  be  the  night  of  blisses; 
This  the  night,  lo  friendship  dear, 
Thou  shall  be  our  Hebe  here. 
Fill  the  golden  brimmer  high, 
Let  it  spiurfcle  like  thine  eye; 


82 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  while  in  luxury's  dream  I  sink, 
Let  me  the  b;ilm  of  Bacchus  drink ! 
In  this  sweet  hour  of  revelry 
Young  Love  shall  my  attendant  be — 
Dress'd  for  the  task,  with  tmiic  round 
His  snowy  neck  and  shoulders  bound, 
Himself  shall  hover  by  my  side, 
And  minister  the  racy  tide ! 

Oh,  swift  as  wheels  that  kindling  roU, 
Our  life  is  hurrj'ing  to  the  goal : 
A  scanty  dust,  to  feed  the  wind. 
Is  all  the  trace  'twill  leave  behind. 
Then  wherefore  waste  the  rose's  bloom 
Upon  the  cold,  insensate  tomb? 
Can  flowery  breeze,  or  odor's  breath. 
Affect  the  still,  cold  sense  of  death? 
Oh  no  ;  I  ask  no  balm  to  steep 
With  fragrant  tears  my  bed  of  sleep : 
But  now,  while  ever)'  pulse  is  glowing, 
Now  let  me  breathe  the  balsam  flowing  ; 
Now  let  the  rose,  with  blush  of  fire. 
Upon  my  brow  in  sweets  expire  ;    - 
And  bring  the  nymph  whose  eye  hath  power 
To  brighten  even  death's  cold  hour. 
Yes,  Cupid  !  ere  my  shade  retire, 
To  join  the  blest  elysian  choir. 
With  wine,  and  love,  and  social  cheer, 
I'll  make  my  own  elysium  here  ! 


ODE  XXXIII.' 
'TwAS  noon  of  night,  when  round  the  pole 
The  sullen  Bear  is  seen  to  roll ; 
And  mortals,  wearied  with  the  day, 
Are  slumbering  all  their  cares  away: 
An  infant,  at  that  dreary  hour. 
Came  weeping  to  my  silent  bower. 
And  waked  me  with  a  piteous  prayer, 
To  shield  him  from  the  midnight  air. 
"  And  who  art  thou,"  I  wakmg  cry, 
"  That  bidd'st  my  blissful  visions  fly?'" 

Bid  the  rosy  current  gush. 
Let  it  mantle  like  thy  blush. 
Goddess,  hast  Ihou  e'er  above 
Seen  a  feast  so  rich  in  love  1 
Not  a  soul  thai  is  not  mine  ! 
Not  a  soul  that  is  not  thine  I 

*'  Compare  with  this  ode  (says  the  German  commentator) 
the  beautiful  poem  in  Rander's  Lyr.  Blujuenlese,  lib.  iv. 
p.  296,  '  Amor  als  Dicncr.'  " 

1  M.  Bernard,  the  author  of  L\\rt  d'aimer,  has  written  a 
ballet  called  "  Les  Surprises  de  r.^mour,"  in  which  the 
•abject  of  the  third  cntriie  is  Anacreon,  and  the  story  of  this 


"  Ah,  gentle  sire  I"  the  infant  said, 
"  In  pity  take  me  to  thy  shed ; 
Nor  fear  deceit :  a  lonely  child 
I  wander  o'er  the  gloomy  wild. 
Chill  drops  the  rain,  and  not  a  ray 
Illumes  the  drear  and  misty  way !" 

I  heard  the  baby's  tale  of  wo  ; 
I  heard  the  bitter  night-winds  blow ; 
And  sighing  for  his  piteous  fate, 
I  trimm'd  my  lamp  and  oped  the  gate. 
'Twas  Love  I  the  little  wand'ring  sprite,' 
His  pinion  sparkled  through  the  night. 
I  knew  him  by  his  bow  and  dart ; 
I  knew  him  by  my  fluttering  heart 
Fondly  I  take  him  in,  and  raise 
The  dying  embers'  cheering  blaze  ; 
Press  from  his  dank  and  clinging  hair 
The  cr)-stals  of  the  freezing  air. 
And  in  my  hand  and  bosom  bold 
His  little  fingers  tliriliii:.g  cold. 

And  now  the  embers'  genial  ray 
Had  warm'd  his  an.xious  fears  away ; 
"  I  pray  thee,"  said  the  wanton  child, 
(My  bosom  trembled  as  he  smiled,) 
"  I  pray  thee  let  me  try  my  bow. 
For  through  the  rain  I've  wander'd  so. 
That  much  I  fear  thejnidnight  shower 
Has  injured  its  elastic  power." 
The  fatal  bow  the  tnchin  drew ; 
Swift  from  the  string  the  arrow  flew ; 
As  swiftly  flew  a.s  glancing  flame, 
And  to  my  inmost  spirit  came  ! 
"  Faro  thee  well,"  I  heard  him  say, 
As  laughing  wild  he  wing'd  away  ; 
"  Fare  thee  well,  for  now  I  know 
The  rain  has  not  rela.\'d  my  bow ; 
It  still  can  send  a  thrilling  dart. 
As  thou  shall  own  with  all  thy  heart  I" 


ode  snggests  one  of  the  scenes. — OEuvres  de  Bernard,  Anac 
scene  4th. 

The  German  annotator  refers  us  here  to  an  imitation  by 
Uz,  lib.  iii.,  *■  Amor  und  sein  Bruder ;"  and  a  poem  of 
Kleist,  ''die  Heilung."  La  Fontaine  has  translated,  or 
rather  imitated  this  ode. 

3  ^'  Jind  who  art  thuu,"  J wakintr  cry, 

"  Tlitit  bidd'st  my  blissful  visions  fiy  ?"]  .\nacrcon  appears 
to  have  been  a  voluptuary  even  in  dreaming,  by  the  li\ely 
regret  which  he  e.\presses  at  being  disturbed  from  his  vis- 
ionarj-  enjoyments.    See  the  odes  x.  and  xx.tvii. 

3  'Txtas  Lovet  the  little  wand'ring  sprite,  4-e.]  See  the 
beautiful  description  of  Cupid,  by  Moschus,  in  his  first  idyl. 


r, 


i 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


83 


ODE  XXXIV.i 

Oi!  thou,  of  all  creation  blest, 
Sweet  insect,  that  delicfht'st  to  rest 
Upon  the  wild  wood's  leafy  lops, 
To  driiilc  the  dew  that  morning  drops, 
And  chirp  thy  song  with  such  a  glee,* 
That  happiest  kings  may  envy  thee. 
Whatever  decks  the  velvet  field, 
Whate'er  the  circling  seasons  yield, 
Whatever  bnds,  whatever  blows. 
For  thee  it  buds,  for  thee  it  grows. 
Nor  yet  art  thou  the  peasant's  fear, 
To  him  thy  friendly  notes  are  dear  ; 
For  thou  art  mild  as  matin  dew ; 
And  still,  when  summer's  flowery  hue 
Begins  to  paint  the  bloomy  plain, 
We  hear  thy  sweet  prophetic  strain ;    . 
Thy  sweet  prophetic  strain  we  hear. 
And  bless  the  notes  and  thee  revere  ! 
The  Muses  love  thy  shrilly  tone  f 
Apollo  calls  thee  all  his  own ; 

^  In  a  Lalin  ode  addressed  to  the  grasshopper,  Rapin  has 
preserved  some  of  the  thoughts  of  our  author  :— 
O  qiije  virenii  graininis  in  toro, 
Cicada,  blande  sidis,  et  herbidoa 
Saltus  oberras,  otiosos 
Tnfieniosa  ciere  cantus. 
Sen  forte  adullis  floribus  incubas, 
Cceli  caducis  ebria  tletibus,  &.c. 
Oh  thou,  that  on  the  grassy  bed 
Which  Nature's  vernal  hand  has  spread, 
Reclinestsnft,  and  tun'st  thy  song, 
The  dewy  herbs  and  leaves  among  ! 
Wbether  thou  li'st  on  springuig  flowers, 
Drunk  with  the  balmy  morning-showers, 
Or.  &e. 
Pf  ?  r  hat  Licetus  says  about  grasshoppers,  cap.  03,  and 
185. 

2  ^nd  chirp  thy  so-n<r  with  such  a  glee,  Src.\  "  Some  authors 
have  affirmed,  (says  Madame  Dacier,)  that  it  is  only  male 
grasshoppers  which  sing,  and  that  the  females  are  silent; 
and  on  this  circumstance  is  founded  a  bon-niot  of  Xcnarchus, 
the  comic  poet,  who  says  fir'tifftf  o'l  rtrriyE?  ovk  tv^ai^ovc^, 
1,3V  Titi  y\}vai\iv  o\'6'' uTi  Qvv  (fxiivrji  evt ;  '  are  not  the  grass- 
hoppers happy  in  having  dumb  wives  V  "  This  note  is  ori- 
ginally Henry  Stephen's  ;  but  I  chose  rather  to  make  a  lady 
my  authority  for  it. 

3  The  Muses  love  thy  shrilly  tone;  ^c]  Phile,  de  Animal. 
Prnprietat.  calls  this  insect  Movo-aif  0iAo?,  the  darling  of  the 
Muses;  and  Moudwi'  opviv,  the  bird  of  the  Muses;  and  we 
linil  Plato  compared  for  his  eloquence  to  the  grasshopper,  in 
the  following  punning  lines  ofTimon,  preserved  by  Diogenes 
Luertius  — 

Toil'  wavTiof  S*  tryriTO  rrXarvtrraro?,  a>i\*  ayoprjTT]; 
'H^ve-mig  TCTnliv  tooypaipog,  ot  3'  "Ekoi^ii^ov 
AevSpci  ctpe^oftcvoi  ora  Xiipiocctrav  iei(n. 
This  last  line  is   borrowed  from  Homer's  Iliad,  j/,  where 
there  occurs  the  very  same  simile. 

*  Melodious  insect,  child  of  earth, \  Longepierre  has  quoted 
the  two  lirst  lines  of  an  epigram  of  Antipater,  from  the  first 
book  of  the  Anthologia,  where  he  prefers  the  grasshopper  to 
the  swan : 


'Twas  he  who  gave  that  voice  to  thee, 
'Tis  he  wlio  tmies  thy  minstrelsy. 

Uuwoni  by  age's  dim  decline, 
The  fadeless  blooms  of  youth  are  thme. 
Melodious  insect,  child  of  earth,* 
In  wisdom  mirtliful,  wise  in  mirth  ; 
Exempt  from  every  weak  decay. 
That  withers  vulgar  frames  away  ; 
With  not  a  drop  of  blood  to  stam 
The  current  of  thy  piu-er  vein  ; 
So  blest  au  age  is  pass'd  by  thee, 
Thou  seem'st— a  little  deity ! 


ODE  XXXV."* 

Cupid  once  upon  a  bed 

Of  roses  laid  his  weary  head  ; 

Luckless  urchin,  not  to  see 

Within  the  leaves  a  slumbering  boe  ; 

ApK£t  rcTTiyas  jjtdvaat  Spocog,  aXXa  rtoi'Tei 

Ati^etv  KyKviov  ciui  yEyoivorcpoi. 
In  dew,  thai  drops  from  morning's  wings, 

The  gay  Cicada  sipping  floats  ; 
And,  drunk  with  dew,  his  matin  sings 
Sweeter  than  any  cygnet's  notes. 
6  Theocritus  has  imitated  this  beautiful  ode  in  his  nine- 
teenth idyl ;  but  is  very  inferior,  I  think,  to  his  orieinal,  in 
delicacy  of  point  and  naivete  of  expression.     Spenser,  in  one 
of  his  smaller  compositions,  has  sported  more  diffusely  on 
the  same  subject.      The  poem  to  which   I   allude,    begins 
thus : — 

Upon  a  day,  as  Love  lay  sweetly  slumbering 

All  in  his  mother's  lap  ; 
A  gentle  bee,  with  his  loud  trumpet  murmuring, 
About  him  flew  by  hap,  &c.  &c. 
Id  Alraeloveen's  collection  of  epigrams,  there  is  one  by 
Luxorius,  correspondent  somewhat  with  the  turn  of  Anac- 
reon,  where  Love  complains  to  his  mother  of  being  wounded 
by  a  rose. 

The  ode  before  us  is  the  very  flower  of  simplicity.  The 
infantine  complainings  of  the  little  god,  and  the  natural  and 
impressive  reflections  which  they  draw  from  Venus,  are 
beauties  of  inimitable  grace.  I  may  be  pardoned,  perhaps, 
for  introducing  liere  another  of  Jlenage's  Anacreontics,  not 
for  its  similitude  to  the  subject  of  this  ode,  but  for  some  faint 
traces  of  the  same  natural  simplicity,  which  it  appears  tome 
to  have  preserved  : — 

E,0{jff  JTor'  £v  >;op£:ia({ 
Tdjc  TTapdcvtjw  a'OTOy, 
Trjv  /ioi  (pi^Tiu  Kopivvavj 
'iis  tcSev,  at?  iTpoi  avTr}v 
Upoacipafic  Tpaxn\bi 
AiSvfiai  TE  x^.tpaq  a-KTOiv 

KnXoviiciir]  Kopiuva, 
Mnrrjp,  tpvOpta(,ei, 
'Slg  rrapOcvos  pcv  ovca. 
K'  avTO<;  Se  Juax^patftui', 
'^S  opuaui  rrXivri0£(5, 
E/)a)s  cpvBpia^ct. 
Ej'O),  6c  o\  napaoraSf 


84 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  bee  awaked — with  an^er  wild 

The  bee  awaked,  and  stung  the  child. 

Loud  and  piteous  are  his  cries  ; 

To  Venus  quick  he  runs,  he  flies  ; 

"  Oil,  niotlier  ! — I  am  wounded  through— 

I  die  with  pain — in  sootii  I  do ! 

Stiing  by  some  little  angry  thing, 

Some  serpent  on  a  liny  wing — 

A  bee  it  was — for  once,  I  know, 

I  heard  a  rustic  call  it  so." 

Tiius  he  spoke,  and  she  the  while 

Heard  him  with  a  soothing  smile  ; 

Then  said,  "  My  infant,  if  so  much 

Thou  feel  the  little  wild-bce's  touch, 

How  must  the  heart,  ah,  Cupid  I  be, 

The  hapless  heart  that's  stung  by  thee !" 


ODE  XXXVI.» 
If  hoarded  gold  possess'd  the  power 
To  lengthen  life's  too  fleeting  hour. 
And  purchase  from  the  band  of  death 
A  little  span,  a  moment's  breath. 
How  I  would  love  the  precious  ore ! 
And  every  hour  should  swell  my  store  ; 

M^  SvfTxcpaii-c,  <pT]fit. 
Kvtrptir  T£  KUi  Knptvi>av 
Aiayvcifrat  ovk  cx''V(Tt 
Kat  ol  /3\f!rovT€s  o^v. 
As  dancing  o'er  the  ennmell'd  plain, 
The  flow'ret  of  the  virgin  train, 
My  soul's  Corinna  lightly  play'd, 
Young  Cupid  saw  the  graceiul  maid; 
He  saw,  and  in  a  moment  flew, 
And  round  her  neck  his  arms  he  threw; 
Saying,  with  smiles  of  infant  joy, 
"Oh  I  kiss  me,  mother,  kiss  thy  boy !" 
Unconscious  of  a  mother's  name, 
The  modest  virgin  blush'd  with  shame  I 
And  angry  Cupid,  scarce  believing 
That  vision  could  be  so  deceiving — 
Thus  to  mistake  bis  Cj'prian  dame  ! 
It  made  ev'n  Cupid  blusli  with  shame. 
'*  Be  not  ashamed,  my  boy,"  I  cried, 
For  T  was  lingering  by  his  side; 
"Corinna  and  thy  lovely  mother, 
Believe  me,  are  so  like  each  oiher 
Th;tt  clearest  eyes  are  oft  beiray'd. 
And  tJike  thy  Venus  for  the  maid." 
Zilto,  in  his  Cappriciosi  Pensieri,  has  given  a  translation 
of  this  ode  of  Anacreon. 

'  Fonicnelle  has  translated  this  ode,  in  his  dialogue  be- 
tween Anacreon  and  Aristotle  in  the  shades,  where,  on 
weighing  the  merits  of  both  these  personages,  he  bestows  the 
prize  of  wisdom  upon  the  poet. 

"The  German  iinitatttrs  of  this  ode  are,  Lessing,  in  his 
poem,  'Gcstorn  Briider.'  &c.  Gleini,  In  the  ode  'An  den 
Tod;'  and  Schmidt  in  dor  Poet.  Blumenl.,  Cutting-  1763, 
p.  7." — Degen. 

2  That  when  Death  came,  with  shadniry  pinion. 

To  waft  me  to  bis  bleak  dominion,  S-c]     The  commenla- 


That  when  Death  came,  with  shadowy  pinion, 

To  waft  me  to  his  bleak  dominion,* 

I  might,  by  bribes,  my  doom  delay, 

And  bid  him  call  some  distant  day. 

But,  since  not  all  eartli's  golden  store 

Can  buy  for  us  one  bright  hour  more, 

Why  shoidd  wo  vainly  mourn  our  fate, 

Or  sigh  at  life's  uncertain  date  ? 

Nor  wealth  nor  grandeur  can  illume 

The  silent  midnight  of  the  tomb. 

No — give  to  others  hoarded  treasures — 

Mine  be  tlie  brilliant  round  of  pleasures  ; 

The  goblet  rich,  the  board  of  friends, 

Whose  social  souls  the  goblet  blends  ;* 

And  mine,  while  yet  I've  life  to  live, 

Those  joys  that  love  alone  can  give. 


ODE  XXXVII.* 
'TwA9  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl 
Had  deeply  wai-mM  my  thirsty  soul ; 
As  luird  in  slumber  I  was  laid, 
Bright  visions  o'er  my  fancy  play'd. 
With  maidens,  blooming  as  the  dawn, 
I  seem'd  to  skim  the  opening  lawn  ; 

tors,  who  are  so  fond  of  disputing  "de  lanii  caprin;i,"  have 
been  ver>'  busy  on  the  anthorily  of  the  phrase  ii-'  av  ^aieii' 
cireXOr}.  The  reading  of  ii-'  «*■  Oaforo;  CTTsXOrj,  which  De  Me- 
denbach  proposes  in  his  Amcenitates  Literarias,  was  already 
hinted  by  Le  Fevre,  who  seldom  suggests  any  thing  worth 
notice. 

3  The  goblet  rich,  the  board  of  friends, 
JfTiose  social  souls  the  goblet  blends  ;]  This  conmuinion 
of  friendship,  which  sweetened  the  bowl  of  Anacreon,  has 
not  been  forgotten  by  the  author  of  the  following  scholium, 
where  the  blessings  of  life  are  enumerated  with  proverbial 
simplicit}'.  ^^ytaivctv  ftiv  npicr-TV  aiSpi  ^vtjt'').  AEvrtouv 
Se,  KoXoi'  <pvr)v  ytv£cOat.  To  rptTou  Sly  rtXovreiv  a^oXuf. 
Kai  TO  Tzmprov  cvvi(iav  ptra  rmv  0iXwf. 

Of  mortal  blessings  here  the  first  is  health, 
And  next  those  charms  by  which  the  eye  we  move  ; 

The  third  is  wealth,  unwounding  guiltless  wealth, 
And  then,  sweet  intercourse  with  those  we  love ! 

*  "  Compare  with  this  ode  the  beautiful  poem  '  derTraxim' 
of  Uz." — Degai, 

Le  Fevre,  in  a  note  upon  this  ode,  enters  into  an  elaborate 
and  learned  justification  of  drunkenness;  nnd  this  is  proba- 
bly (be  cause  of  the  severe  reprehension  which  he  appears 
to  have  suffered  for  his  Anacreon.  "  Fuit  olini  fatenr,  (says 
he  in  a  note  upon  Lonu'inns,)  cum  Sappbonem  amabam. 
Sed  ex  quo  ilia  me  perditissima  ftemina  pene  niiserum  perdi- 
dit  cum  sceleraiissimo  suo  congerrone,  (.Anacreontem  dice, 
si  nescis,  Lector,)  noli  spernre,  &c.  &c."  lie  adduces  on 
this  ode  the  authority  of  Flato,  who  allowed  ebrieiy,  at  the 
Dionysian  festivals,  to  men  arrived  at  their  fortietli  year. 
He  likewise  quotes  the  following  line  from  Alexis,  which  he 
says  no  one,  who  is  not  totally  ignorant  of  the  world,  can 
hesitate  to  confess  the  tnUh  of: — 

Ow^eiS  ^lAoTorijs  tartv  avBpioKOi  hqko;. 
"  No  lover  of  drinking  was  ever  a  vicious  man." 


J. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


85 


Light,  on  tiptoe  bathed  in  dew, 
\Vc  flew,  and  sported  as  we  flew ! 

Some  ruddy  striphngs  who  look'd  on — 
Witli  cheeks,  that  like  the  wine-god's  slione, 
Saw  me  chasing,  free  and  wild, 
These  blooming  maids,  and  slyly  emiled  ; 
Smiled  indeed  with  wanton  glee, 
Thoiigli  none  could  donbt  they  envied  me. 
And  still  I  flew — and  now  had  caught 
The  panting  n3'mphs,  and  fondly  thought 
To  gather  from  each  rosy  lip 
A  kiss  that  Jove  himself  might  sip — 
When  sudden  al!  my  dream  of  joys, 
Blushing  nymphs  and  laughing  boys. 
All  were  gone  I* — "  Alas  !"  I  said, 
Sighing  for  th'  illusion  fled, 
"  Again,  sweet  sleep,  that  scene  restore, 
Oh !  let  me  dream  it  o'er  and  o'er  !"^ 


ODE  xxxviir.3 
Let  us  drain  the  nectar'd  bowl, 
Let  us  raise  the  song  of  soul 
To  him,  the  god  who  loves  so  well 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choral  swell ; 
The  god  who  tauglU  the  sons  of  earth 
To  thrid  the  tangled  dance  of  rairth  ; 
Him,  who  was  nursed  with  infant  Love, 
And  cradled  in  tlie  Papliian  grove ; 
Hini  that  the  snowy  Queen  of  Charms 
So  oft  has  fondled  in  her  arms.* 


*  fVhen  sudden  alt  my  dream  of  joys. 
Blushing  nymphs  and  laughing  boys, 

AH  iccre  gone  J]  "  Nonnus  says  of  Bacchiiii,  almost  in 
tlie  same  words  that  Anacreon  uses, — 

Utipdcvuv  QVK  £Ktxn<^£,  xat  tjOi.\€v  av9ig  inv£tv." 

WaUinp,  he  lost  the  phantom's  charms, 

The  nymph  had  (itiled  from  his  arms; 

Ag;un  to  slunilier  he  essay'd, 

Again  to  clasp  the  shadowy  maid.        Lonhepierre. 

*  "  Jigain,  sweet  sleep,  that  scene  restore. 

Oh!  let  me  dream  it  o'er  and  o^erV']  Doctor  Johnson,  in 
his  preface  to  Shiiksjieare,  animadverting  up<»n  the  commen- 
tators of  that  poet,  who  pretended,  in  every  litlle  coincidence 
of  thought,  to  delect  an  imilation  of  some  ancient  poet,  al- 
Uides  in  the  following  words  to  the  line  of  Anacrenn  before 
us  : — "  I  have  been  told  ihat  when  Caliban,  after  a  pleasing 
dream,  says,  'I  cried  lo  sleep  again,'  the  author  imitates 
Anacreon,  who  had.  like  any  other  man,  the  same  wish  on 
the  same  occasion." 

3  *'  Compare  with  this  beautiful  ode  to  Bacchus  the  verses 
of  IIaj.'cdorn.  lib.  v.  'das  Gesellschaftliche ;'  and  of  Biirger, 
p.  51.  Sec.  &.C." — Degen. 

*  Him,  that  the  snoicy  ^v.een  of  Charms 

So  oft  has  fondled  in  kcr  annsJ]  Robertellus,  upon  the 
epithalamium  of  Catullus,  mentions  an  iDgenious  derivation 


Oh  'tis  from  lihn  the  transport  flows, 
Which  sweet  intoxication  knows ; 
With  hi:n,  the  brow  forgets  its  gloom, 
And  brilliant  graces  learn  to  bloom. 

Behold  ! — my  boys  a  goblet  bear. 
Whoso  spaiK.mg  foam  lights  up  the  an:. 
Where  are  now  the  tear,  the  sigh? 
To  the  winds  tliey  fly,  they  fly ! 
Grasp  the  bowl ;  in  nectar  sinking! 
Man  of  sorrow,  drown  thy  thinking ! 
Say,  can  the  tears  we  lend  to  thought 
In  life's  account  avail  us  aught  ? 
Can  we  discern  witli  all  our  lore. 
The  path  we've  yet  to  joiu-ney  o'er? 
Alas,  alas,  in  ways  so  dark, 
'Tis  only  wine  can  strike  a  spark  !^ 
Then  let  me  quafl'tl.e  foamy  tide, 
And  through  the  dnuco  meandermg  glide  ; 
Let  me  imbibe  the  spicy  breath 
Of  odors  chafed  to  fragrant  death ; 
Or  from  the  lips  of  l-,.^^e  inhale 
A  more  ambrosial,  richer  gale ! 
To  hearts  that  court  the  phantom  Care, 
Let  him  retire  and  shroud  him  there  ; 
While  we  e.\haust  the  nectar'd  bowl. 
And  swell  the  choral  song  of  soul 
To  him,  the  god  who  loves  so  well 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choral  swell  1 


of  Cytheraea,  the  name  of  Venus,  irapa  to  KtvBciv  rovg  epcorac, 
which  seems  to  liint  that  "  Love's  fairy  favors  are  lost,  wheu 
not  concealed." 
6  Alas,  alas,  in  ways  so  dark, 
'  Tis  only  wine  can  strike  a  spark'I]  The  brevity  of  life 
allows  arguments  for  the  voluptuary  as  well  as  the  moralist. 
Among  many  parallel  passages  which  Longepierre  has  ad- 
duced, I  shall  content  myself  with  this  epigram  from  the 
Anthologia : — 

Aovcc/icj/oi,  IlpaSlKr|^  iruwacw/icOa,  Kai  rov  OKparoy 

'EAfc-wpti',  KV^iKai  /ici^ofrts  apaftcvoi. 
'Pat«s  0  xat/'OJTCov  curt  0io5.  ura  ra  Xoiira 
rrjpas  KOiXvoEi,  Kai  to  rel^os  ^avaroi. 

Of  which  the  following  is  a  paraphrase:— 

Lefs  fly,  my  love,  from  noonday's  beam, 
To  plunge  us  in  yon  cooling  stream  ; 
Then,  hastening  to  the  festal  bower, 
We'll  pass  in  mirth  the  evening  hour ; 
'Tis  thus  our  age  of  bliss  shall  fly, 
As  sweet,  though  passing  as  that  sigh. 
Which  seems  to  whisper  o'er  your  lip, 
"Come,  while  you  may,  of  rapture  sip." 
For  age  will  steal  the  graceful  form, 
Will  chill  the  pulse  while  ihrobbing  warm; 
And  death— alas!  that  hearts,  which  thrill 
Like  yours  and  mine,  should  e'er  be  still ! 


86 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ODE  XXXIX. 

How  I  love  the  festive  boy, 
Tripping  through  the  dance  of  joy  I 
How  I  love  tlie  mellow  siigo, 
Smiling  througli  the  veil  of  age  ! 
And  whene'er  this  man  of  years 
In  the  dance  of  joy  appears, 
Snows  may  o'er  his  head  be  flung, 
But  his  heart — his  licart  is  young.* 


ODE  XL. 
I  KNOW  that  Heaven  hath  sent  rae  here 
To  run  this  mortal  life's  career; 
The  scenes  which  I  havo  joumey'd  o'er, 
Return  no  more — alas  t  no  more  ; 
And  all  the  path  I've  yet  to  go, 
I  neither  know  nor  ask  to  know. 
Away,  then,  wizard  Care,  nor  think 
Thy  fetters  round  this  soul  to  link  ; 
Never  can  heart  that  feels  with  me 
Descend  to  be  a  slave  to  thee  !^ 
Ajid  oh!  before  the  vital  thrill, 
Wliich  trembles  at  my  heart,  is  still, 

J   Snows  mny  o'er  his  head  hcfiunir. 

But  his  heart— his  heart  is  young.]  Saint  Pavin  makes 
Ihe  sHmc  distinction  in  a  sonnet  to  a  young  girl. 

Je  sais  bien  que  les  destinies 

Ont  mal  conipass6  nos  anntes  ; 

Ne  regardez  que  mon  amour ; 

Peui-eire  en  serez  vous  6inuc. 

II  est  jeune  et  n'esl  que  du  jour, 

Belle  Iris,  que  je  vous  ai  vne. 
Fair  and  young  thou  bloomcst  now, 

And  I  full  many  a  year  have  told  ; 
Bnt  road  the  heart  and  not  the  brow, 

Thou  shall  not  find  my  love  is  old. 
My  love's  a  child  ;  and  Ihon  canst  say 

How  much  his  little  age  may  be, 
For  he  was  born  the  ver>'  day 

When  first  I  set  my  eyes  on  thee ! 

3  JsTcver  can  heart  that  feels  reith  mc 

Descend  to  be  a  slave  to  thee!]  Longcpierrc  quotps  here 
an  ei)iprani  from  the  Anlholocia,  on  account  of  the  similarity 
of  a  particular  phrase.  Though  by  no  means  anacreontic,  it 
is  marked  by  an  interesting  simplicity  which  has  induced  me 
to  paraphrase  it,  and  may  atone  for  its  intnisicin. 

EXiris  Kat  av  TVXf]  /'C>«  x^^P^"*"^-  '^'^*'  ^'M^*"'  ^('pov 
Ovfiev  ctioi  x'  ('t'iv,  TTai^erc  rouf  ficr^  Cfie. 
At  length  to  Fortune,  and  to  you, 
Delusive  Hope  !  a  last  adieu. 
The  charm  that  once  lieguiled  is  o'er, 
And  I  have  reach'd  my  destined  shore. 
Away,  away,  your  fl.ittering  arts 
May  now  betray  sonio  simjiler  heart?, 
And  you  will  sniilo  at  their  hrlicvlng. 
And  they  shall  weep  at  your  deceiving! 
3  Bacchus  shall  bid  my  winter  bloom. 
And  Venus  dance  me  to  tJie  tomb!]    The  same  commen- 
tator has  quoted  an  epitaph,  wrilte;i  upon  our  pool  by  Julian, 


I'll  gather  Joy's  luxuriant  flowers, 
And  gild  with  bliss  my  fading  hours ; 
Bacchus  shall  bid  my  winter  bloom. 
And  Venus  dance  me  to  the  tomb  !^ 


ODE  XLI. 
When  Spring  adorns  tlic  dewy  scene, 
How  sweet  to  walk  the  velvet  green. 
And  hear  the  west  wind's  gentle  sighs, 
As  o'er  the  scented  mead  it  files  I 
How  sweet  to  mark  the  pouting  vine. 
Ready  to  burst  in  tears  of  wine  ; 
And  with  some  maid,  wlio  breathes  but  love. 
To  walk,  at  noontide,  through  the  grove,' 
Or  sit  in  some  cool,  green  recess — 
Oh,  is  not  this  true  happiness? 


ODE  XLII.5 


Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine. 
Where  humor  sparkles  from  the  wine. 
Around  me,  let  the  youthful  choir 
Respond  to  my  enlivening  lyre  ; 

in  which  he  makes  him  promulgate  the  precepts  of  good  fel- 
lowship even  from  the  tomb. 

noAXcA't  {J£v  To6'  aciaoy  Kai  ck  ru/i/Jju  Se  0ot]O(o, 
Hiverc,  Kpiv  TavTTiv  afi<pi0n\jjad£  Kovtv. 
This  lesson  oft  in  life  I  sung. 

And  from  my  grave  I  still  shall  cry, 
"Drink,  mortal,  drink,  while  time  is  young. 
Ere  death  has  made  thee  coid  as  I." 
*    Jind  with  some  maid,  who  breathes  but  love. 

To  walk,  at  noontide,  through  the  grove]   Thus  Horace: 
Quid  habes  ittins,  illius 
Qu3i  spirabat  amores, 

Qua;  me  surpuerat  mihi.  Lib.  iv.  Curm.  VX 

And  does  there  then  remain  but  this, 

And  hast  thou  lost  each  rosy  ray 

Of  her,  who  breathed  the  sonl  of  Miss, 

And  stole  mo  from  myself  away  ? 

c  The  character  of  Anacreon  is  here  verj'  strikingly  de- 
picted. His  lo^■e  of  social,  harmonized  pleasures,  is  expressed 
with  a  warmth,  amiable  and  endearing.  Among  the  epi- 
grams imputed  to  Anacreon  is  the  following ;  it  is  the  only 
one  worth  translation,  and  it  breathes  the  same  sentiments 
with  this  ode : — 

Ov  <pt\os,  OS  Kpnrrjpi  irapa  ttXeoj  oivoirora^uiv, 

NftKfa  Kat  R'oXi/ioi'  iatipvotvTa  Xtyci. 
AXX'  haris  Mou(T£cJi'  re,  kui  ayXaa  i(>ip*  A(ppa6iTr}i 

Xvfiiita-ycjv,  eparns  (ivijUKirat  cv^poavvr\i. 

When  to  the  lip  the  brimming  ctip  is  press'd, 
And  hearts  are  all  atloat  upon  its  stream, 

Then  banish  from  my  board  th'  unpolish'd  guest. 
Who  makes  the  feats  of  war  his  barbarous  theme. 

But  bring  the  man,  w  ho  o*er  his  goblet  wreathes 
The  Muse's  laurel  with  the  Cyprian  flower; 

Oh  \  give  me  him,  whose  soul  expansive  breathes 
And  blends  refinement  with  the  social  h(jur. 


I 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


37 


And  while  the  red  cup  foams  along, 

Mingle  in  soul  as  well  as  song. 

Then,  while  I  sit,  with  flow'rets  crowu'd, 

To  regulate  the  goblet's  round, 

Let  but  the  nymph,  our  banquet's  pride, 

Be  seated  smiUng  by  my  side, 

And  earth  has  not  a  gift  or  power 

That  I  would  envy  in  that  lioiir. 

Envy  I — oh  never  let  its  blight 

Touch  the  gay  iiearts  met  here  to-night. 

Far  hence  be  slander's  sidelong  wounds. 

Nor  harsli  disputes,  nor  discord's  sounds 

Disturb  a  scene,  where  all  should  be 

Attuned  to  peace  and  hannony. 

Come,  let  us  hear  the  liarp's  gay  note 
Upon  the  breeze  inspiring  ivo-?.t, 
Wliile  round  us,  kindling-  ialo  love. 
Young  maidens  through  tho  light  dance  move. 
Thus  blest  with  mirth,  and  lovo,  and  peace, 
Sure  such  a  life  should  never  cease  I 


ODE  XLIII. 
While  our  rosy  fillets  shed 
Freshness  o'er  each  fervid  head, 
With  many  a  cup  and  many  a  smile 
The  festal  moments  we  beguile. 
And  while  the  harp,  impussion'd,  flings 
Tuneful  raptiu-es  from  its  strings,* 


*  ^fJndwkile  the  harp,  impassion\l,Jliiiffs 

Tuneful  rapture  from  its  strinrs,  S-c]  Respecting  the  bar- 
biton  a  host  of  authorities  may  be  collected,  which,  nfier  all, 
leave  us  ignorant  of  the  natnre  of  the  instrument.  There  is 
scarcely  any  point  upon  which  we  are  so  totally  uninformed 
as  the  music  of  the  ancients.  The  authors*  extant  upon  the 
subject  are,  I  ^agine,  little  understood;  and  certainly  if  one 
of  their  moods  was  a  progression  by  quarter-tones,  which  we 
are  told  was  the  nature  of  the  enharmonic  scale,  simplicity 
was  by  no  means  ihe  characteristic  of  their  melody ;  for  this 
is  a  nicety  of  progression  of  which  modern  music  is  not  sus- 
ceptible. 

The  invention  of  the  barbiton  is,  by  AlheniEus,  attributed 
to  Anacreon.  See  his  fourth  book,  where  it  is  called  to 
cupi7/ja  Tov  AvaKpcoi'TfJi.  Neanthes  of  Cyzicus,  as  quoted 
by  Gyraldus,  asserts  the  same.  Vide  Chabot,  in  Horat.  on 
the  words  "  Lesboum  barbiton,"  in  the  first  ode. 

3  ^n<f  ok.  the  sadness  in  his  siffh, 

.Ss  o'er  his  lip  the  accents  die!]  Longepierre  has  ([uoted 
here  au  epigram  from  the  Anthologia  : — 

Koupjj  ri?  [i'  £0(Arj(TC  iroQcv^epa  xciXecii/  vypoi^. 
'NcKTop  er}v  TO  tpiXrjya.  ro  yap  OTOjia  vcKTapo^  cnvr.i. 
Nwi*  nciivbj  TO  0(Aij//a,  noXvv  tov  epdira  itcttukus- 

Of  which  the  following  paraphrase  may  give  some  idea  :— 

•  CoiVected  by  Meiboraius. 


Some  airy  nymph,  with  gracefid  bound, 

Keeps  measure  to  tlie  music's  sound ; 

Waving,  in  her  snowy  hand, 

Tlie  leafy  Bacchanalian  wand. 

Which,  as  the  tripping  wanton  flies. 

Trembles  all  over  to  her  sighs. 

A  youth  the  while,  with  loosen'd  hair. 

Floating  on  the  listless  air, 

Sings,  to  the  wild  harp's  tender  tone, 

A  tale  of  woes,  alas,  his  own  ; 

And  oh,  the  sadness  m  his  sigh, 

A.S  o'er  his  lip  the  accents  die  I'* 

Never  sure  on  earth  has  been 

Half  so  bright,  so  blest  a  scene. 

It  seems  lu*  Love  himself  had  cor  ^ 

To  make  tliis  spot  his  chosen  home  f — 

And  Venus,  too,  with  all  her  wiles, 

And  Bacchus,  shedding  rosy  smiles, 

Aii,  all  are  here,  to  hail  with  me 

The  Genius  of  Festivity!* 


ODE  XUV.6 
Buds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers, 
CuU'd  from  Cupid's  balmy  bowers, 
In  the  bowl  of  Bacchus  steep, 
Till  with  crimson  drops  tliey  weep. 
Twine  the  rose,  the  garland  twine, 
Ever)'  leaf  distiUing  wine  ; 
Drink  and  smile,  and  learn  to  think 
That  we  were  born  to  smile  and  drink 


The  kiss  that  she  left  on  my  lip, 

Like  a  dcwdrop  shall  lingering  He; 
*Twas  nectar  she  gave  me  to  sip, 

'Twas  nectar  I  drank  in  her  sigh. 
From  the  moment  she  printed  that  kiss, 

Nor  reason,  nor  rest  has  been  mine  ; 
My  whole  soul  has  been  drunk  with  the  bliss, 

And  feels  a  delirium  divine  I 

3  It  seems  as  Love  himself  had  come 

To  make  this  spot  his  chosen  home; — ]  The  introduction 
of  these  deities  to  the  festivalis  merely  allegorical.  Madame 
Dacier  thinks  that  the  poet  describes  a  masquerade,  where 
these  deities  were  personated  by  the  company  iu  masks.  The 
translation  will  conform  with  either  idea, 

*  Jill,  all  are  here,  to  hail  with  me 

The  Ocnius  of  Festipitij !]  Kw^oj,  the  ilcity  or  genius  of 
nnrth.  Philostratus,  in  ilie  third  of  his  pictures,  gives  a  very 
lively  description  of  this  god. 

5  This  spirited  poem  is  a  eulogy  on  the  rose  ;  and  again,  in 
the  fifty-fifth  ode,  we  shall  find  our  author  rich  in  the  praises 
of  that  tiower.  In  a  fragment  of  Sappho,  in  the  romance  of 
Acliilles  Tatius,  to  which  Harnes  refers  us,  the  rose  is  fanci- 
fully styled  "  the  eye  of  flowers  ;"  and  the  same  poetess,  in 
another  fragment,  calls  the  favors  of  the  Muse  "the  roses  of 
Pieria."     See  the  notes  on  the  fifty-fifth  ode. 

"  Compare  with  this  ode  (says  the  German  annotator)  Ihe 
beautiful  ode  of  Uz,  '  die  Rose.'  *' 


88 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Rose,  thou  art  the  sweetest  flower 

That  ever  drank  the  amber  shower; 

Rose,  thou  art  the  fondest  child 

Of  dimpled  Spring,  the  wood-nymph  wild. 

Even  the  Gods,  wlio  walk  the  sky, 

Are  amorous  of  tliy  scented  sigh. 

Cupid,  too,  in  Paphian  shades, 

His  hair  with  rosy  fillet  braids, 

When  with  the  blushinj^;,  sister  Graces, 

The  wanton  windiiifr  dance  he  traces.* 

Then  bring  me,  sliowers  of  roses  bring, 

And  shed  tliem  o'er  me  while  I  sing. 

Or  while,  great  Bacchus,  round  thy  shrine, 

Wreathing  my  brow  with  rose  and  vine, 

I  lead  some  bright  nymph  throufrh  the  dance,'* 

Commingling  soul  with  every  glance. 


ODE  XLV. 

Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep, 

I  cradle  all  my  woes  to  sleep. 

Why  should  we  breathe  the  sigh  of  fear, 

Or  pour  the  unavailing  tear? 

For  death  will  never  heed  the  sigh, 

Nor  soften  at  tlie  tearful  eye  ; 

And  eyes  that  sparkle,  eyes  that  weep, 

Must  all  alike  be  seal'd  in  sleep. 

Then  let  us  never  vainly  stray. 

In  search  of  thorns,  from  pleasure's  way ;' 

^  THien  with  the  hlusking,  sister  Graces, 

The  wanton  windivg  dance  he  traces.}  "This  sweet  idea 
of  Love  dancing  wilh  Ihe  Graces,  is  almost  peculiar  to  An- 
acrcon." — Degen. 

"^  I  lead  some  bright  nymph  through  the  dance,  &-e.]  The 
epithet  jffaOuKoXrros,  which  he  gives  to  the  nyniiih,  is  litc-mliy 
"  t'ull'bosotned." 

3  Then  let  us  never  vninhj  stray, 
In  search  of  thorns,  from  pleasiire''s  way  ;  ^-c.]  1  have 
thus  endeavored  to  convey  the  meaning  of  ri  6e  rov  0tov 
ffXai-w/iai ;  according  to  Regnier's  paraphmse  of  the  line: — 

E  che  val,  fiior  della  strada 
Del  piacere  ahna  e  gradita, 
Vancggiare  in  quesla  vital 

*  The  fastidious  alPectation  of  some  commentators  has  de- 
nounced this  ode  as  spurious.  Degeii  pronounces  the  four 
last  lines  to  be  the  patchwork  of  some  miserable  versificator, 
and  Brunck  condemns  the  wliole  ode.  It  appears  to  me,  on 
the  contrary,  to  he  elegantly  graphical ;  full  of  delicate  ex- 
pressions and  luxuriant  imngcry.  The  abruptness  of  Id;  rrtoj 
capoi  tj)at'£i'TOi  is  striking  and  spirited,  aud  has  becu  imitated 
rather  languidly  by  Horace  :— 

Vides  ul  alta  slet  nive  candldum 
Soracte 

The  imperative  i6f  is  infinitely  more  impressive ;— as  in 
Shakspeare, 

But  look,  the  morn,  in  russet  mantle  clad, 
Walks  o*L'r  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill. 


But  wisely  quafFthe  rosy  wave, 

Wliich  Bacchus  loves,  which  Bacchus  gave ; 

And  in  the  goblet,  rich  and  deep. 

Cradle  our  crying  woes  to  sleep. 


ODE  XLVI.4 
Behold,  the  j^oung,  the  rosy  Spring, 
Gives  to  the  breeze  her  scented  wing; 
While  virgin  Graces,  warm  with  May, 
Fling  roses  o'er  her  dewy  way.^ 
Tiie  murmuring  billows  of  the  deep 
Have  languish'd  into  Si,vnt  sleep  ;* 
And  mark  !  the  flitting  sea-birds  lave 
Their  plumes  in  the  reflcctuig  wave  ; 
While  cranes  from  hoary  winter  fly 
To  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 
Now  tlie  genial  star  of  day 
Dissolves  the  murky  clouds  away  ; 
And  cultured  field,  and  winding  stream,' 
Are  freshly  glittering  in  his  beam. 

Now  the  earth  prolific  swells  " 

With  leafy  buds  aud  flower)'  bells ; 
Gemming  shoots  the  olive  twine, 
Clusters  ripe  festoon  the  vine  ; 
All  along  the  branches  creeping. 
Through  the  velvet  foliage  peeping,  , 

Little  infant  fruits  we  see. 
Nursing  into  luxury. 

There  is  a  simple  and  poetical  description  of  Spring,  in 
Catullus's  beautiful  farewell  to  Bithynia.    Carm.  4^. 

Barnes  conjectures,  in  his  life  of  our  poet,  that  this  ode 
was  written  after  he  had  returned  from  Athens,  to  settle  in 
his  paternal  scat  at  Tcos ;  where,  in  a  little  villa  at  some 
distance  from  the  city,  commanding  a  view  of  the  ^pean 
Sea  and  the  islands,  he  contemplated  Ihc  beaniies  of  nature 
and  enjoyed  the  felicities  of  retirement.  Vide  Barnes,  in 
Anac.  Vita,  $  xxxv.  This  supposition,  however  unauthen- 
ticated,  forms  a  pleasing  association,  which  renders  the  poem 
more  interesting. 

Chevreau  SMys.  that  Gregory  Nazianzenus  has  paraphnsed 
somewhere  this  description  of  Spring;  hut  1  cannot  meet 
with  it.    See  Chevreau,  CEuvres  MMees. 

"Compare  with  this  ode  (says  Dcgen)  the  verses  of  Ilnge- 
dorn,  book  fourth,  'dcr  Friihling,'  and  book  filth,  'der  Mai.*" 

6  itltilc  virgin  Graces,  warm  with  May, 
Fiing  roses  o'er  her  dewy  iray.]  De  Pauw  reads.  Xa/jiri? 
^o6a  Ppvovaif,  "  the  roses  display  their  graces."  This  is  not 
uningenious  ;  but  we  lose  by  it  the  beauty  of  the  persunifi- 
cation,  to  the  boldness  of  which  Regnier  has  rather  frivo- 
lously objected. 

^  The  mtirmiiring  billows  of  the  deep 
Nave  l(ii}guish\l  into  silent  sleep ;  S'c.]  It  has  been  justly 
remarked,  that  the  liquid  flow  of  the  line  aTTa^vferat  yaXTjvrf 
is  perfectly  expressive  of  the  imnquillity  which  it  describes. 

'  ^nd  cultured  field,  and  winding  stream,  <S-c.]  By  ffporuv 
tpya,  "the  works  of  men,"  (says  Baxter,)  he  means  cities, 
temples,  and  towns,  which  are  then  illuminated  by  the 
beams  of  the  sun. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


89 


ODE  XLVn. 

'Tis  true,  my  fading  years  decline, 
Yet  can  I  quatFthe  brimming  wine, 
As  deep  as  any  stripling  fair, 
\Miose  cliceks  the  flush  of  morning  wear  ; 
And  if,  amidst  the  wanton  crew, 
I'm  call'd  to  wind  the  dance's  clew, 
Tlicn  shult  thou  see  this  vigorous  hand. 
Not  faltering  on  the  Bacchant's  wand, 
But  brandisliing  a  rosy  flask,^ 
The  only  thyrsus  e'er  I'll  ask  !^ 

Let  those,  who  pant  for  Glory's  chantfe, 
Embrace  her  in  the  field  of  amis ; 
"While  my  inglorious,  placid  soul 
Breathes  not  a  wish  beyond  tliis  bowl. 
Then  fill  it  high,  my  ruddy  slave. 
And  bathe  me  in  its  brimming  wave. 
For  though  my  fading  years  decay, 
Though  manhood's  prime  hath  pass'd  away, 
Like  old  Silenus,  sire  divine. 
With  blushes  borrow'd  from  my  wine, 
I'll  wanton  'mid  the  dancing  train, 
And  live  my  follies  o'er  agaiu ! 


ODE  XLVin. 

When  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep, 
Every  sorrow's  lull'd  to  sleep. 
Talk  of  monarchs  !  I  am  then 
Richest,  happiest,  first  of  men  ; 
Careless  o'er  my  cup  I  sing. 
Fancy  makes  me  more  than  king ; 
Gives  me  wealthy  Croesus'  store, 
Can  I,  can  I  wisli  for  more  ? 

1  But  brandishing  a  rosy  flask,  S'C-]  Aokos  w:is  a  kind  of 
leathern  vessel  for  wine,  very  much  in  use,  as  should  seem 
by  the  proverb  aaKos  Kat  SuXax-of.  which  was  applied  to 
those  who  were  intemperate  in  eating  ami  drinkinc.  This 
proverb  is  mentioned  in  some  verses  quoted  by  Athenceus, 
from  the  Hesione  of  Alexis. 

*  The  only  thyrsus  e'er  Ftl  ask  /]  Phornutns  assi(?ns  ais  a 
reason  for  the  consecration  of  the  thyrsus  to  Bacchus,  that 
inebriety  of\en  renders  the  support  of  a  stick  very  necessary. 

3  IcJj  leaves  my  brow  enttctning.,  SrcJ\  "The  ivy  was  con- 
secrated to  B;icchus,  (,saysMonlt":iucon,)  because  he  formerly 
lay  hid  under  that  tree,  or.  as  others  will  have  it,  because 
its  leaves  resemble  those  of  the  vine."  Other  reasons  for 
its  consecration,  and  the  use  of  it  in  garlands  at  banquets, 
may  be  lound  in  Longepierre,  Barnes,  tc.  &c. 

4  Arm  ye,  arm  ye,  men  of  might. 

Hasten  to  the  sanguine  fght ;]  I  have  adopted  the  inter- 
pretation of  Regnier  and  others  :— 


On  my  velvet  couch  reclining, 
Ivy  leaves  my  brow  entwining,^ 
While  my  sou!  expands  with  glee. 
What  are  king's  and  crowns  to  me? 
If  before  my  feet  they  lay, 
I  would  spurn  them  all  away ! 
Ann  ye,  arm  ye,  men  of  migltt, 
Hasten  to  the  sanguine  fight  ;* 
But  let  me,  my  budding  vino ! 
Spill  no  other  blood  than  thine. 
Yonder  brimming  goblet  see, 
That  alone  shall  vanquish  me — 
Who  think  it  better,  wiser  lar 
To  fall  in  banquet  than  in  war. 


ODE  XLIX.6 


When  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy. 

The  rosy  harbinger  of  joy. 

Who,  with  the  sunshine  of  the  bowl, 

Thaws  the  winter  of  our  soul — * 

When  to  my  inmost  core  he  glides. 

And  bathes  it  with  his  ruby  tides, 

A  flow  of  joy,  a  lively  heat, 

Fires  my  brain,  and  wings  my  feet, 

Calling  up  round  me  visions  known 

To  lovers  of  the  bowl  alone. 

Sing,  sing  of  love,  let  music's  sotmd 
In  melting  cadence  float  around, 
While,  my  young  Venus,  thou  and  I 
Responsive  to  its  murmurs  sigh. 
Then,  waking  from  our  blissful  trance, 
Again  we'll  sport,  again  we'll  dance. 


Altri  segua  Marte  fero; 

Che  sol  Bacco  6  '1  niio  conforto. 

6  This,  the  preceding  ode.  and  a  few  more  of  the  same 
character,  are  merely  chansons  a  boire  ; — the  elTnsions  prob- 
ably of  the  moment  of  convivialirj*.  and  afterwards  snns,  we 
may  imagine,  with  rapture  thronghont  Greece.  Bnl  that 
interesting  association,  by  which  they  always  recalled  the 
convivial  emotions  that  produced  ihem.  can  now  be  little  felt 
ev<^n  by  the  most  enthusiastic  reader;  and  much  less  by  a 
phlegmatic  grammarian,  who  sees  nothing  in  them  but  dia- 
lects and  particles. 

6    Tflto,  with  the  sunshine  of  the  bowl. 

Thaws  the  winter  of  our  soul—6-c.]  Avaro?  is  the  title 
which  he  gives  to  Bncchns  in  the  original.  It  is  a  curions 
circumstance  that  Plutarch  mistook  the  mime  nf  Levi  among 
the  Jews  for  Anii.  (one  of  the  bacchanal  cries,)  and  accord- 
ingly supposed  that  they  worshipped  Bacchus. 


90 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


WnEN  wine  I  quaff,  before  my  eyes 

Dreams  of  poetic  glory  rise  ;' 

And  frcslien'd  by  the  goblet's  dews, 

My  soul  invokes  the  heavenly  Muse. 

When  wino  I  drink,  all  sorrow's  o'er; 

I  think  of  doubts  and  fears  no  more ; 

But  scatter  to  the  railing  wind 

Each  gloomy  phantom  of  the  mind. 

When  I  drink  wine,  tli'  ethereal  boy, 

Bacchus  himself,  partakes  my  joy  ; 

And  wliile  we  danco  through  vernal  bowers,' 

Whose  ev'ry  breath  comes  fresh  from  flowers, 

In  wine  he  makes  my  senses  swim, 

Till  the  gale  breathes  of  naught  but  him ! 

Again  I  drink,-^and,  lo,  there  seems 
A  calmer  light  to  fill  my  dreams  ; 
Tlie  lately  ruffled  wreath  I  spread 
With  steadier  hand  around  my  head; 
Then  take  the  lyre,  and  sing  "  how  blest 
The  life  of  him  who  lives  at  rest !" 
But  then  comes  witching  wine  again, 
With  glorious  woman  in  its  train  ; 
And,  while  rich  perfumes  round  me  rise, 
That  seem  the  breath  of  woman's  siglis, 

^  Faber  thinks  this  ode  spurious;  but,  I  believe,  he  is 
singular  in  his  opinion.  It  has  nil  the  spirit  of  our  author. 
Like  the  wreath  which  he  presented  in  the  dream,  "it 
smells  of  Anacrenn." 

The  form  of  the  original  is  remarkable.  It  is  a  kind  of 
song  of  sevea  quatrain  stanzas,  each  beginning  with  the  line 
'Or'  Eyu)  jrioy  tov  uivov. 

The  first  stanza  alone  is  incomplete,  consisting  but  of 
three  lines. 

"Compare  with  this  poem  (says  Degen)  the  verses  of 
Hagedorn,  lib.  v.,  'der  Wein.'  where  that  divine  poet  has 
wantoned  in  the  praises  of  wine." 

2  lyJien  trinr  I  quaff,  before  my  eyes 

Dreams  of  poetic  glory  rise ;]  "  Anacreon  is  not  the  only 
one  (says  Lonpepierre)  whom  wine  has  inspired  with  poetry. 
We  find  an  epigram  in  the  first  book  of  the  Anlhologia, 
which  begins  thus  : — 

OffOf  Toi  xcpi'fTi  ficyai  nc\et  iVrrus  aoictj, 
'Tdoj^  6c  tTii'oiVf  KaXoif  ov  TCKOi^  crroj. 
If  with  water  you  fill  up  your  glasses. 
You'll  never  write  any  thing  wise  ; 
For  wine's  the  true  horse  of  Parnassus, 
Which  carries  a  bard  to  the  skies  I 

3  ^nd  while  ice  dance  throiiirh  vernal  bowers,  ^-c.]  If  some 
of  the  translators  had  obi^erved  Doctor  Trapp's  caution, 
with  regard  lo  noXvai-Ocaii'  fi*  et  avpat^,  "Cave  necfplumin- 
telligas,"  tlipy  would  not  have  spoiled  the  simplicity  of 
Anacreon's  fancy,  by  such  extravagant  conceptions  us  the 
following: — 

Quand  je  hois,  mon  ceil  s'imagine 
Que,  dans  nn  tourbillon  picin  de  parfums  divers, 
Bacchus  m*emporte  duns  les  airs, 

RempU  de  sa  liqueur  divine. 


Bright  shapes,  of  every  hue  and  form. 

Upon  my  kindling  fancy  swarm, 

Til!  the  whole  world  of  beauty  seems 

To  crowd  into  my  dazzled  dreams ! 

When  thus  I  drink,  my  heart  refines, 

And  rises  as  the  cup  declines  ; 

Rises  in  the  genial  flow, 

That  none  but  social  spirits  know, 

When,  with  young  revellers,  round  the  bowl, 

The  old  themselves  grow  young  in  soul  !* 

Oh,  when  I  drink,  true  joy  is  mine, 

There's  bliss  in  ever)'  drop  of  wijie. 

All  other  blessings  I  have  known, 

I  scarcely  dared  to  call  my  own  ; 

But  this  the  Fates  can  ne'er  destroy, 

Till  death  o'ersliadows  all  my  joy. 


ODE  U.6 


Fly  not  thus  my  brow  of  snow, 
Lovely  wanton  !  fly  not  so. 
Though  the  ■v«5n'^  of  ago  is  mine, 
Though  youth's  brilliant  flush  be  thine, 
Still  I'm  doom'd  to  sigh  for  thee. 
Blest,  if  thou  coiUdst  sigh  for  me  ! 

Or  this:— 

Indi  ml  mena 
Mentre  lieto  ebro,  deliro, 
Baccho  in  giro 
Per  la  vaga  anra  serena. 

*  JJlien,  with  younff  revellers,  round  the  hotel, 
The  old  thcmselces  jp-PW  young-  jn  soul!]  Subjoined  to 
Giiii's  edition  of  Anacreon,  we  find  some  curious  letters  upon 
the  Oiaaoi  of  the  ancients,  which  appeared  in  the  French 
Journals,  At  the  opening  of  the  Odeon  in  Paris,  the  man- 
agers of  that  spectacle  requested  Professor  Gail  to  give  them 
some  uncommon  name  for  their  ffties.  He  suggested  the 
word  "Thiase,"  which  was  adopted  ;  but  the  literati  of  Paris 
questioned  the  propriety  of  the  term,  and  addressed  their 
criticisms  to  Gail  through  the  medium  of  the  pubUc  prints. 

fi  Albert!  has  imitated  this  ode;  and  Capilupus,  in  the  fol- 
lowing epigram,  has  given  a  version  of  it:— 

Cur,  Lalage,  niea  vita,  meos  contemnis  amores? 

Ciir  fngis  e  nosiro  pulchra  puella  sinu  3 
Ne  fugias,  sint  sparsa  licet  mea  tempora  canis, 

Inque  tuo  roseus  fulgeal  ore  color. 
Aspice  ut  intexias  deceant  quoque  flore  corollas 

Candida  purpureas  lilia  mista  rosis. 

Oh  ;  why  repel  my  souPs  impassioned  vow,  ' 

And  fly,  beloved  maid,  these  longing  arms  1 
Is  it,  that  wintry  time  has  slrew'd  my  brow, 

While  thine  are  all  the  summer's  roseate  charms  1 
See  the  rich  garland  cull'd  in  vernal  weather. 

Where  the  young  rosebud  with  the  lily  glows , 
So,  in  Love's  wreath  we  both  may  twine  together, 

And  I  the  lily  be,  and  thou  the  rose. 


I 


.  ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


91 


See,  iu  yonder  flowery  braid, 
Cuird  for  tlice,  my  blusliing  maid/ 
How  tlie  rose,  of  orient  plow, 
Mingles  witli  the  lily's  snow  ; 
Mark,  how  sweet  tlieir  tints  agree, 
Just,  my  girl,  like  thee  and  me ! 


Away,  away,  ye  men  of  rules, 

Wliut  have  I  to  do  with  schools? 

They'd  make  me  learn,  they'd  make  me  think, 

But  would  they  make  me  love  and  drink? 

Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  swim 

My  soul  upon  the  goblet's  brim ; 

Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  twine 

Some  fond,  responsive  heart  to  mine,* 

For,  age  beguis  to  blancli  my  brow, 

I've  time  for  naught  but  pleasure  now. 

Fly,  and  cool  my  goblet's  glow 
At  yonder  foimtain's  gelid  flow  ; 
ril  qualF,  my  boy,  and  calmly  sink 
This  soul  to  slumber  as  I  drink. 
Soon,  too  soon,  my  jocund  slave, 
You'll  deck  yoiu*  master's  grassy  grave  ; 


*  See,  in  yonder  jlowery  braid, 

Culled  for  thee,  my  bluskivg^  maid!]  "  In  the  same  manner 
thai  Anacreon  pleads  forlhe  whiteness  ot"  his  Incks,  from  the 
beauty  of  the  color  in  garlands,  a  shepherd,  in  Theocritus, 
endeavors  to  recommend  his  black  hair : — 

Kat  TO  lov  ficXav  can,  Kai  a  ypajrva  voKivOo^t 
AW  £jiT7ag  r.v  rois  ort^avuis  ra  irpoira  Xtyovrai." 

Lovgcpicrre,  Barnes,  S-e. 

3  ''This  is  doubtless  the  work  of  a  more  modern  poet  than 
Anacreon ;  forat  the  period  when  he  lived  rlietoricians  were 
not  known." — Degen. 

Though  this  ode  is  found  in  the  Vatican  manuscript,  I  am 
much  inclined  to  agree  in  this  argument  against  its  authen- 
ticity' ;  for  though  the  dawnings  of  tlie  art  uf  rhetoric  might 
already  have  ap|>eared,  the  first  who  gave  it  any  celebrity 
was  Corax  of  Syracuse,  and  he  flourished  In  the  centur>-  af- 
ter Anacreon. 

Our  poet  anticipated  the  ideas  of  Epicuru'?,  in  his  aver-^ion 
to  the  labors  of  learning,  as  well  as  his  devotion  to  ^nUip- 
lousness.  Wanav  -raihiav  iiOKaptat  ^cvj  crs,  SD.ld  the  philoso- 
pher of  the  garden  in  a  letter  to  Pythocles 

3  Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  twine 
Some  fond  responsive  heart  to  mine]  By  xpucrrjff  A0po- 
otTiji  here,  I  understand  some  beautiful  girl,  in  the  same 
manner  that  Aixitws  is  often  used  fur  wine,  "Golden"  is 
frequently  an  epithet  of  beauty.  Thus  in  Virgil,  "Venus 
aurea;"  and  in  Prnpertius,  "  Cynthia  aurea."  TibuUus, 
however,  calls  an  old  woman  "  golden." 

The  translation  d'Autori  Anonimi,  as  usual,  wantons  on 
inis  passage  of  Anacreon  : 


And  there's  an  end — for  ah,  you  know 
They  drink  but  little  wine  below  !* 


"When  I  behold  the  festive  train 

Of  dancing  youth,  I'm  young  again  ! 

Memory  wakes  her  magic  trance, 

And  wings  mo  lightly  through  the  dance 

Come,  Cybeba,  emihng  maid  ! 

Cull  the  flower  and  twine  the  braid ; 

Bid  the  blush  of  summer's  rose 

BuiTi  upon  my  forehead's  snows  ;* 

And  let  me,  while  the  wild  and  yoimg 

Trip  the  mazy  dance  along. 

Fling  my  heap  of  years  away. 

And  be  as  wild,  as  young,  as  they. 

Hither  haste,  some  cordial  soul ! 

Help  to  my  lips  the  brimming  bowl  I 

And  you  sliall  see  this  hoary  sag© 

Forget  at  once  his  locks  and  age. 

He  still  can  cliant  the  festive  liymn, 

He  still  can  kiss  the  goblet's  brim  f 

As  deeply  quaiT,  as  largely  fill. 

And  play  the  fool  right  nobly  still. 


£  m*  insegni  con  piu  rare 
Forme  accorte  d'  involare 
Ad  amabile  bcltade 
II  bel  cinto  d'  oneslade. 

*  ,^nd  tkere^s  an  aid — for  ah,  you  know 

They  drink  bat  little  wine  below  !]    Thus  Maiiiard  : — 

La  Mort  nous  guette  ;  et  tjuand  ses  lois 

Nous  ont  enferm6s  unc  fois 

Ausein  d'une  fosse  profonde. 

Adieu  bons  vins  et  bon  repas  ; 

Ma  science  ne  trouve  pas 

Des  cabarets  en  I'autre  monde. 
From   Mainard,   Gombauld,   and    De   Cailly,  old  French 
]ioets,  some  nf  the  best  epigrams  of  the  English  language 
have  been  borrowed. 

6  Bid  the  blush  of  swmmer's  rose 
Burn  vpon  my  forehead!" s  svows  ;  &-c.]  Licetus,  in  his 
Hicroglyphica,  quoting  two  of  our  poet's  odes,  where  he  calls 
to  his  attendants  for  garlands,  remarks,  "Constat  igitur 
floreas  coronas  poetis  et  polantibus  in  syniposio  convenire, 
non  autem  sapientiUus  et  philosophiam  afiectantibus." — "  It 
appear^^  that  wreaths  of  flowers  were  adapted  for  poets  and 
revellers  at  banquets,  but  by  no  means  became  those  who  had 
pretensions  to  wisdom  and  philosophy."  On  ibis  principle, 
in  his  ]52d  chapter,  he  discovers  a  refiucnunt  in  Virgil,  de- 
scribing the  garland  of  the  poet  Silenus,  as  fallen  nlf;  whith 
distinguishes,  he  thinks,  the  divine  intoxication  of  Silenus 
from  that  of  c<)ninion  drunkards,  who  always  wear  their 
crowns  while  they  drink.  Such  is  the;  "labor  ineptiarum" 
of  commentators  ! 

•  He  still  can  kiss  the  gobleVs  brim,  S-c]     Wine  is  pre- 


92 


MOORE'S  WORKS, 


ODE  LIV.» 
Methinkf,  the  pictured  bull  we  see 
Is  amorous  Jove — it  must  be  he  ! 
How  fondly  blest  he  seems  to  bear 
That  fairest  of  Phconician  fair  ! 
How  proud  he  breasts  the  foamy  tide, 
And  spurns  the  billowy  surge  aside ! 
Could  any  beast  of  vulgar  vein 
Undaunted  thus  defy  the  main  ? 
No:  he  descends  from  climes  above, 
He  looks  the  God,  he  breathes  of  Jove  !^ 


While  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spring, 
Resplendent  rose  !  to  iliee  we'll  sing  :* 

scribed  by  Galcn,  as  an  excellent  medicine  for  old  men: 
"  Quod  frigidns  et  humnribus  expletos  calcfaciat,  &c. ;"  bnt 
Nature  was  Anacreon's  physician. 

There  is  a  prnverb  in  Eriphus,  as  quoted  by  Athentrus, 
which  says,  "  that  wine  makes  an  old  man  dance,  whether 
he  will  or  not." 

Aoyog  firr'  cip\nio^,  ov  Kavcog  f^wv, 
Oii'oi'  ^fJOv^TI  TOVi  jfpoiTiif,  (J  Trar£p, 
XleiOetp  x''pf.£tv  ov  ScAoiris. 
1  "This  ode  is  written  upon  a  picture  which  represented 
the  rape  of  Eurnpa." — Madame  Dacier. 

It  may  probably  have  been  a  description  of  one  of  those 
coins,  which  the  Sidonians  struck  off  in  honor  of  Eurnpa, 
representing  a  Wf)man  carried  across  the  sea  by  a  bull.  Thus 
Natalis  Comes,  lib.  viii.  cap.  23.  "  Sidonii  numismata  cum 
foemiiiA  tauri  dorso  insidcnte  ac  mare  transfretante  cnderunt 
in  ejus  honorem."  In  the  little  treatise  upon  the  t'oddessof 
Syria,  attributed  very  fulsely  to  Lucian,  there  is  mention  of 
this  coin,  and  of  a  temple  dedicated  by  the  Sidonians  to 
Ast;irt6,  whom  some,  it  appears,  confounded  with  Eurnpa, 

The  pnet  Moschu?  ha?  left  a  very  beautiful  idyl  on  the 
s  )ry  of  Europa. 

'  JVo :  he  descends  from  climes  abovCy 
He  looks  the  God,   he  breathes  of  Jove .']      Thus   Mos- 
chus: — 

Kpvxf^c  ^eou  Kat  rpcipe  itftaq-  Km  ytvcro  ravpo^. 
The  Cod  forgot  himself,  his  heaven,  for  love, 
And  a  ball's  form  belied  th'  almighty  Jove. 

3  This  (ide  is  a  l)riUiant  panegyric  on  the  rose.  "  All  an- 
tiquity (says  Barnes)  has  produced  nothing  more  beautiful." 

From  the  idea  of  peculiar  e.\rellcnce,  \vhich  the  ancients 
attached  to  this  finwcr,  arose  a  pretty  proverbial  expression, 
used  by  Aristnphanes,  according  to  Suidas,  po^.a  /i'  cipirvaj, 
"Yon  have  sjKiken  rnses,"  a  pbra'^e  somewhat  similar  to  the 
"  dire  des  fleurettes"  of  the  French.  In  the  same  idea  of  ex- 
cellence originated,  I  doubt  not,  a  very  curious  application 
of  the  word  pn^ov,  for  which  the  inquisilive  reader  may  con- 
sult Gaulminus  upon  the  epithalamiuni  of  our  poet,  where 
it  is  introduced  in  the  romance  of  Theodnrus.  Muretus,  in 
one  of  his  elegies,  calls  his  mistress  his  rose  :— 

Jam  te  igitur  rursus  teneo,  fnrmnsula,  jam  te 

(Quid  trepidas?)  teneo;  jam,  rosa,  te  teneo.        Eleg.  8. 
Now  I  again  may  clasp  thee,  dearest, 
What  is  there  now,  on  earth,  thou  fearest  1 


Whose  breath  perfumes  th'  OlyTupian  bowers ; 

Whose  virgin  blush,  of  chasten'd  dye. 

Enchants  so  much  our  mortal  eye. 

When  pleasure's  springtide  season  glows, 

The  Graces  love  to  wreath  the  rose ; 

And  Venus,  in  its  fresh-blown  leaves,* 

An  emblem  of  herself  perceives. 

Oft  hath  the  poet's  magic  tongue 

The  rose's  fair  luxuriance  sungf 

And  long  the  Muses,  heavenly  maids, 

Have  rear'd  it  in  their  tuneful  shades. 

When,  at  the  early  glance  of  mom, 

It  sleeps  upon  the  glittering  thorn, 

'Tis  sweet  to  dare  the  tancled  fence. 

To  cull  the  timid  flow'ret  thence, 

And  wipe  with  tender  hand  s^^ay 

The  tear  that  on  its  bluslies  lay  I 

'Tis  sweet  to  hold  tlie  in/ant  stems, 

Yet  dropping  with  Aurora's  gems, 

Again  these  longing  arms  infold  thee. 
Again,  my  rose,  again  I  hold  thee. 

This,  like  most  of  the  terms  of  endearment  in  the  modern 
Latin  poets,  is  taken  from  Plautus;  they  were  vulgar  and 
colloquial  in  his  time,  but  are  among  the  e.cgancies  of  the 
modern  Latinists. 

Passeraiius  alludes  to  the  ode  before  us,  in  the  beginning 
of  his  poem  on  the  Rose  :^ 

C.irniinc  digna  rosa  est;  vellem  caneretur  ul  illam 
Teius  arguti  cecinit  testudine  vates. 

*  Resplendent  rosci  to  thee  we''ll  sing;]  I  have  passed 
over  the  line  ffuvfrat/j^i  avlsipE^nrjv,  which  is  corrupt  in  this 
original  reading,  and  has  been  very  little  improved  by  tlie 
annotators.  I  should  suppose  it  to  be  an  interpolation,  if  it 
were  nut  for  a  line  which  occurs  afterwards:  0^/Jt  ^n  <pvatu 
\£yfi)[iiv. 

6  ^nd  fcnus,  in  its  frcsh-b/own  leaifes,  S-e.]  Belleau,  in  a 
note  upon  an  old  French  poet,  quoting  the  original  here 
a^pu^iaiiov  t' aOhppa,  translates  it.  "  comine  Ics  dOliccs  et 
mignardiscs  dc  Venus.*" 

6  Oft  hnth  the  poiCs  majric  tontrue 
The  rose''s  fair  luxuriance  sung  ;  <S'C.]  The  following  is 
a  fragmentof  the  Lesbian  poetess.  It  is  cited  in  the  romance 
of  AcliiUc^Taiius,  who  appears  to  have  resolved  the  numbers 
into  prose.  E(  rrjij  avOcfiiv  r^BcXcv  o  Zevs  trrtOstvat  0aai\€a,To 
l^oiov  at'  T(>ii'ai-dsu>vcff'i(n\iV€.  yiji  ecTi  Kiicrpo^^  (pvTiov  ay\a- 
i'fTpa,  oipOaXpoi  dfOfoc,  Afi^JWi'Of  fpuO/j^a,  saAAos  aarpa-nrnv. 
Epwros  -I'Ci,  AiPpo^TTjv  7r/)o{ri£r,  tvft^tci  ^uXAoiS(fOyia  cvki- 
vriTuii  iTCTa\oti  rpv^l.  TO  irtrnAoc  T'-iZvpvpr-)  yeXa. 

If  Jove  would  give  the  leafy  bowers 
A  queen  fur  all  their  world  of  flowers. 
The  rose  would  be  the  choice  of  Jove, 
And  blush,  the  queen  of  every  grove. 
Sweetest  child  of  weeping  morning, 
Gem.  the  vest  of  earth  adorning, 
Eye  of  gardens,  licht  of  lawns. 
Nursling  of  soft  summer  dawns; 
Love's  own  earliest  sigh  it  breaths, 
Beauty's  brow  with  lustre  wreaths, 
And,  to  young  Zephyr's  warm  caresses, 
Spreads  abroad  its  verdant  tresses, 
Till,  blushing  with  the  wanton's  play. 
Us  cheek  wears  e'en  a  richer  ray ! 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


93 


And  fresh  inhale  the  spicy  sighs 
Tiiat  from  tlie  weeping  buds  arise. 

When  revel  reigns,  when  mirth  is  high, 
And  Bacchus  beams  in  every  eye. 
Our  rosy  iiliets  scent  exhale. 
And  fill  with  balm  the  fainting  gale. 
There's  naught  in  nature  bright  or  gay, 
Where  roses  do  not  shed  their  ray. 
AVhen  morning  paints  tlie  orient  skies, 
Her  tiugers  burn  witii  roseate  dyes  ;^ 
Young  nymphs  betray  the  rose's  hue. 
O'er  whitest  arms  it  kindles  tlirough. 
In  Cytherea's  form  it  glows, 
And  mingles  with  the  living  snows. 

The  rose  distils  a  healing  balm, 
The  beating  pulse  of  paiu  to  calm ; 
Preserves  the  cold  inumed  clay," 
And  mocks  the  vestige  of  decay  :' 
An  when,  at  length,  in  palo  dechne, 
Its  florid  beauties  fade  and  pine, 
Sweet  as  in  youth,  its  balmy  breath 
Diffiises  odor  even  in  death  !^ 
Oh  !  whence  could  such  a  plant  have  sprung  ? 
Listen, — for  thus  the  tale  is  sung. 

'  II  ?icn  moniivg  paints  Oie  orient  skies, 
HcT  Jivgcrs  burn  with  roseate  dyes  ;  &-c.]  In  the  original 
here,  he  enumerales  the  many  epithets  of  beauty,  borrowed 
from  roses,  which  were  used  by  the  poets,  -rrapa  nov  tro^'jf. 
We  see  that  poets  were  dignified  in  Greece  with  the  title  of 
sajes:  even  the  careless  Anacreon.  who  lived  but  for  love 
and  vohiptuousness,  was  called  by  Plato  the  wise  Anacreon 
—'■'  fuit  ho-c  sapientia  quondam." 

3  Preserves  the  cold  innrned  clay,  £,•€■]  He  here  alludes  to 
the  use  of  the  rose  in  embalming;  and,  perhaps,  (as Barnes 
thinks,)  to  the  rosy  unguent  with  which  Venus  anointed 
the  corpse  of  Hector. — Ilomer*s  Iliad  ip.  It  may  likewise 
regard  the  ancient  practice  of  putting  garlands  of  roses  on 
the  dead,  as  in  Statins.  Theb.  lib.  x.  782. 

hi  sertis,  a.  vpris  honore  soluto 

Accumulant  artus,  pairiaque  in  sede  reponunt 
Corpus  odoratnm. 
Where  "  veris  honor,"  though  it  mean  every  kind  of  flowers, 
may  seem  more  particularly  to  refer  to  the  rose,  which  our 
poet  in  another  ode  calls  iap'Ji  firXrjfia.  We  read,  in  the 
Hieroglyphics  of  Pierius,  lib.  Iv.,  that  some  of  the  ancients 
used  to  order  in  their  wills,  that  roses  should  be  annually 
scattered  on  their  tombs,  and  Pierius  has  adduced  some  se- 
pulcliral  inscriptions  to  this  purpose. 

3  .ind  mocks  the  vestige  of  decay  :'\  When  he  says  that 
this  flower  prevails  over  time  itself,  he  still  alludes  to  its 
ethcacy  in  cmbalmnient,  (teneril  poneret  ossa  rosa.  Propert. 
lib.  i.  eleg.  17,)  or  perhaps  to  the  subsequent  idea  of  its  fra- 
grance surviving  its  beauty  ;  for  he  can  scarcely  mean  to 
praise  for  duration  the  "nimium  breves  flores"  of  the  rose. 
Philostratus  compares  this  flower  with  love,  and  says,  that 
they  both  defy  the  influence  of  time  ;  x^"*'""  ^^  ovn  E^wf, 
ovrt  fioia  otScv.  Unfortunately  the  similitude  lies  not  in 
their  duration,  but  their  transience. 

*  Siceet  as  nj  youth,  its  balmy  breath 

Diffuses  odor  even  in  death!]    Thus  Casper  Barlaeus, in 
his  Ritus  Nuptianira : 


When,  humid,  from  the  silvery  stroam, 
Effusing  beauty's  warmest  beam, 
Venus  appear'd,  in  flushing  hues, 
Mellow'd  by  ocean's  briny  dews  ; 
When,  in  the  starrj'  courts  above, 
The  pregnant  brain  of  mighty  Jove 
Disclosed  the  nymph  of  azure  glance, 
The  nympli  who  shakes  the  martial  lance  ; 
Then,  then,  in  strange  eventful  lioiu, 
The  eartli  produced  an  infant  flower, 
Which  sprung,  in  blushing  glories  dressM, 
And  wauton'4  o'er  its  parent  brea.st. 
The  gods  beheld  this  brilliant  birth, 
And  hail'd  the  Rose,  the  boon  of  earth  ! 
With  nectar  drops,  a  ruby  tide, 
The  sweetly  orient  buds  they  dyed,^ 
And  bade  them  bloom,  the  flowers  div-te 
Of  him  who  gave  the  glorious  vine  ; 
And  bade  them  on  the  spangled  thorn 
Expand  theur  bosoms  to  the  mom. 


ODE  LVI.6 
He,  who  instmcts  the  youthful  crew 
To  bathe  them  in  the  brimmer's  dew, 

Ambrosinni  late  rosa  tunc  quoquo  spargit  odorem, 
Cum  fluii,  aul  multo  languida  sole  jacet. 
Nor  then  the  rose  its  odor  loses, 

When  all  its  flushing  beauties  die; 
Nor  less  ambrosial  balm  ditfuses. 
When  wither'd  by  the  solar  eye. 
6    With  nectar  drops,  a  ruby  tide. 

The  sweetly  orient  buds  they  dyed,  iSt.]  The  author  of 
the  "Pervisilium  Veneris"  (a  poem  attributed  to  Catullus, 
the  style  of  which  appears  to  me  to  have  all  the  labored 
luxuriance  of  a  much  later  period)  ascribes  the  tincture  of 
the  rose  to  the  blood  from  the  wound  of  Adonis— 

rosa; 

Fusa?  aprino  de  cruore — 
according  to  the  emendation  of  Lipsius.    In  the  following 
epigram  this  hue  is  differently  accounted  for: — 

Ilia  quidem  studiosa  suum  defendere  Adunim, 

Gradivus  striclo  qucm  petit  ense  ferox, 
Affixit  duris  vestigia  caxa  rosetis, 
Albiique  divino  picta  cruore  rosa  est. 
Wliiie  the  enamor'd  queen  of  joy 
Flies  to  protect  her  lovely  boy, 

On  whom  the  jealous  war-god  rushes; 
Slie  treads  upon  a  thorncd  rose. 
And  while  the  wound  with  crimson  flows, 
The  snowy  flow'ret  feels  her  blood,  and  blushes: 
«  "Compare  with  this  elegant  ode  the  verses  of  Uz,  lib.  i. 
'die  Weinlese.'  " — Degcn. 

This  appears  to  be  one  of  the  hymns  which  were  sung  at 
the  anniversary  festival  of  the  vintage  ;  one  of  the  txt\r\vioi 
Vftyoi,  as  our  poet  himself  terms  them  in  the  filty-niiith  ode. 
We  cannot  help  t'eeling  a  sort  of  reverence  for  iJiese  classic 
relics  of  the  religion  of  antiquity.  Horace  may  be  supposed 
to  have  written  the  nineteenth  ode  of  his  second  book,  and 
the  twenty  filth  of  the  third,  for  some  bacchanalian  celebra- 
tion of  this  kind. 


94 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  taste,  uncloy'd  by  rich  excesses, 
All  the  bliss  tliut  wine  possesses  ; 
He,  who  inspires  tiio  youth  to  bound 
Elastic  througli  the  dance's  round, — 
Bacchus,  the  god  again  is  here, 
And  leads  along  the  blushing  year  ; 
The  blushing  year  with  vintage  teems, 
Ready  to  slicd  those  cordial  streams. 
Which,  sparkling  in  the  cup  of  mu-th, 
Iliuminato  the  sons  of  earth !' 

Then,  when  the  ripe  and  vermil  wine, — 
Blest  infant  of  the  pregnant  vine, 
Wliich  now  in  mellow  clusters  swells, — 
Oh  !  when  it  bursts  its  roseate  cells, 
Brightly  the  joyous  stream  shall  flow, 
To  balsam  every  mortal  wo  I 
None  shall  be  then  cast  down  or  weak, 
For  health  and  joy  shall  light  each  cheek  ; 
No  heart  will  then  desponding  sigh, 
For  wine  shall  bid  despondence  fly. 
Thus — till  another  autumn's  glow 
Shall  bid  anotlicr  vintage  flow^. 


ODE  LVII.3 


Whose  was  the  artist  hand  that  spread 
Upon  this  disk  the  ocean's  bed?^ 
And,  in  a  flight  of  fancy,  high 

1  fVhick,  sparkling  in  the  cup  of  mirth, 

Illuminate  the  sons  of  earth.']  In  the  original  rroroc 
acTuvuv  KUfjt^(,)v.  Madame  Dacier  thinks  that  the  poet  here 
had  the  nepenthti  of  Homer  in  his  mind.  Odyssey,  lib.  iv. 
Tlv's  nepentli6  was  a  somethinf^  of  exquisite  charm,  infused 
by  helm  into  the  wine  of  her  guests,  which  had  the  power 
of  disiielliiig  every  anxiety.  A  French  writer,  De  Mer6, 
conjectures  that  this  spell,  which  made  the  bowl  so  be- 
guiling, was  the  chiirm  of  Helen's  conversation.  See  Bayle, 
art.  Helene. 

2  This  ode  is  a  very  animated  description  of  a  picture  of 
Venus  (tn  a  discus,  which  represented  the  goddess  in  her 
first  emergence  from  the  waves.  About  two  centuries  after 
our  poet  wrote,  the  pencil  of  the  artist  Apelles  embellished 
this  subject,  in  his  famous  painting  of  the  Venus  Anadyo- 
nien6.  the  model  of  which,  as  Pliny  informs  us,  was  the 
beautiful  Campaspe,  given  to  him  by  Alexander ;  though, 
according  tu  Natalis  Comes,  lib.  vii.  cap.  IG,  it  was  Phryne 
who  sal  to  Apelles  for  the  face  and  breast  of  this  Venus. 

There  ore  a  few  blemishes  in  the  reading  of  the  ode  be- 
fore U3,  which  have  influenced  Faber,  Heyne,  Ilrunck,  fcc. 
to  denounce  the  whole  poem  as  spurious.  But,  "  non  ego 
paucis  offendar  maculis."  I  think  it  is  quite  beautiful 
enough  to  be  authentic. 

3  Jiltose  was  the  artist  hand  that  spread 

Upon  this  disk  the  ocean's  bed?]  The  abruptness  of  a  pa 
r(?  ropevcc  jrovrot'  Is  finely  expressive  of  sudden  admiration, 
and  is  one  of  those  beauties  which  we  cannot  but  admire  in 
their  source,  though,  by  frequent  imitation,  they  are  now 
become  familiar  and  unimpressive. 


As  aught  on  earthly  wing  can  fly. 

Depicted  thus,  in  semblance  warm. 

The  Queen  of  Love's  voluptuous  fonn 

Floating  along  the  silv'rj^  sea 

In  beauty's  naked  majesty ! 

Oh  !  he  hath  given  tlv  enamor'd  sight 

A  witching  banquet  of  delight. 

Where,  gleaming  through  the  waters  clear, 

Glimpses  of  undream'd  channs  appear, 

And  all  that  mysterj'  loves  to  screen, 

Fancy,  hke  Faith,  adores  unseen.* 

Light  as  the  leaf,  that  on  the  breeze 
Of  summer  skims  the  glassy  seas, 
She  floats  along  the  ocean's  breast, 
Which  undulates  in  sleepy  rest ; 
While  stealing  on,  she  gently  pillows 
Her  bosom  on  the  heaving  billows. 
Her  bosom,  like  the  dew-wash'd  rose,* 
Her  neck,  like  April's  sparkling  snows, 
Illume  the  liquid  path  she  traces, 
And  bimi  within  the  stream's  embraces. 
Thus  on  she  moves,  in  languid  pride. 
Encircled  by  the  azure  tide, 
As  some  fair  hly  o'er  a  bed 
Of  violets  bends  its  graceful  head. 

Beneath  their  queen's  inspiring  glance, 
The  dolphins  o'er  the  green  sea  dance. 
Bearing  in  triumph  young  Desire," 
And  infant  Love  with  smiles  of  fire  ! 

*  And  all  that  mystery  loves  to  screen, 

Fancij,  like  Faith,  adores  unseen.  «S-c.]  The  picture  here 
has  all  the  delicate  character  of  the  scnii-reducta  Venus, 
and  affords  a  happy  specimen  of  what  the  poetry  of  passion 
ought  to  be — glowing  but  through  a  veil,  and  stealing  upon 
the  heart  from  concealment.  Few  of  the  ancients  have 
attained  this  modesty  of  description,  which,  like  the  golden 
cloud  that  hung  over  Jupiter  and  Juno,  is  impervious  to 
every  beam  but  that  of  fancy. 

6  Her  bosom,  like  the  dcw-wash^d  rose.  cS-c]  "'PoJcwi' 
(says  an  anonymous  annouitor)  is  a  whimsical  epithet  for 
the  bosom."  Neither  Catullus  nor  Gray  have  been  of  his 
opinion.    The  former  has  the  e,\pression. 

En  hie  in  roseis  latct  papillis  ; 
And  the  latter, 

Lo  I  where  the  rosy-bosom'd  hours,  &c. 
^rotlus,  a  modern  Latinisl,  might  indeed  be  censured  for 
too  vague  a  use  of  the  epithet  "rosy,"  when  he  applies  it 
to  the  eyes  ; — "  e  roseis  oculis." 

6  young  Desire,  «S-c.]    In  the  original   'Ifupoi, 

who  was  the  same  deity  with  Jocus  among  the  Romans. 
Aurelius  Augurellus  has  a  poem  beginning — 

Invitat  olim  Bacchus  ad  coenam  suos 
Cornon,  Jocum.  Cupidincm. 
Which  Piirncll  has  closely  im'tTiod  ■ — 

Gay  Bacchus,  liking  Kaimurt's  wine, 

A  noble  meal  bespoke  us  ; 
And  fur  the  guests  that  were  to  dine, 
Brought  Comus,  Love,  and  Jocus,  &c. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


95 


Wliile,  glittering  through  the  silver  waves, 
The  tenants  of  tlie  briny  caves 
Around  the  pomp  their  gambols  play, 
And  gleam  along  the  watery  way. 


ODE  LVlII.i 


WnF.s  Gold,  as  fleet  as  zephyr's  pinion, 
Escapes  like  any  faithless  minion,* 
And  flies  me,  (as  he  flies  me  ever,)^ 
Do  I  pursue  him?  never,  never! 
No,  let  the  false  deserter  go. 
For  who  could  court  his  direst  foe  ? 
But,  when  I  feel  my  lighten'd  mind 
No  more  by  grovelling  gold  confined, 
Tlien  loose  I  all  such  clinging  cares, 
And  cast  tliem  to  the  vagrant  airs. 
Then  feel  I,  too,  the  Muse's  spell, 
And  waive  to  life  the  dulcet  shell. 
Which,  roused  once  more,  to  beauty  sings, 
While  love  dissolves  along  the  strings  ! 

But  scarcely  has  my  heart  been  taught 
How  little  Gold  deserves  a  thought, 
When,  lo  I  the  slave  returns  once  more. 
And  with  him  wafts  delicious  store 
Of  racy  wine,  whose  genial  art 
In  shmiber  seals  the  anxious  heart. 
Again  ho  tries  my  soul  to  sever 
From  love  and  song,  perhaps  forever  I 


1 1  have  followed  Barnes's  arrangement  of  this  nde,  which, 
though  deviating  somewhat  from  the  Vatican  MS.,  appears 
lo  me  the  more  natural  order- 

^  (T'Aen  Gold,  as  fleet  as  zephyr* s  pinion, 

Escapes  lifce  any  faitliless  minion,  Src-]  In  the  original 
'O  ipanr.Tns  o  x^vco?.  There  is  a  k'^d  of  pun  in  these  words, 
as  Madame  D;icier  has  already  reinarKed  ;  for  Chrysos,  which 
signifies  gold,  was  also  a  frequent  name  for  a  slave.  In  one 
of  Lucian's  dialogues,  there  is,  I  think,  a  similar  play  upon 
the  word,  where  the  followers  of  Chrj'sippus  are  called 
golden  fishes.  The  puns  of  the  ancients  are,  in  general, 
even  more  vapid  than  our  own  ;  some  of  the  best  are  those 
recorded  of  Diogenes. 

3  Jind  flies  mc,  (as  he  flies  me  ever,)  S-c.\  Act  6',  act  (jc  ^eu- 
yii.  This  grace  nf  iteration  has  already  been  taken  notice 
of.  Though  sometimes  merely  a  playful  Ijeauly.  it  is  pecu- 
liarly expressive  of  impassioned  sentiment,  and  we  may 
easily  believe  that  it  was  one  of  the  many  sources  of  that 
energetic  sensitiility  which  breathed  through  the  style  of 
Sappho.  See  Gyrald.  Vet.  Poet.  Dial.  9.  It  will  not  be 
said  that  this  is  a  mechanical  ornament  by  any  one  who  can 
teel  its  charm  in  those  lines  of  Catullu*,  where  he  complains 
of  the  infidelity  of  his  mistress,  Lesbiai — 

Cteli.  Lesbia  nostra,  Lesbia  ilia. 
Ilia  I^esbia,  quam  Catullus  unam, 
Plus  quam  se  atque  suos  amavit  omnes, 
Nunc,  &c. 


Away,  deceiver !  why  pursuing 
Ceaseless  thus  my  heart's  undoing? 
Sweet  is  the  song  of  amorous  fire. 
Sweet  the  sighs  that  thrill  the  lyre  ; 
Oh !  sweeter  far  than  all  the  gold 
Thy  wmgs  can  waft,  thy  mines  can  hold. 
Well  do  I  know  ihy  arts,  tl\y  wiles — 
They  withered  Love's  young  wreathed  smiles  ; 
And  o'er  his  lyre  such  darkness  shed, 
I  thought  its  soul  of  song  was  fled  ! 
They  dash'd  the  wine-cup,  that,  by  him, 
Was  fiird  with  kisses  to  the  brim.^ 
Go — fly  to  haunts  of  sordid  men, 
But  come  not  near  the  bard  again. 
Thy  glitter  in  the  jNIuse's  shade. 
Scares  from  her  bower  the  tuneful  maiu  ; 
And  not  for  worlds  would  I  forego 
That  moment  of  poetic  glow, 
When  my  full  soul,  in  Fancy's  stream, 
Pours  o'er  the  lyre  its  swelling  theme. 
Away,  away  !  to  worldlings  hence, 
Who  feel  not  tlhs  diriner  sense  ; 
Give  gold  to  those  who  love  that  pest, — 
But  leave  the  poet  poor  and  blest. 


Ripen'd  by  the  solar  beam, 
Now  the  ruddy  clusters  teem, 
In  osier  baskets  borne  along 
By  all  the  festal  vintage  throng 


Si  sic  omnia  dixissetl — but  the  rest  does  not  bear  cita- 
tion. 

*  They  dashed  the  wine-eup.  that,  by  him, 
WasflWd  with  kisses  to  the  hrim.'\     Original  :— 

HuQuiv  KvrreX^K  Ktpvtjs. 

Horace  has  "Desiderique  temperare  poculuni."  nut  figu- 
ratively, however,  like  Anacreon,  but  importing  the  love- 
philtres  of  the  witches.  By  "  cups  of  kisses'*  our  poet  may 
allude  to  a  favfiriie  gallantry  among  the  ancients,  of  drink- 
ing when  the  lips  of  their  mistresses  had  touched  the  brim : — 

"  Or  leave  a  kiss  within  the  cup, 
And  I'll  not  ask  for  wine." 

As  in  Ben  Jonson's  translation  from  Philostratus;  and  Lu- 
cian  has  a  conceit  upon  the  same  idea,  "  'li/a  kui  -rrivfii  ofia 
Kui  0tXrjs,"  "that  you  may  at  once  both  drink  and  kiss." 

6  The  title  EttiX^jko?  li/jvof,  which  Barnes  has  given  tn  this 
ode,  is  by  no  means  appropriate.  We  have  already  had  one 
of  those  hymns,  (ode  5G,)  but  this  is  a  description  of  the  vin- 
tage ;  and  the  title  £ic  otfoi',  which  it  bears  in  the  Vatican 
MS.,  is  more  correct  than  any  that  have  been  suggested. 

Degen,  in  the  true  spirit  of  literary  skepticism,  doubts  that 
this  ode  is  genuine,  without  assigning  any  reason  for  such  a 
suspicion;— "non  amo  te.Sabidi,  nee  possum  dicere  quare." 
But  this  is  far  from  being  satisftictory  criticism. 


9G 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Of  rosy  youths  and  virgins  fair, 
Ripe  as  tlie  melting  fniits  they  bear. 
Now,  now  they  press  tlie  pregnant  grapes, 
And  now  tlie  captive  stream  escapes, 
In  fervid  tide  of  nectar  gnshing. 
And  for  its  bondage  prondly  blushing ! 
While,  round  the  vat's  impiU7ilcd  brim, 
Tiie  choral  song,  the  vintage  hymn 
Of  rosy  youths  and  virgins  fair, 
Steals  on  the  charm'd  and  echoing  air. 
Mark,  how  tliey  drink,  with  all  their  eyes, 
The  orient  tide  that  sparkling  flies. 
The  infant  Bacchus,  bora  in  mirth, 
While  Love  stands  by,  to  hail  the  birth. 

When  he,  whose  verging  yea!is  decline 
As  deep  into  the  vale  as  inine. 
When  he  inhales  the  vintage-cup, 
His  feet,  new-wing'd,  from  earth  spring  up. 
And  as  he  dances,  the  fresh  air 
Plays  whispering  through  his  silvery  hair. 
Meanwhile  young  groups  whom  love  invites. 
To  joys  e'en  rivalling  wine's  delights, 
Seek,  arm  in  arm,  the  shadowy  grove. 
And  there,  in  words  and  looks  of  love. 
Such  as  fond  lovers  look  and  say, 
Pass  the  sweet  moonlight  hours  away.' 


ODE  LX.2 

Awake  to  hfe,  my  sleeping  shell, 

To  Phcebus  let  thy  numbers  swell  ; 

And  though  no  glorious  prize  bo  thine. 

No  Pytliian  wreatli  around  thee  twine, 

Yet  every  hour  is  glory's  hour 

To  him  who  gathers  wisdom's  flower. 

Tlien  wake  tliee  from  thy  voiceless  slumbers, 

And  to  the  soft  and  Phr)gian  numbers, 


I  Those  well  .icqimintoil  with  tlic  original  n'^ed  hardly  he 
reminded  that,  in  these  few  concluding  verses.  I  have  thought 
right  to  give  imly  the  general  meaning  of  my  author,  leaving 
the  del;iiU  untouched. 

a  Tlii^  hymn  to  Apnllo  is  supposed  not  to  have  been  writ- 
ten !iv  Anacrcnn  ;  and  it  is  undoubtedly  rather  a  sublimer 
'  flight  than  the  Teian  wing  is  accustomed  to  soar.  But,  in  a 
poet  of  whose  works  so  small  a  proportion  has  reached  us. 
diversity  of  style  is  by  no  means  a  sale  criterion.  If  wo 
knew  Horace  hut  as  a  satirist,  should  we  easily  believe  there 
could  dwell  such  animation  in  his  lyrel  Suidas  says  that 
our  poet  wrote  hymns,  and  this  perhaps  Is  one  of  them.  We 
can  perceive  in  what  an  altered  anil  imperfect  state  his 
works  arc  at  present,  when  we  find  a  scholiast  upon  Horace 
citing  an  ode  from  the  third  book  ofAnacreoo. 

3  .^nrf  Iiotp  the  tender^  timid  maid 
Flew  trcmUivg  to  the  kiiMy  shade,  Src]    Original  :— 


Which,  tremblingly,  my  lips  repeat, 
Send  echoes  from  thy  chord  as  sweet 
'Tis  thus  the  swan,  with  fading  notes, 
Down  the  Caystcr's  current  floats. 
While  amorous  breezes  linger  round. 
And  sigh  responsive  sound  for  sound. 

Muse  of  the  Lyre  !  illume  my  dream, 
Thy  PhtEbus  is  my  fancy's  theme  ; 
And  hallow'd  is  tlie  l.arp  I  bear. 
And  hallow'd  is  the  wreath  I  wear, 
Hallow'd  by  him,  the  god  of  lays, 
Who  modulates  the  choral  maze. 
I  sing  tlie  love  which  Daphne  twined 
Around  the  godhead's  yielding  mind  ; 
I  sing  tlie  blushing  Daphne's  flight 
From  this  ethereal  son  of  Light ; 
And  how  the  tender,  timid  maid 
Flew  trembling  to  the  kindly  shade,' 
Resign'd  a  fonn,  alas,  too  fair. 
And  grew  a  verdant  laurel  there  ; 
Whose  leaves,  with  sympathetic  thrill. 
In  terror  seem'd  to  tremble  still ! 
The  god  pui'sued,  with  wing'd  desire ; 
And  when  his  hopes  were  all  on  fire. 
And  when  to  clasp  the  nymph  he  thought, 
A  lifeless  tree  was  all  he  caught ; 
And,  stead  of  sighs  that  pleasure  heaves, 
Heard  but  the  west-wuid  in  the  leaves ! 

But,  pause,  my  soul,  no  more,  no  more — 
Enthusiast,  whither  do  I  soar? 
This  sweetly-madd'ning  dream  of  soul 
Hath  hurried  me  beyond  the  goal. 
Why  should  I  sing  the  mighty  darts 
Which  fly  to  wound  celestial  hearts. 
When  ith,  the  song,  with  sweeter  tone. 
Can  tell  the  darts  that  wound  my  own? 
Still  be  Anacreon,  still  inspire 
The  descant  of  the  Teian  lyre  :* 


To  fieV  tKITl^tVyC  KCVTpOV, 

'tuctcjf  (5'  aiittlpc  poptpr]v. 
I  find  the  word  kci'tiiiii'  here  has  a  double  force,  as  it  also 
signifies  that  "omnium  parentem,  quam  sanctus  Numa,  &c, 
&c."  (See  Martial.)  In  order  to  confirm  this  import  of  the 
word  here,  those  who  arc  curious  in  new  readings,  may 
place  the  stop  after  tpvceivs,  thus ; — 

T>}  ptv  CK7rc(pevye  KCyrpov 
^vaC'jJS,  6'  a/(£n/'S  /io/)0r,i'. 
•  Stilt  be  Anacreon,  stilf  inspire 
The  dcseant  of  the  Teian  lyre  :]   The  original  is  Toi'  Ai- 
oKpeovra  ptpvv.    I  have  translated  it  under  the  suppttsition 
that  the  hymn  is  by  Anacreon ;  though,  I  fear,  from  this 
very  line,  that  his  claim  to  it  can  scarcely  be  supported. 

Tor  Aviitifitovra  ^i/jov,"  Imitate  Anacreon."  Such  is  the 
lesson  given  us  by  the  lyrist :  and  if,  in  poetry,  a  simple  ele- 
gance of  sentiment,  enriched  by  the  most  playful  felicities  of 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


97 


Still  Set  the  nectar'd  numbers  float, 
Distilling  love  in  every  note  I 
And  when  some  youth,  whose  glowiug  soul 
Has  felt  the  Papliiim  star's  control, 
When  he  the  liquid  lays  shall  hear, 
Ilis  heart  will  flutter  to  his  ear, 
And  drinking  there  of  song  diviu3, 
Banquet  on  intellectual  wino  1' 


ODE  LXI." 


Youth's  endearing  chamis  are  fled  ; 
Hoar)'  locks  deform  my  head  ; 
Bloomy  graces,  dalliance  gay, 
All  the  flowers  of  life  decay ,° 
Withering  age  begnis  to  trace 
Sad  memorials  o'er  my  face  ; 


fancy,  be  a  charm  which  invites  or  deserves  imitation,  where 
shiill  we  tind  such  a  guide  as   Anacreon  1     In  morality,  too, 
u  iih  some  little  reserve,  we  need  not  blush,  I  think,  to  follow 
in  his  footsteps.    For,  if  his  song  he  llie  language  of  his 
heart,  though  luxurious  and  relaxed,  he  was  artless  and  he- 
iirvolenl;  and  who  would  not  forgive  a   few  irregularities, 
\\  hen  atoned  for  by  virtues  so  rare  and  so  endearing  1  When 
\\  f  think  of  the  sentiment  in  those  lines  : — 
Away  !  I  hate  the  sland'rous  dart, 
Which  steals  to  wound  th'  unwary-  heart, 
how  many  are  there  in  the  world,  to  whom  we  would  wish 
to  say.  Toe  AvaKpeoi/Ta  [itfuovl 

*  Here  ends  the  last  of  the  odes  in  the  Vatican  MS.,  whose 
authority  helps  to  confirm  the  genuine  antiquity  of  themall, 
though  a  few  have  stolen  among  the  number,  which  we  may 
hesitate  in  attributing  to  Anacreon.  In  the  little  essay  pre- 
fixed to  this  translation,  I  observed  that  Barnes  has  quoted 
this  manuscript  incorrectly,  relying  upon  an  imperfect  copy 
of  it  which  Isaac  Vossius  had  taken.  I  shall  just  mention 
two  or  three  instances  of  this  inaccuracy — the  lirst  which 
occur  to  me.  In  the  ode  of  the  Dove,  on  the  words  IlTcpoiat 
oi')iia\vip<j),  he  says,  "Vatican  MS.  av(7Kta§(oi',  eliam  Pris- 
ciano  invito  :"  but  the  MS.  reads  owKuXvipd},  with  avcKiaad) 
interlined.  Degen  loo,  on  the  same  line,  is  somewhat  in 
error.  In  the  twenty-second  ode  of  this  series,  line  thir- 
teenth, the  MS.  has  revii]  with  at  interlined,  and  Barnes  im- 
putes to  it  the  reading  of  TCvSn-  In  the  fifty-seventh,  line 
twelfth,  he  professes  to  have  preserved  the  reading  of  the 
MS.  A\a\i]!tepTj  S*  11^  avTi],  while  the  latter  has  aXt^rjiiivos 
A*  ctt'  avTa.  .^Imttst  all  the  other  annotators  have  trans- 
planted these  errors  from  Barnes. 

5  The  intrusion  of  this  melancholy  ode,  among  the  careless 
levities  of  our  poet,  reminds  us  of  the  skeletons  which  the 
Eg)-ptians  u^ed  to  hang  up  in  their  banquet-rooms,  to  incul- 
cate a  thought  of  mortaliiy  even  amidst  the  dissipations  of 
mirth.  If  it  were  not  for  the  beauty  of  its  numbers,  the 
Teian  Muse  should  disown  this  ode.  "  Quid  habet  illius, 
illius  quffi  spirabat  amores  1" 

To  Stobtcus  we  are  indebted  for  it. 

3  Bloomy  graces,  dalliance  gay, 
.'i/l  thcjlowcrs  of  life  decay.]     Horace  oflen,  with  feeling 
and  elegance,  deplores  the  fugacity  of  human  enjoyments. 
Sre  book  ii.  ode  11 ;  and  thus  in  the  second  epistle,  book 


Time  has  shed  its  sweetest  bloom, 
All  the  future  must  be  gloom. 
This  it  is  that  sets  me  sighing; 
Dreary  is  the  thought  of  dying!* 
Lone  and  di.smal  is  tlio  road, 
Down  to  Pluto's  dark  abode ; 
And,  when  once  tlie  journey's  o'er, 
Ah  !  we  can  return  no  more  !' 


ODE  LXn.8 

Fill  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  draught, 

As  e'er  was  fiU'd,  as  e'er  was  quaffed  ; 

But  let  the  water  amply  flow. 

To  cool  the  grape's  intemperate  glow  ;'' 

Let  not  the  fiery  god  be  single, 

But  with  the  nymphs  in  union  mingle. 


Singula  de  nobis  anni  prxdantur  euntes  ; 
Eripucre  jocos,  venerem,  convivia,  ludum. 
The  wing  of  every  passing  day 
Withers  some  blooming  joy  away; 
And  wafts  from  our  enamor'd  arms 
The  banquet's  mirth,  the  virgin's  charms. 
*  Dreary  is  the  thought  of  dyivg,  A'-c-]     Regnier,  a  libertine 
French  p()et,  has  written  some  sonnets  on  the  approach  of 
death,  full  of  gloomy  and  trembling  repentance.     ChauUeu, 
however,  supports  jnore  consistently  the  spirit  of  the  Epicu- 
rean philosopher.    See  his  poem,  addressed  to  the  Marquis 
de  Lafare — 

Plus  j'approche  du  terme  et  moins  je  le  redoute,  &c. 
^  Jind,  whenonce  the  journey's  o'cr^ 
.^h!  we  can  retur7i  no  more.']     Scaliger,  upon  Catullus*s 
well-known  lines,  "  Qui  nunc  it  per  iter,  &.c."  remarks  that 
Achertin,  with  thesauie  idea,  is  called  af^loSos  by  Theocri- 
tus, and  6v<T£KSpo[ifrs  by  Nicander. 

8  This  ode  consists  of  two  fragments,  which  are  to  be  found 
in  Athena'us,  book  x.,  and  which  Barnes,  from  the  similarity 
of  their  tendency,  has  combined  into  one.  I  think  this  a  very 
justifiable  liberty,  and  have  adopted  it  in  some  other  frag- 
ments of  our  poet. 

Degen  refers  us  here  to  verses  of  Uz,  lib.  iv.,  "  der  Trin- 
fcer." 

'  But  let  the  water  amply Jloio, 
To  cool  the  grape's  intemperate  glow  ;  ^-c.]  It  was  Am- 
phictyon  who  first  taught  the  Greeks  to  mix  water  witli  their 
wine;  in  commemoration  of  which  circumstance  they  erect- 
ed alt;trs  to  Bacchus  and  the  nymphs.  On  this  mythological 
allegory  the  following  epigram  is  founded: 

Ardentera  ex  utero  Semeles  lavdre  Lya^um 

Naiades,  extincto  fulminis  igue  sacii ; 
Cum  nyiiiphis  igitur  tractabilis,  at  sine  nymphis 
Candenti  rursus  fuliniue  corripilur. 

PlERlUS  VALERIANra. 

Which  is,  non  verbum  verbo, — 

While  heavenly  fire  consumed  his  Theban  dame, 
A  Naiad  caught  ynung  Bacchus  from  the  flame, 

And  dipp'd  hini  burning  in  her  purest  lymph; 
Hence,  still  he  loves  the  Naiad's  crystal  urn, 
And  when  his  native  fires  too  fiercely  burn, 

Seeks  the  coul  waters  of  the  fountain-nymph. 


98 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


For  tlioiigh  the  bowl's  the  grave  of  sadness, 

Ne'er  let  it  be  the  birth  of  madness. 

No,  banish  from  our  board  to-night 

Tho  rrvelries  of  nide  delight ; 

To  Scytiiians  leave  these  wild  excesses, 

Ours  bo  the  joy  tiiat  eooths  and  blesses ! 

And  while  the  temperate  bowl  we  wreath, 

In  concert  let  our  voices  breathe. 

Beguiling  every  hour  along 

With  hannony  of  soul  and  song. 


ODE  LXIII.i 
T<i  Love,  the  soft  and  blooming  child, 
I  touch  the  harp  in  descant  wild  ; 
To  Love,  the  babe  of  Cyprian  bowers, 
The  boy,  who  breathes  and  blushes  flowers; 
To  Love,  for  heaven  and  earth  adore  Iiim, 
And  gods  and  mortals  bow  before  him ! 


ODE  LXrV.5 
Hastk  thee,  njTnph,  whose  well-aim'd  spear 
Wounds  the  fleeting  mountain-deer! 
Dian,  Jove's  immortal  child. 
Huntress  of  the  savage  wild  ! 
Goddess  with  the  sun-bright  hair ! 
Listen  to  a  people's  prayer. 
Tuni,  to  Lethe's  river  turn, 
There  thy  vanquished  people  mourn  I* 


>  "This  fragment  is  preserved  in  Clemens  AlcxQndrinus, 
Strom,  lib.  vi.  nnil  in  Arsenius,  Collect-  Gtxc."— Barnes. 

It  appears  to  have  been  the  opening  of  a  hymn  in  praise 
of  Love. 

3  This  Uvmn  to  Diana  is  extant  in  Hephastion.  There  is 
an  ancctiotc  of  onr  poet,  which  has  led  some  to  doubt  whether 
he  ever  wrote  nny  odes  of  this  kind.  It  is  related  by  the 
Scholiast  upon  Tindar  (IsthmionJc.  od.  ii.  v.  1,  as  cited  by 
Barnes)  that  Anacreon  being  asked,  why  he  addressed  all  his 
hynms  to  women,  and  none  to  the  deities'?  answered,  "  Be- 
cause women  are  my  deities." 

I  have  assumed,  it  will  be  seen,  in  reporting  this  anecdote, 
the  sime  liberty  which  I  have  thought  it  right  to  take  in 
translitlin?  some  of  the  odes;  ami  it  were  to  be  wished  that 
these  little  infidelities  were  always  allowable  in  interpreting 
the  writings  of  the  ancients ;  thus,  when  nature  is  forgotten 
in  the  original,  in  the  trans-Iation  "  tamen  usque  recurret." 

s  Turn,  to  Lefkc's  river  turn, 

There  thy  vanquish' d  prnple  viourn'.}     Lethe,  a  river  of 

Ionia,  according  I"  Strabo,  fallinK  into  the  Meander.     In  its 

neighborhood  wits  the  city  railed   Magnesia,   in    favor  of 

whose  inhabitants  our  poet  is  supposed  to  have  addressed 

,    this  supplication  to  Diana.     It  was   written   (as   Madame 


Come  to  Lethe's  wavy  shore, 
Tell  them  tiiey  shall  mourn  no  more. 
Thme  their  hearts,  their  altars  thine  ; 
Must  they,  Dian — must  they  pine? 


Like  some  wanton  filly  sporting, 

Maid  of  Thrace,  thou  fly'st  my  courting. 

Wanton  filly  !  tel!  me  why 

Thou  tripp'st  away,  with  scomfid  eye, 

And  seem'st  to  think  my  doating  heart 

Is  novice  in  the  bridling  art? 

Believe  me,  girl,  X  is  not  so ; 

Thou'lt  find  this  skilful  hand  can  throw 

The  reins  around  that  tender  form. 

However  wild,  however  warm. 

Yes — trust  me  I  can  tame  thy  force, 

And  turn  and  wind  tliee  in  the  course. 

Though,  wasting  now  thy  careless  hours, 

Thou  sport  amid  the  herbs  and  flowers, 

Soon  slialt  thou  feel  the  rein's  control, 

And  tremble  at  the  wish'd-for  goal ! 


ODE  LXVI.B 


To  thee,  the  Queen  of  nymphs  divine, 
Fairest  of  all  that  fairest  sliine  ; 
To  thee,  who  rul'st  with  darts  of  fire 
Tliis  world  of  mortals,  young  Desire ! 


Pacier  conjectures)  on  the  occasion  of  some  battle,  in  which 
the  Magnesians  had  been  defeated. 

*This  ode,  which  is  addressed  to  some  Thracian  girl, 
exists  in  Hcraclides,  and  has  been  imitated  very  frequently 
hy  Horace,  as  all  the  annotators  have  remarked.  Madame 
Daclcr  rejects  the  allegory,  which  runs  so  obviously  through 
the  poem,  and  supposes  it  to  have  been  addressed  to  a  young 
mare  belonging  to  Folycrates. 

Pierins,  in  the  fourth  book  of  his  Hieroglyphics,  cites  this 
ode,  and  informs  us  that  the  horse  was  the  hicroglyphical 
emblem  of  pride. 

*  This  ode  is  introdnrcd  in  the  Romance  of  Theodoras 
Prodromu%  and  is  that  kind  of  epithalamium  which  was  sung 
like  a  scolium  at  the  nuptial  banquet. 

Anion?  the  many  works  of  the  impassioned  Sappho,  of 
which  time  and  icnorant  superstition  have  deprived  us,  the 
loss  of  her  cpithalamiums  is  not  one  of  the  least  that  we  de- 
plore. The  following  lines  are  cited  as  a  relic  of  one  of  those 
poems  :— 

0,\/?(C  ya/iffps.  cot  ftcv  ir)  yaftoqus  apao, 
Kktcti\£ot\  exet^  dc  TrariBe-Vov  nv  apio. 

See  Scaliger,  in  his  Poetics,  on  the  Epithalamium. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


99 


And  oil !  thou  nuptial  Power,  to  thee 
Who  bear'st  of  life  the  guardian  key, 
Breathing  my  soul  in  fervent  praise, 
And  weaving  wild  my  votive  lays, 
For  thee,  O  Queen  !  I  wake  the  lyre, 
For  thee,  thou  blushing  young  Desire, 
And  oh  !  for  thee,  thou  nuptial  Power, 
Come,  and  illume  this  genial  hour. 

Look  on  thy  bride,  too  happy  boy, 
And  while  thy  lambent  glance  of  joy 
Plays  over  all  her  blushing  charms, 
Delay  not,  snatch  her  to  thine  arms, 
Before  the  lovely,  trembling  prey, 
Like  a  young  birdliiig,  wing  away  ! 
Turn,  Stratocles,  too  happy  youth, 
Dear  to  the  Queen  of  amorous  truth, 
And  dear  to  her,  whose  yielding  zone 
Will  soon  resign  her  all  thine  own. 
Turn  to  M}Tilla,  turn  thine  eye, 
Breathe  to  Myrilla,  breathe  thy  sigh. 
To  those  bewitching  beauties  tiun  ; 
For  thee  they  blush,  for  thee  they  buriL 

Not  more  the  rose,  the  queen  of  flowers, 
Outblushes  all  the  bloom  of  bowers, 
Than  she  unneaii'd  grace  diicloses. 
The  sweetest  rose,  where  all  are  roses. 
Oh  I  may  the  sun,  benignant,  shed 
His  blaudest  influence  o'er  thy  bed ; 
And  foster  there  an  infant  tree. 
To  bloom  like  her,  and  tower  like  thee !' 


1  J} nd  foster  there  an  infant  tree. 
To  bloom  like  her^  and  lower  like  iheei^  Original  Ktira- 
piTToq  6e  TTfi/iiiMjt  azv  cvt  KrjTTii).  Passeraiius,  upon  the  words 
'•  cimi  castum  amisit  florem,"  in  the  Nuptial  Song  of  Ca- 
tullus, after  explaining  "  flos"  in  somewhat  a  similar  serf's 
to  that  which  Gaulminus  attributes  to  poSoi>,  says,  "  Hfi^titm 
quoque  vocant  in  quo  flos  iUe  carpiiur,  el  Gra;cis  ktjt^^  ^fT"' 
TO  £<Pf)(iatiiv  yvvatKuyv.''^ 

I  may  remark,  in  passing,  that  the  author  o  the  Greek 
version  of  this  charming  ode  of  Catullus,  \^^  neglected  a 
mnst  striking  and  anacreontic  beatuyin  tho^  verses  "  Ut  fios 
in  septis.  &c."  which  is  the  repetitiun  r*'  the  line,  "  Mulii 
ilUiin  pueri.  muUo;  opIavAre  puel!»," '^'ith  the  slight  altera- 
tion of  niilli  and  nulli.  Catullus  himself,  however,  has 
been  equally  injudicious  in  his  wrsion  of  the  famous  ode  of 
Sappho;  having  translated  yi\^cai  liicpotv,  but  omitted  all 
notice  of  the  accompanying  charm,  aiv  ipiovovaas.  Horace 
has  caught  tht  spirit  of  it '"ore  faithfully:— 
Dulce  ride<item  Lalagen  amabo, 
Duke  loquentem. 

•This  fragment  is  preserved  in  the  third  book  of  Strabo. 

3  Of  the  Tariessian  prince  my  otDJi  ;i    He  here  alludes  to 


ODE  LXVn.s 
Rrcn  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn 
The  wealth  of  Arnalthca's  horn; 
Nor  should  I  ask  to  call  the  throne 
Of  the  Tartcssian  prince  my  own  ;* 
To  totter  througli  his  train  of  years, 
The  victim  of  declining  fears. 
One  little  hour  of  joy  to  me 
Is  worth  a  dull  eternity ! 


ODE  Lxvrii.* 

Now  Neptune's  month  ,vu'  sky  deforms, 

Tiie  angry  night-cloud  teems  with  storms ; 

And  savage  winds,  infuriate  driven, 

Fly  howling  in  the  face  of  heaven ! 

Now,  now,  my  friends,  the  gathering  gloom 

With  roseate  rays  of  wine  illume : 

And  while  our  wreaths  of  parsley  spread 

Their  fadeless  foliage  round  our  head, 

Let's  hymn  th'  almighty  power  of  wine. 

And  shed  libations  on  liis  shrine  I 


ODE  I-XIX.s 
They  wove  the  lotus  band  to  deck 
And  fan  with  pensile  wreath  each  neck ; 
And  every  sn-iest,  to  shade  his  head, 
Tliree  litf.'o  fragrant  chaplets  spread  ;' 


Arparthonius,  who  lived,  according  to  Lucian,  a  hundred 
ap-f  fifty  years  ;  and  reigned,  according  to  Herodotus,  eighty, 
^e  Barnes. 

*  Tliis  is  composed  of  two  fragments;  the  seventieth  and 
eighty-first  in  Barnes.    They  are  both  found  in  Euslathius. 

6  Three  fragments  form  this  little  ode,  all  of  whichnre  pre- 
sented in  AtheniEus.  They  are  the  eighty -second,  seventy- 
fifth,  and  eighty-third,  in  Barnes. 

°  Jind  every  ffjtcst.  to  shade  his  head, 
Three  little  frn-rrant  chaplets  spread;]  Longcpierre,  to 
give  an  idea  of  the  luxurious  estimation  in  which  garlands 
were  held  by  the  ancients,  relates  an  anecdote  of  a  courie- 
san.  who,  in  order  to  gratify  three  lovers,  without  leaving 
cause  for  jealousy  with  any  of  them,  gave  a  kiss  to  one,  let 
the  other  drink  after  her,  and  put  a  garland  on  the  brow  of 
the  third ;  so  that  each  v*\s  satisfied  with  his  favor,  and 
flattered  himself  with  the  preference. 

This  circumstance  resembles  very  much  the  subject  of  one 
of  the  tatsons  of  Savari  de  Maul^on,  a  troubadour.  See 
L'Histoire  Littferaire  des  Troubadours.  The  reciuU  is  a  cu- 
rious picture  of  the  puerile  gallantries  of  chivalry. 


100 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  one  was  of  th'  Egj'ptian  Io:if, 

The  rest  Were  roses,  fair  and  brief: 

While  from  a  golden  vase  profound, 

To  all  on  flowery  beds  around, 

A  Hebe,  of  celestial  shape, 

Pour'd  the  rich  di'oppings  of  the  grape  I 


ODE  LXX.l 
A  BROKEN  cake,  with  honey  sweet, 
Is  all  my  spare  and  simple  treat: 
And  while  a  generous  bowl  I  crown 
To  float  ray  little  banquet  down, 
I  take  the  soft,  the  amorous  lyre, 
And  sing  of  love's  delicious  fire : 
In  mirthfid  measures  wann  and  free, 
I  sing,  dear  maid,  and  sing  for  thee  I 


ODE  LXXI.'. 
With  twenty  chords  my  lyre  is  hung, 

And  while  I  wake  them  all  for  thee, 
Thou,  O  maiden,  wild  and  young, 

Disport'sl  in  airy  levity. 

The  nursling  fawn,  that  in  some  shade 
Its  antler'd  mothti-  leaves  behind,' 

Is  not  more  wantonly  afraid, 
More  timid  of  the  rusttmj  wiud! 


ODE  LXXII.i 

Fare  thee  well,  pei-fidions  maid. 
My  soul,  too  long  on  eartli  dclay'd, 

1  Conipileil  by  Barnes,  from  Athen^us,  IIeph.Tslion,  and 
Arsenius.    See  Barnes,  8O1I1. 

2  This  I  have  formed  from  the  eighly-fourth  and  eighty- 
fifth  ol"  Barnes's  edition.  The  two  fragments  are  found  in 
Athens-US. 

3  The  nursliv^fawn,  that  in  some  shade 

Its  antler'd  mother  leaves  behind,  ^-c]   In  tlie  original ; — 
'Of  ct>  uXt;  k'c.ooccaijf 

A^O^CHpSeti  VITO  ftT}TpOS. 

"norned"  here,  undoubtedly,  seems  a  strange  epithet; 
Mndanie  Dacier  however  observes,  that  Sophocles,  Callima- 
chu«,  &c.,  have  all  applied  it  in  the  very  same  manner,  and 
she  seems  to  agree  in  the  conjecture  of  the  scholiast  upon 
Piruiar,  that  perhaps  horns  ore  not  always  peculiar  to  the 
males.  I  ihink  we  may  with  more  ease  conclude  it  to  be  a 
license  of  the  poet,  "jussit  habere  pueilani  cornua." 

*  This  ^agment  is  preserved  by  the  scholiast  upon  Aristo- 
phanes, and  is  the  eighty-seventh  in  Barnes. 


Delay'd,  perfidious  girl,  by  thee. 

Is  on  the  wing  for  liberty. 

I  fly  to  seek  a  kindlier  sphere. 

Since  thou  hast  ceased  to  love  me  here ! 


ODE  LXXin.' 
Awhile  I  blpom'd,  a  happy  flower, 
Till  Love  approach'd  one  fatal  hour. 
And  made  my  tender  branches  feel 
The  wounds  oi  his  avenging  steel. 
Then  lost  I  fell,  like  some  poor  willow 
That  falls  across  the  wintry  billow  ! 


ODE  LXXIV.« 
Monarch  Love,  resistless  boy, 
With  whom  the  rosy  Queen  of  Joy, 
And  nymphs,  whose  eyes  have  Heaven's  Iiue, 
Disporting  tread  the  mountain-dew ; 
Propitious,  oh !  receive  my  sighs. 
Which,  glowing  with  entreaty,  rise. 
That  thou  wilt  whisper  to  the  breast 
Of  her  I  love  thy  soft  behest ; 
And  counsel  her  to  leani  from  thee. 
That  lesson  thou  hast  taught  to  me. 
Ah  !  if  my  heart  no  flattery  tell, 
Thou'lt  own  I've  learn'd  that  lesson  well ! 


ODE  LXXV.' 

Spirit  of  Love,  whose  locks  unroll'd. 
Stream  on  the  breeze  like  floating  gold  ; 

6  This  is  to  be  found  in  Hephaistion,  and  is  the  eighty- 
unth  of  Barnes's  edition. 

I  »ave  omitted,  from  among  these  scraps,  a  very  consider- 
able ti'nment  iinputed  to  our  poet.  SacOi  ^'  Efpvnv^ij  fteXei, 
&c..  whiOi  is  preserved  in  the  twelfth  book  of  AthenTUs,  and 
IS  the  nineij-tirst  in  Barnes.  If  it  was  really  Anacreon  who 
wrote  it,  "  nil^'uit  unquam  sic  impar  sibi."  It  is  in  a  style 
of  gross  satire,  .nd  abounds  with  expressions  that  never 
could  be  gracefully  translated. 

•  A  fragment  presei  -cd  by  Dion  Chrysoslom.  Oral.  ii.  de 
Regno.    See  Barnes,  93. 

'  This  fragment,  which  it  e.ttant  in  A-'jcna-us,  (Barnes, 
101,1  is  supposed,  on  the  auihority  of  Chaiia-lcon,  to  have 
been  addressed  to  Sappho.  Wthave  also  a  stanza  attributed 
to  her.  which  some  romancers  havtsupposed  in  be  her  a  nswer 
to  Anacreon.  "  Mais  par  malheur,  l<is  Bayle  says,)  Sappho 
Vint  au  monde  environ  cent  ou  six  vingt  ons  avant  Anacreon." 
— J'Touvelles  de  la  Rijj.  des  Lett.  torn.  ii.  de  Novembre.  1684. 
The  following  is  her  Iragroent,  the  compliment  of  which  is 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


101 


Come,  witliin  a  frag;rant  cloud 
Blushing  with  light,  thy  votary  shroud  ; 
And,  on  those  wings  that  sparliliug  play, 
Waft,  oh,  waft  me  hence  away ! 
Love  !  my  soul  is  full  of  thee, 
Alive  to  all  thy  luxuiy*. 
But  she,  the  nynipli  for  whom  I  glow, 
The  lonely  Lesbian  mocks  my  wo ; 
Smiles  at  the  chill  and  hoary  hues. 
That  time  upon  my  forehead  strews. 
Alas!  I  fear  she  keeps  her  charms. 
In  store  for  younger,  happier  arms ! 


ODE  LXXVI.» 

Hither,  gentle  Muse  of  mine, 
Como  and  teach  thy  votary  old 

Many  a  golden  hymn  divine, 
For  the  nymph  with  vest  of  gold. 

Pretty  nymph,  of  tender  age, 
Fair  thy  silky  locks  unfold  ; 

Listen  to  a  hoary  sage. 

Sweetest  maid  with  vest  of  gold  I 


ODE  LXXVn.a 

Would  that  I  were  a  timeful  lyre, 

Of  burnish'd  ivory  fair, 
Which,  in  the  Dionysian  choir, 

Some  blooming  boy  sliould  bear ! 

Would  that  I  were  a  golden  vase, 
That  some  bright  n}Tnph  might  hold 

My  spotless  frame,  with  blushing  grace. 
Herself  as  pure  as  gold  I 


finely  imagined ;  she  snpposes  that  the  Mase  has  dictated 
the  verses  of  Anacreon  — 

Ksivov,  u  XPi"''o^pt"'£  Moyu'  cviaKcg 

np€aj3vi  ayavoi. 
Oh  Muse  !  who  sitl'st  on  golden  throne, 
Full  many  a  hymn  of  witching  tone 

The  Teian  sage  is  taught  by  theel 
But,  Goddess,  from  thy  throne  of  gold, 
The  sweetest  hymn  thou'st  ever  told, 

He  lately  learn'd  and  sung  for  me. 

*  Formed  of  the  ]24th  and  119th  fragments  in  Barnes,  both 
of  which  are  to  be  found  in  Scaliger*s  Poetics. 

De  Pauw  thinks  that  those  detached  lines  and  couplets, 
which  Scaliger  has  adduced  as  examples  in  his  Poetics,  are 
by  DO  means  authentic,  but  of  his  own  fabrication. 


When  Cupid  sees  how  thickly  nov/ 
The  snows  of  Time  fall  o'er  my  brow, 
Upon  liis  wing  of  golden  light, 
He  passes  with  an  eaglet's  flight, 
And  flitthig  onward  seems  to  say, 
"  Fare  thee  well,  thou'st  had  tiiy  day  !'' 


Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray. 
That  lights  oiur  life's  meandering  way, 
That  God,  within  this  bofom  stealing, 
Hath  waken'd  a  str.;nge,  miu^>d  feeling, 
Which  pleases,  thosigh  so  sadly  teasing, 
And  teases,  though  so  sweetly  pleasing  1* 


Let  me  resign  this  wretched  breath. 
Since  now  remains  to  me 

No  other  balm  than  kindly  death, 
To  sooth  my  misery  I^ 


I  KNow^  thou  lov'st  a  brimming  meafiure. 
And  art  a  kindly,  cordial  host ; 

But  let  me  fill  and  drink  at  pleasine — 
Thus  I  enjoy  the  goblet  most,** 


I  FEAR  that  love  disturbs  my  rest. 
Yet  feel  not  love's  impassion'd  care  ; 

I  think  there's  madness  in  my  breast, 
Yet  cannot  find  tliat  madness  there  I' 


2  This  is  generally  inserted  among  the  remains  of  Alcicus 
Some,  however,  have  attributed  it  to  Anacreon.  See  our 
poet's  twenty-second  ode,  and  the  notes. 

3  See  Barnes,  I73d.  This  fragment,  to  which  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  of  adding  a  tarn  not  to  be  found  in  the  original,  is 
cited  by  Lucian  in  his  short  essay  on  the  Gallic  Hercules. 

*  Barnes,  125th.  This  is  in  Scaliger's  Poetics.  Gail  has 
omitted  it  in  his  collection  of  fragments. 

6  This  fragment  is  extant  in  Arsenius  and  Hepha'stion. 
See  Barnes,  (COth,)  who  has  arranged  the  metre  of  it  ver>- 
skilfully. 

0  Barnes,  "id.  This  fragment,  which  is  found  in  Athe- 
niEUs,  contains  an  excellent  lesson  for  the  votaries  of  Jupiter 
Hospitalis. 

'  Found  in  Hepha;<;tion,  (see  Barnes,  95th,)  and  reminds 
one  somewhat  of  the  following: — 


102 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


■Fhcidf^Qa  Leiicadi'a's  frotvning  steep, 
I'il  pluhgo  ivjfo  the -whitening  deep: 
And  there  he  cold,  to  deatii  resign'd, 
Since  Love  intoxicates  my  mind  !* 


Mix  me,  child,  a  cup  divine, 
Crystal  water,  ruby  wine : 
Weave  the  frontiet,  riclily  flushing, 
O'er  my  wintry  temples  blushing. 
Mix  the  brimmer — Love  and  I 
Shall  no  more  the  contest  try. 
Here — upon  this  holy  bowl, 
I  surrender  all  my  soul  I'* 


Amoxg  the  Epigrams  of  the  Anthologia,  are  found 
some  panegyrics  on  Anacrcon,  which  I  had  trans- 
lated, and  originally  intended  as  a  sort  of  Coronis  to 
this  work.  But  I  found,  upon  consideration,  tliat 
they  wanted  variety ;  and  that  a  frequent  recur- 
rence, in  them,  of  the  same  thought,  would  render  a 
collection  of  such  poems  uninteresting.  I  sliall  take 
the  liberty,  however,  of  subjoining  a  few,  selected 
from  the  number,  that  I  may  not  appear  to  have 
totally  neglected  those  ancient  tributes  to  the  fame 
of  Anacreon.  The  four  epigrams  which  I  give  are 
imputed  to  Aiitipatcr  tiidonius.  They  are  rendered, 
perhaps,  with  too  much  freedom ;  but  designing 
originally  a  translation  of  all  that  are  extant  on  the 

Oili  rt  amo  ;  qusire  id  faclum  forUisse  requiris ; 
Nescio:  sed  fieri  scniio,  ut  excrucior.  Carm.  53. 

I  love  thee  and  hate  thee,  but  if  I  can  tell 
The  cause  of  n»y  love  and  my  hate,  may  1  die. 

1  can  feel  it.  alas  !  I  can  feel  it  loo  well, 
That  I  love  thee  and  hate  thee,  but  cannot  leU  why. 

1  This  is  also  in  Hepli;estion,  and  perhaps  is  a  fragment  of 
siimc  poem  in  which  Anacreon  had  commemorated  the  fate 
of  Sappho.     It  is  the  123d  of  Barnes. 

2  Collected  by  Barnes,  frnm  Demetrius  Phalarcusand  Eus- 
tathius.  and  subjoined  in  his  edition  lif  the  epigrams  attribu- 
ted to  our  poet.  And  here  is  ihc  hi5t  of  those  little  scattered 
flowers,  u'liich  I  thought  I  mifrht  venture  with  any  prace  to 
transplant; — happy  if  it  could  be  said  of  the  garland  which 
they  form,  To  6'  wC;'  AvaKpcovTu^. 

3  v\ntipater  Sidoniu's,  the  author  of  this  epigram,  lived,  ac- 
cordiiig  to  Vossins,  de  Poetis  Crrecis,  In  the  second  year  of 
the  IGDlh  Olympiad.  He  appears,  from  what  Cicero  and 
QuintiTKin  have  said  of  him,  to  have  been  a  kindof  improv- 
visatore.  See  Instiiut.  Orat.  lib.  x.  cap.  7.  There  is  nothing 
more  known  respecting  this  poet,  except  some  particulars 


subject,  I  endeavored  to  enliven  their  uniformity  by 
sometimes  indulging  in  the  liberties  of  paraphrase. 


ANTinATPOY  SIAaNIOT,  EI2  ANAKPEONTA. 

GAAAOI  TETpaKopvuPoiy  Avavptovj  a^^i  ffc  Ktaoos 

a0pa  re  \cifiu}uuv  Tri>p<pvpC(iiv  irtTaXa 
Trrjyai  i   apytvoivTOS  av(i9\tpoti'ro  yaXoKTOff, 

cuwi^fs  <3'  aiTii  yjjf  f)Sv  ^C'HTO  fieOvf 
otppa  KC  roi  trrraiiT)  tz  Kai  uarca  repipiv  aprjTai^ 

ei  Se  Tii  (fiBifiEvotg  ^otiiirrcrat  evippou-vva 

(D   TO   ^l\ov   CTEp^a^,   ^(Xc,   8<lp0lTaVj   (J   (TW   uotSa 

wavra.  ^lOTXajtras  koi  aw  touTi  Piov, 

Around  the  tomb,  oh,  bard  divine  I 
Where  soft  thy  hallow'd  brow  repi>3es, 

Long  may  the  deathless  iiT  twine, 

And  summer  spread  her  waste  of  roses ! 

And  there  shall  many  a  fount  distil. 

And  many  a  rill  refresli  the  flowera; 
But  wine  shall  be  each  purple  rill, 

And  every  fount  Ixi  milky  showers. 

Thus,  shade  of  liim,  whom  Nature  taught 
To  tune  his  lyre  and  soul  to  pleasure, 

Who  gave  to  love  his  tenderest  thought, 
Who  gave  to  love  Iiis  fondest  measure, — 

Thus,  after  death,  if  shades  can  feci. 

Thou  may'st,  from  odors  round  thee  streaming, 

A  pulse  of  past  enjoyment  steal, 

And  live  again  in  blissful  dieaming !' 

about  his  illness  and  death,  which  are  mentioned  as  cnriens 
by  Pliny  and  others  ; — and  there  remain  of  his  works  but  a 
few  epigrams  in  the  Anthologia,  among  which  are  found 
these  inscriptions  iTpon  Anacreon.  These  remains  have  been 
sometimes  imputed  to  another  poet*  of  the  same  name,  of 
whom  Vossius  gives  us  the  following  account : — "  Anlipater 
Thessalonicensis  vixil  tempore  .Angusti  Ca?saris,  «t  qui  sal- 
tantem  viderit  Pytadcm,  sicnt  constit  ex  qnod.iui  ejus  epi- 
gramniate  Ar0u>o>iaf,  lib.  Iv.th.ciiopxEarpti^as.  Atenmac 
Balhylluni  primes  fuissc  p."intomimos  ac  sub  Aiigusto  ela- 
ruisse,  satis  notum  ex  Dione,  &:c.  &c." 

The  reader,  who  thinks  it  worth  observing,  may  find  a 
strange  oversight  in  IIotTnian's  quotation  of  this  article  from 
Vossius,  Lexic.  Univers.  By  the  omission  of  a  sentence,  lie 
has  niade  Vossius  assert  that  the  poet  Antipatcr  was  one  of 
the  lirst  pantomime  dancers  in  Rome. 

Barnes,  upon  the  epigram  before  us,  mentions  aversion  of 
it  by  Brodirus,  whirh  is  not  to  be  found  in  that'  commenta- 
tor; but  he  more  than  once  confounds  Brodieus  nith  another 
annotatoron  the  Anthologia,  Vincenlius  ObsoptEus,  who  has 
given  a  translation  of  the  epigram. 

R  Pleraque  (amen  Thetsalonieensi  tribuenda  viOentur.— BruncA,  Z.er- 
lionrs  tt  £m*ndaU 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


Ivb 


TOY  AYTOY,  EIS  TON  AYTON. 

TYMBOS  Ava^pEtovTOf.  6  T/ji"05  tvOaSe  kvkvos 

Ajc[tT}-j  XtiptocvTt  fi£\i^(Tat  aftipt  RadvWdi 
'Ificpa'  Kai  KKTaov  \cvkos  oSojSc  Ai^of, 

Qt'j  hXos  (iiStveii  ICvTptJt  OcpiiOTeprj. 

Here  sleeps  Anacreon,  in  this  ivied  shade ; 
Here  mute  in  death  the  Teian  swan  is  laid.* 
Cold,  cold  that  heart,  whicli  while  on  earth  it  dwelt 
All  the  sweet  phrensy  of  love's  passion  felt. 
And  yet,  oh  Bard !  thou  art  not  mute  in  death, 
Still  do  wo  catch  thy  lyre's  luxurious  breath  ;* 
And  still  thy  son^  of  soft  Bathylla  bloom, 
Green  as  the  ivy  round  thy  mould'rin^  tomb. 
Nor  yet  has  death  obsciu^ed  thy  fire  of  love, 
For  still  it  lights  tliee  through  the  Elysian  grove  ; 
Where  dreams  are  thine,  tliat  bless  th'  elect  alono, 
And  Venus  calls  thee  even  in  death  her  own'. 

* tkc  Teian  swan  is  laid.]    Thus  Horace  of  Pindar : — 

Multa  Dircaiuni  levat  aura  cycnum. 
A  swan  was  the  hieroglyphical  emblem  of  a  poet.  Anacreon 
has  been  called  the  swan  ofTeos  by  another  of  his  eulogists. 

Ef  TOti  ftc'Sixpoii  'luFpoiTi  avvrpai^ov 
Xvmoi  AviKpcoi'Ta,  Tij'Of  kvkvoVj 
Ecr0(j,\as  vypjj  PCKrapoi  ficksjdopi}. 

Evyevovg,  Avdo\oy. 

God  of  the  grape  !  thou  hast  betray'd 

In  wine's  bewildering  dream, 
The  fairest  swan  that  ever  play'd 
Along  the  JIusc's  stream  I — 
The  Teian,  nur&ed  with  all  those  honey'd  boys, 
The  young  Desires,  light  Loves,  and  rose-lipp*d  Joys  ! 

^  Sttll  (L.  toe  catch  thy  lyre's  luxuriates  breath;]  Thus 
Simonides,  speakiyc  of  our  poet:^ 

MoAtt;?!  (J'  f)u  hiOn  ^i:\tTcpjz£Oi  aXX'  frf  KCivo 
Bap/Sircv  ovSe  ^acwi/  cvvaatv  eiv  a'C&i}. 

St^octdou,  Avdokoy. 

Nor  yet  are  all  his  numbers  mute. 
Though  dark  within  the  tomb  he  lies; 

But  living  still,  his  amorous  lute 
With  sleepless  animation  sighs  ! 

This  is  the  famous  Simonides,  whom  Plato  styled  "divine," 
though  Le  Fevre,  in  his  Poeles  Grecs,  supposes  that  the  ep- 
igrams under  his  name  are  all  falsely  imputed.  The  most 
considerable  of  his  remains  is  a  satirical  poem  upon  women, 
preserved  by  Ptobsus,  i^.jyo?  yvvaiKtiiv. 

We  may  judge  from  the  lines  I  have  just  quoted,  and  the 
import  of  the  epigram  before  us,  that  the  works  of  Anacreon 
were  perfect  in  the  times  of  Simonides  and  Antipaler.  Ob- 
sopcBUs.  the  commentator  here,  appears  to  exuit  in  their 
destruction,  and  telling  us  they  were  burned  by  the  bishops 
and  patriarchs,  he  adds,  "  nee  sane  id  necquicquam  fece- 
runt,**  attributing  to  this  outrage  an  effect  which  it  could  not 
possibly  have  produced. 

•  The  spirit  of  Anacreon  is  snpposed  to  utter  these  verses 
from  the  tomb,— somewhat  "  niutatus  ab  illo,"  at  least  in 
simplici:y  of  expression. 


TOY  AYTOY,  EIS  TON  AYTON. 

aEINE,  Ta^ov  TTapa  "kiTov  AvoKpciovTOi  afitiffiap. 
El  n  Toi  CK  ffiQXtAiv  n\Ocv  cfKov  o<pe\ofj 

zltEiaov  £fiT}  <nro(5iT,  ottcktov  yavoSj  otppa  k£v  otvta 
OoTCa  yrjdrjae  ra^a  vort^opevaj 

'S2f  h  Atovvaov  fJcpeXnpEvoi  ovaci  kw^oSj 
'S2j  0  tl>i\aKprirov  avvrpO'Po^  apfiovir}^, 

ftliy^c  Kdra^QifiEvoi  Bat^^ou  fnx'^  tovtov  vkohtu 

Toe   VEVCTi  fltpOTTbJV   ^lOpOV  O^ClXo^EVOl'.' 

Oh  stranger  I  if  ALnacreou's  shell 

Has  ever  taught  thy  heart  to  swell* 
With  passion's  throb  or  pleasure's  sigh, 
In  pity  turn,  as  wand'ring  nigh, 
And  drop  tliy  goblet's  richest  tear* 
In  tenderest  libation  here  ! 
vSo  shall  my  sleeping  ashos  thrill 
With  visions  of  enjoyment  still. 
Not  even  in  death  can  I  resiga 
The  festal  joys  that  once  were  mine, 

*  if  .^ line r eon's  shell 

Has  ever  taught  thy  heart  to  swell.  S-c]  We  may  guess 
from  the  words  ek  0i(3Xicf  Cfiojif,  that  Anacreon  was  not 
merely  a  writer  of  billets-dou\,  as  some  French  critics  have 
called  him.  Among  these  Jlr.  Le  Fevre,  with  all  his  pro- 
fessed admiration,  has  given  our  poet  a  character  by  no 
means  of  an  elevated  cast: — 

Aussi  c'est  pour  cela  que  lapnst^rlti 
L'a  toujours  justcnient  d'age  en  age  chant6 
Comnie  un  franc  gnguenard,  ami  de  goinfrerie, 
Ami  de  billets-doux  et  de  badinerie. 
See  the  verses  prefixed  to  his  Poetes  Grccs.     This  is  unlike 
the  langunge  of  Theocritus,  to  w  hom  Anacreon  is  indebted 
for  the  following  simple  eulogium: — 

EIS  ANAKPEONTOS  ANAPIANTA. 

Qauat  Tov  avSpiaira  tovtuv,  w  Jei'f, 

anov^a,  Kai  Xcy',  tTrav  tj  otKOv  EvOrjs.      « 

AvaKpCOHTO?  CIKOV''  Et^UV  £V  TcW, 

TUiV  irpood^  €1   Tl  TTf.plCaOP  uSoJTOtOiV. 

irpocOcis  Jr  xuJ7(  "TOii  vEoiO't.i'  aSiro, 
cpEti  arpEKEws  o\ou  tov  avSpa. 

Upon  the  Statue  of  Anacreon. 
Stranger  I  wlio  near  this  statue  chance  to  roam, 

Let  it  awhile  your  studious  eyes  engage  ; 
That  you  may  say,  reuirning  to  your  home, 

"  I've  seen  the  image  of  the  Teian  sage. 

Best  of  the  bards  who  deck  the  Muse's  page." 
Then,  if  you  add.  "That  striplings  loved  him  well," 

You  tell  them  all  he  was,  and  aptly  tell. 

I  have  endeavored  to  do  justice  to  the  simplicity  of  this  in- 
scription by  rendering  it  as  literally,  I  believe,  as  a  verse 
translation  will  allow. 

fi  ^vd  drop  thy  goblcfs  richest  tear,  (S-c.J    Thus  SimomdeS| 
in  another  of  his  epitaphs  on  our  poet : — 

Kai  piy  act  TEyyoi  voTCprj  ipoaoi,  ^?  &  ytoaio^ 
AapoTEpoi'  n'iXaK(i)P  ETTfEEv  Ek  aroitarufy. 

Let  vines,  in  clust*ring  beauty  wreath'd. 
Drop  all  their  treasures  on  his  head, 

W^hose  lips  a  dew  of  sweetness  breathed, 
Richer  than  vine  hath  ever  shed ! 


104 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  Harmony  pursued  my  ways, 
And  Bacchus  wanton'd  to  my  lays.* 
Oh  !  if  delight  could  chann  no  more, 
If  all  the  goblet's  bliss  were  o'er, 
When  fate  had  once  our  doom  decreed, 
Then  dying  would  be  death  indeed  ; 
Nor  could  I  think,  unbless'd  by  wine 
Divinity  itself  divine  I 


TOY  AYTOY,  ElS  TON  AYTON, 

EYAEIS  tv  <p9tfievot(riVt  AuaxpeoVj  cuQXa  irovnaag 

toSti  6'  j'l  y\vK£pi}  fVKTiXaXos  KiOapa, 
evSr.i  Kui  S^Epiff,  TO  rioOdJi'  £apj  a)  av  jitXtaScDVj 

0ap/3iT^f  avCKpovov  vEKTap  cvapftopioV 
iji'^Eoii'  yap  Ep(J7oy  c^vj  aKOiroi'  eg  Sc  cc  fiovvov 

TO^a  Tt  Kai  ffxoXias  six^"  lKJ]0o\tai. 

»  JInd  Bacchus  wanton'd  to  my  lays^Src.']  The  original  here 
is  corrupted,  the  line  wj  b  C^tovvaov,  &.c.,  is  unintelligible. 

Brunck's  emendation  improves  the  sense,  but  I  doubt  if  it 
can  be  couiniended  for  elegance.     He  reads  the  line  thus : — 

See  Brunck,  Analecta  Veter.  Poet.  Graec,  vol.  ii. 

3  Thij  harp,  that  whisper'd  through,  each  lingering  ni^kt, 
^c]  In  another  oi"  these  poems,  ihe  "nightly-speaking 
lyre"  of  the  bard  is  represented  as  not  yet  silent  even  after 
his  death. 

WS  0  0(Aairpf)rof  t£  kui  oivo0apr)^  ipiXoKUJj/o; 
rravvvxtos  Kpuvoi'^  7J]f  tpiXanatla  x^^'*>^- 

'2tft(x}i'i6av,  £tg  AvaKpcovra. 
To  beauty's  smile  and  wine's  deliyht, 

To  joys  he  loved  on  earth  so  well, 
Still  shall  his  spirit,  all  the  night, 
Attune  the  wild,  aerial  shell ! 
^  The  purest  nectar  of  its   numbers,   &-c.]      Thus,   says 
Brunck,  iu  the  prologue  to  the  satires  of  Fersius:— 

Cantare  crcdas  Pcgaseium  nectar. 
"  Melos"  ts  the  usual  reading  in  this  line,  and  Casaubon  has 
defended  it ;  but  "  nectar"  is,  I  think,  much  more  spirited. 

*  She,  the  yonng  spring  of  thy  desires,  S,-c.]  The  original, 
TO  Tlobdiv  £ap,  is  beautiful.  We  regret  that  such  praise 
should  be  lavished  so  preposterously,  and  feel  that  the  [toet's 
mistress  Eurypyle  would  have  deserved  it  belter.  Her  name 
has  been  told  us  by  Meleager,  as  already  quoted,  and  in 
another  epigram  by  Anlipater. 

vypa  ^c  dcpKofjEvoiffii'  €v  o^ipLaaiv  ovXov  atl6ots, 

aibvaatiiv  Xiiraprji  avOus  vn£p6£  «o/iijs, 
rit  npoi  EvpuiruXi;!'  T£rpapp£voi   .... 
Long  may  the  nymph  around  thee  play, 

Eurypyle.  thy  soul's  desire, 
Basking  her  beauties  in  the  ray 
That  lights  thine  eye's  dissolving  fire  I 


m  Brunck  hns  Kpovov  ;  but  Kpovut,  the  commoa  readio; ,  bettir  niili 
«  dtf.kSticd  quoL&tion. 


At  leno^th  thy  golden  hours  have  wing'd  their  flight, 
And  drowsy  death  that  eyelid  steepetli ; 

Thy  harp,  that  whisper'd  through  each  lingering 
night,* 
Now  mutely  in  oblivion  sleepeth .' 

She  too,  for  whom  that  harp  profusely  shed 

The  purest  nectar  of  its  numbers,^ 
She,  the  young  spring  of  thy  desires,  hath  fled. 

And  with  her  blest  Anacreon  slimibers  1* 

Farewell !  thou  hadst  a  pulse  for  every  dart^ 

That  mighty  Love  could  scatter  from  his  quiver; 

And  each  new  beauty  found  in  thee  a  heart, 

Which  thou,  with  all  thy  heart  and  soul,  didst 
give  her  !* 

Sing  of  her  smile's  bewitching  power. 
Her  every  grace  that  warms  and  blesses  ; 

Sing  of  her  brow's  lL.\i\riant  flower, 
The  beaming  glory  of  her  tresses. 

The  expression  here,  ayOo^  KOpijg,  "theflower  of  theh:.ir," 
is  borrowed  from  Anacreon  himself,  as  appears  by  a  frag- 
ment of  the  poet  preserved  in  Stoba;us :  AiriKHpas  J'  arcaXri; 
auofiQv  avfJos. 

6  Farewell !  thou  hadst  a  pulse  for  every  dart,  S'C.]  c^vy 
uKorroi,  " Scopus  eras  natnra,"  not  "speculator,"  as  Barnes 
ver>'  falsely  interprets  it. 

Vincentius  ObsojjCEus,  upon  this  passage,  contrives  to  in- 
dulge us  with  a  little  astrological  wisdom,  and  talks  in  a 
style  of  learned  scandal  about  Venus,  "male  posita  cum 
Marte  in  domo  Saturni," 

8  .^nd  each  new  leauty  found  in  thee  a  heart,  ^-e.]  This 
couplet  is  not  otherwise  warranted  by  the  original,  than  as 
it  dilates  the  thought  which  Antipater  has  figuratively  ex- 
pressed. 

Critias,  of  Athens,  pays  a  tribute  to  the  legitimate  gal- 
lantry of  Anacreon,  callitig  him,  with  elegant  conciseness, 

yVlfaiKOlV  T]JT£p01T£Vfia. 

Tov  is  jvcawtcof  ^fXcwv  TrXtJavra  Tror'  cj^a?, 
'Il6vv  AvaKpeini'Ta,*'  Tews  cij  'EXXaJ'  avnycv. 
"LvfiTTOCiajv  £ptOicTpa,  yvvaiKbiv  T}T:tpOTrcvpa. 

Teos  gave  to  Greece  her  treasure, 

Sage  Anacreon,  sage  in  loving  ; 
Fondly  weaving  lays  of  pleasure 

For  the  maids  who  blush'd  approving. 

When  in  nightly  banquets  sporting. 

AVhere's  the  guest  could  ever  fly  him? 
When  with  love's  seduction  courting, 

Where's  the  nymph  could  e'er  deny  him  t 

t  Thui  Scali^er,  in  hia  deJicatory  verses  to  RoiiBiirJ  — 
Sluidus,  suaviloquuir  dulcii  Anacreoa 


1 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


105 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


PREFACE, 

BY  THE  EDITOR.* 

The  Poems  which  I  take  the  Uberty  of  pubUshing, 
were  never  intended  by  the  author  to  pass  beyond 
the  circle  of  his  friends.  He  tliou{];ht,  with  some 
justice,  that  what  are  called  Occasional  Poenis 
must  bo  always  insipid  and  uninteresting  to  the 
greater  part  of  their  readers.  The  particular  situ- 
ations in  wliich  they  were  written  ;  the  character 
of  the  author  and  of  his  associates  ;  all  these  pecu- 
liarities must  be  known  and  felt  before  we  can 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  such  compositions.  This 
consideration  would  have  always,  I  believe,  pre- 
vented the  author  himself  from  submitting  these 
trifles  to  the  eye  of  dispassionate  criticism :  and  if 
their  posthumous  introduction  to  the  world  be  injus- 
tice to  his  memory,  or  intrusion  on  the  public,  the 
error  must  be  imputed  to  the  injudicious  partiality  of 
friendship. 

Mr.  Little  died  in  his  one  and  twentieth  year; 
and  most  of  these  Poems  were  written  at  so  early  a 
period  tliat  their  errors  may  lay  claim  to  somo  indul- 
gence from  tlie  critic.  Their  author,  as  uhambitious 
as  indolent,  scarce  ever  looked  beyond  the  moment 
of  composition  ;  but,  in  general,  wrote  as  he  pleased, 
careless  whether  he  pleased  as  he  wrote.  It  may 
likewise  be  remembered,  that  they  were  all  the  pro- 
ductions of  an  age  when  the  passions  verj'  often  give 
a  coloring  too  warm  to  the  imagination  ;  and  tliis 
may  palliate,  if  it  cannot  excuse,  tliat  air  of  levity 
which  pervades  so  many  of  them.  The  "  aurea 
legge,  s'ei  piace  ei  lice,"  he  too  much  pursued,  and 
too  much  inculcates.  Few  can  regret  this  more 
sincerely  than  myself;  and  if  my  friend  had  lived, 
the  judgment  of  riper  years  would  have  chastened 
his  mind,  and  tempered  the  luxuriance  of  his  fancy. 

Mr.  Little  gave  much  of  his  time  to  tlie  study  of 
the  amatory  writers.  If  ever  he  expected  to  find  in 
the  ancients  that  delicacy  of  sentiment,  and  variety 
of  fancy,  whicli  are  so  necessary  to  refine  and  ani- 
mate the  poetry  of  love,  he  was  much  disappointed. 


*  A  portion  of  these  Poenis  were  published  originally  as 
ihe  works  of  ''  the  late  Thomas  Little,"  with  the  Preface 
here  given  prefixed  to  them. 


I  know  not  any  one  of  them  who  can  be  regarded 
as  a  model  in  that  style  ;  Ovid  made  love  like  a 
rake,  and  Propertius  like  a  schoolmaster.  The  my- 
thological allusions  of  the  latter  are  called  enidition 
by  his  commentators  ;  but  such  ostentatious  display, 
upon  a  subject  so  simple  as  iove,  would  be  now 
esteemed  vague  and  puerile,  and  was  even  in  hie 
own  times  pedantic.  It  is  astonishing  that  so  many 
critics  should  have  prefeiTcd  him  to  the  gK\.  tie  and 
touchmg  TibuUus ;  but  those  defects,  I  believe, 
which  a  common  reader  condemns,  have  been  re- 
garded rather  as  beauties  by  those  erudite  men,  the 
commentator  ;  who  find  a  field  for  their  ingenuity 
and  research,  in  his  Grecian  learning  and  quaint  ob- 
scurities. 

TibuUus  abounds  with  touches  of  fine  and  natural 
feeling.  The  idea  of  his  unexpected  return  to  Delia, 
"  Tunc  veniam  subito,"*  tfec,  is  imagined  with  all 
the  delicate  ardor  of  a  lover ;  and  the  sentiment  of 
"  ncc  te  posse  carere  velim,"  however  coIIo(|uial  the 
expression  may  have  been,  is  natural,  and  from  the 
heart.  But  the  poet  of  Verona,  in  my  opinion,  pos- 
sessed more  genuine  feeling  than  any  of  them.  His 
hfe  was,  I  believe,  unfortunate  ;  his  associates  were 
wild  and  abandoned  ;  and  the  warmtii  of  his  nature 
took  too  much  advantage  of  the  latitude  which  the 
morals  of  those  times  so  criminally  allowed  to  the 
passions.  All  this  depraved  his  imagination,  and 
made  it  the  slave  of  his  senses.  But  still  a  native 
sensibility  is  often  very  warmly  perceptible  ;  and 
when  he  touches  the  chord  of  pathos,  he  reaches  im- 
mediately the  heart.  They  who  liave  felt  the 
sweets  of  return  to  a  home  from  which  they  have 
long  been  absent,  will  confess  the  beauty  of  those 
simple,  unaffected  lines  ; — 

O  quid  solutis  est  beatius  curis  ! 
Cum  mens  onus  reponit,  ac  peregrino 
Lahore  fessi  veninuis  Larem  ad  nostrum 
Desideratoque  acquiescinius  leclo. 

Carm.  x.\ll. 

His  sorrows  on  the  death  of  his  brother  are  the 
very  tears  of  poesy  ;  and  when  he  complains  of 
the  ingratitude  of  mankind,  even  the  inexperienced 
cannot  but  sympathize   with  him.     I  wish  I  were 

*Lib.  i.Eleg.3. 


104 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  Harmony  pursued  my  ways, 
And  Bacchus  wanton'd  to  my  lays.* 
Oh  !  if  delight  could  chann  no  more, 
If  all  the  goblet's  bliss  were  o'er, 
When  fate  had  once  our  doom  decreed, 
Then  dying  would  be  death  indeed  ; 
Nor  could  I  think,  unbless'd  by  wine 
Divmity  itself  divine ! 


TOY  AYTOY,  EIS  TON  AYTON. 

EYAEIE  cv  <pdifi£votaiv,  AuoKpEov,  EadXa  iTovijoaj 

tvOei  6'  f]  yXuKcpr}  vvKTiXaXoi  Kidapa, 
Ev6r.i  Kui  YjftcpSiSy  TO  yioOuiii  capj  d>  av  fit\iaS(jjv, 

0apPiT^f  avCKpovov  vCKTOp  cvapfiovioV 
r]ideoiV  yap  EpcJros  c^vf  OKOWos'  a  6c  ct  fiovvov 

To|a  Tc  Kai  oKoXiai  £fx}v  LKiilSoXtas, 

1  JInd  Bacchvs  wanton'd  to  my  lays,  Src]  The  original  here 
is  corrupted,  the  line  w?  h  i^ioi-vaov.  &c.,  is  unintelligible. 

Brunck's  cniendalion  improves  the  sense,  but  I  doubt  if  it 
can  be  coinniended  for  elegance.     He  reads  the  line  tlius : — 

See  Brunck,  Analecta  Veter.  Poet.  Graec.,  vol.  ii. 

2  Thy  hnrj),  that  whispered  tkrovgh  each  lingering^  night, 
i-c]  In  another  of  these  poems,  the  "nightly-speaking 
lyre"  of  the  bard  is  represented  as  not  yet  silent  even  after 
his  death. 

ws  &  0iXajfp?]rof  TC  Kot  oivo0apT)S  0(AoJcco^oy 

"!£, I fi  101' 1 6ov,  £is  Avak-pcovra. 
To  beauty's  smile  and  wine's  delight, 

To  joys  he  loved  on  earth  so  well, 
Still  shall  his  spirit,  all  the  night, 

AUune  the  wild,  aerial  shell ! 

3  77te  purest  nectar  of  its  numbers,  &-c.]  Thus,  says 
Brunck,  iu  the  prologue  to  the  satires  of  Persius: — 

Cantare  crcdas  Pcgaseiuin  nectar. 
"  Melos"  ts  the  usual  reading  in  this  line,  and  Casanbon  has 
defended  it ;  but  "  nectar"  is,  I  think,  nuich  more  spirited. 

*  She,  the  yoniiir  sprivg  of  thy  desires,  S,-c.'\  The  original, 
TO  ITof^tJi/  Lap,  is  beautiful.  We  regret  that  such  praise 
should  be  lavished  so  preposterously,  and  feel  that  the  iM>et's 
mistress  Eurypyle  would  have  deserved  it  belter.  Her  name 
has  been  told  us  by  Meleager,  as  already  quoted,  and  in 
another  epigram  by  Antipater. 

iypa  it  dipKofievotaiv  cvofmaaiv  owAov  atliois, 

atOvaa(i}if  AiTra/jJTs  avOoi  vncpOe  «o/irjs, 
T/c  irpoi  Ei'pDruX^f  Tcrpanpeuoi   .... 
Long  may  the  nymph  around  thee  play, 

Eurypyle,  thy  soul's  desire, 
Basking  her  beauties  in  the  ray 
That  lights  thine  eye's  dissolving  fire  ! 

m  Brunck  Ims  KpOVbiv  \  but  ff^OVOI,  the  commoQ  readiop,  betUr  niiU 
•  dtf.uhed  quotaiion. 


At  length  thy  golden  hours  have  wingM  their  flight, 
And  drowsy  death  that  eyelid  steepeth  ; 

Thy  harp,  that  whisper'd  through  each  lingeriug 
night,'* 
Now  mutely  in  oblivion  slecpeth ! 

She  too,  for  whom  that  harp  profusely  shed 

The  purest  uectar  of  its  numbera,^ 
She,  the  young  spring  of  thy  desires,  hatli  fled. 

And  with  her  blest  Anacreon  slumbers  I* 

Farewell !  thou  hadst  a  pulse  for  eveiy  dart^ 

That  mighty  Love  could  scatter  from  his  quiver; 

And  each  new  beauty  found  in  thee  a  heart, 

Which  thou,  with  all  thy  heart  and  soul,  didst 
give  her  I^ 

Sinp  of  her  smile's  bewitching  power, 
Her  every  grace  that  warms  and  blesses ; 

Sing  of  her  brow's  lumriant  flower, 
The  beaming  glory  of  her  tresses. 

The  expression  here,  ofOof  *,o/iijf,  "theflower  of  theViT-ir," 
is  borrowed  from  Anacreon  himself,  as  appears  by  a  frag- 
ment of  the  poet  preserved  in  Slobaius:  A-rrzKEipas  J'  anaXm 
auopov  avOos- 

6  Farewell!  thou  hadst  a  pulse  for  every  dart,  S-c.]  c^tif 
aKorrog,  "  scopus  eras  natnrii,"  not  "speculator,"  as  Barnes 
very  falsely  interprets  it. 

Vincentius  Obsopa?us,  upon  this  passage,  contrives  to  in- 
dulge us  with  a  little  astrological  wisdom,  and  talks  in  a 
style  of  learned  scandal  about  Venus,  "male  posita  cum 
Marte  in  domo  Saturni." 

6  j9nd  each  new  beauty  found  in  thee  a  heart,  i^-c]  This 
cotiplet  is  not  otherwise  warranted  by  the  original,  than  as 
it  dilates  the  thought  which  Antipater  has  figuratively  ex- 
pressed. 

Critias,  of  Athens,  pays  a  tribute  to  the  legitimate  gal- 
lantry of  Anacreon,  callitig  him,  with  elegant  conciseness. 
yvvaiKCjjv  rjrrEponcVfia. 

Tor  6s  yVfaKCKov  /icXcwf  irAtJavra  vror'  (uda?, 
'lUvr  AvaKpctnvra,**  Tfw?  ci^  *EXXa^'  avrjycv. 
"SvuTToctbiv  EptOia^a,  yvvaiK(jiv  jjircponcvua. 

Teos  gave  to  Greece  her  treasure, 

Sage  Anacreon,  sage  in  loving  ; 
Fondly  weaving  lays  of  pleasure 

For  the  maids  who  blush'd  approving. 

When  in  tiig:htly  banquets  sporting, 
Where's  the  guest  could  ever  fly  him? 

When  with  love's  seduction  courting, 
Where's  the  nymph  could  e'er  deny  him  T 

b  Thus  Scali^er,  in  bis  dedicatory  verses  to  RonsorJ  — 
BlauduSf  suaviloqtiui,  dutcii  An&creoa 


I  irerenfvfr:::'' 

!  the  clffie  '<  ' 


cofeii-:'... 


v.. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


107 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


FRAGMENTS  OF  COLLEGE  EXERCISES. 

NobiUtai  sola  est  alqae  nnica  virtue.    Jl-v. 

Mire  thoeu  prond  boasters  of  a  splendid  line, 
Like  gilded  ruins,  mould'ring  while  Ihey  shine, 
How  iieavy  nits  that  weight  of  aUen  show, 
I^ke  martial  helm  apon  an  infant's  brow  ; 
Those  lx)rrow'd  splendors,  whose  contrasting  light 
Throws'back  the  native  shades  in  deeper  nigfat 

Ask  the  proud  train  who  glorj's  shade  pursue, 
Where  are  the  arts  by  which  that  glory  grev/  ? 
The  genuine  virtues  that  with  eagle-gaze 
Sought  young  Renown  in  all  her  orient  blaze ! 
Where  a  the  heart  by  chymic  truth  refined, 
Th'  exploring  soul,  whose  eye  had  read  mankind? 
Where  are  the  links  that  twined,  with  heavenly  art. 
His  country's  interest  round  the  patriot's  heart  ? 


Jastoin  betlam  qofbos  Deeessariam,  et  pU  aima  qaibos 
nulla  nisi  in  annis  relinqoilor  ipe*. — Lirr. 


Is  there  no  call,  no  consecrating  canse. 
Approved  by  Heav'n,  ordain'd  by  nature's  laws. 
Where  jastice  Hies  the  herald  of  our  way. 
And  truth's  ptire  beams  upon  the  banners  play? 

Yes,  there's  a  call  »»'eet  as  an  angel's  breath 
To  slumb'ring  babes,  or  innocence  in  death  ; 
And  urgent  as  the  tongue  of  Heav'n  within. 
When  the  mind's  balance  trembles  upon  sin.  I 

Oh  !  'tis  onr  coontry's  vcnce,  whose  ckum  shoold  j 
meet  ! 

An  echo  in  the  sonl'a  most  deep  retreat ; 
Along  the  heart's  responding  chords  should  run. 
Nor  let  a  tone  there  vibrate — but  the  one  I 


VARIETY. 

Ask  what  prevailing,  pleasing  power 
Allures  the  sportive,  wandering  bee 

To  roam,  untired,  from  flower  to  flower, 
HeTl  teD  you,  'tis  variety. 


look  N'atore  round,  her  features  trace, 
Ilcr  seasons,  all  her  changes  see  ■ 

And  own,  upon  Creation's  face, 
The  greatest  charm's  variety. 

For  me,  ye  gracious  powers  above ! 

Still  let  me  roam,  ujifix'd  and  free  ; 
In  all  things, — but  the  nymph  I  love, 

ni  change,  and  taste  variety. 

But,  Fatty,  not  a  world  of  charms 

Could  e'er  estrange  my  heart  from  thee  ;- 

No,  let  me  ever  seek  those  arms, 
There  Ml  I'U  find  variety. 


TO  A  BOY,  WITH  A  WATCH. 

WBITTF.N  rO&  A  FBlK.nU. 

Is  it  not  sweet,  beloved  youth. 
To  rove  through  Erudition's  bowers. 

And  cull  the  golden  fruits  of  truth, 
And  gather  Fancy's  brilliant  floweTS  ? 

And  is  it  not  more  sweet  than  this. 
To  feel  thy  parents'  hearts  approving. 

And  pay  then  back  in  sums  of  bliss 
The  dear,  the  endless  debt  of  loving? 

It  must  be  so  to  thee,  my  youth ; 

With  this  idea  toil  is  ligliter ; 
This  sweetens  all  the  fruits  of  truth. 

And  makes  the  flower  of  iancy  brighter 

The  little  gift  we  send  thee,  boy. 

May  sometimes  teach  thy  soul  to  ponder, 

If  indolence  or  siren  joy 

Should  ever  tempt  that  soul  to  wander. 

"Twill  tell  thee  that  the  winged  day 

Can  ne'er  be  chain'd  by  man's  endeavor  ; 

That  life  and  time  shall  fade  away, 
While  heav'n  and  virtue  Uoom  forever 


SONG. 

Ip  I  swear  by  that  eye,  yonll  alkiw. 
Its  look  is  so  shifting  and  new, 

That  the  oath  I  miglit  take  on  it  now 
The  very  next  glance  woiJd  undo. 


MOORE-S  WORK; 


a  poet :  1  sroeii  tiea  enieiTor  to  caici.  by  E:aJi5-  sm  xajwifeci  stale,  Vnich.  as  soca  »  1  h»Te  ar- 

lasrc-  Li«  s:,r.:  •;:'  iji'rsir  iei:;t:Es  ^ijca  I  hj.Te  il-  rin^^  iud  coQec£c<i  a.  saail  be  soboiiUed  u>  tbe 

»^v5  >c  -snTT-^j  r-»'~,  ~ec.*  prrS'-c  eye. 

Ii  ^e^izs  :o  bare  fae^n  pecoLiiiiy  the  tite  of  Ci-         VVbere  Mr.I^TTLS  vas  ban.«r«kit  E  ti>e  gufc- 

nil  is.  -.^o:  -'.e  i<rt:e-  i3i  cacsre  T:;;^arie  par.  c:  his  sloey  «f  tis  paioMs,  «re  paafe  m  wtick  Ttn  few 

r<>-~~  h.3s  z'.c  r^^i-^ed  ts :  for  there  s  cocf rSEei£y  leidas  am  he  iHiii  iiii     ffis  Sfe  «as  aae  i€  dMse 

Ei-'C.-  'X  -^  hs  exi^isx.  wucSs  to  2.2th:ri2e  the  epnj.et  h uiyUi  stiaiHB  vtteb  bnv  acantiy  a  Bne  B  tbe 

-  iix-r^."  30  nuiTErsally  bestlIw-r^i  T:t«:n  r'— ^    hy  the  map  af  Sfe,  lad  tfae  ttamfci  bbly  pis  it  if  ■Mai 

i-i<'  ez3.     Ii  c:3se  hsd  ?::£r^  hf   rcher  irrit^i^  to  a^iSBg  fe  shbeb  <r  AeeCaaiL.     EEs  chancier  was 

ft?-i7«f-  -i-T  rt— aps  shoiji  hiv?  i^ni  -.— .-^  thezi  weS  kauikji  t» >■  «h»  were  metpaiattd  with  kin ; 

side  —err  jcirtiy  3T-.,-»:cry :  i  —  •:;  i^cs^  i-e  rcts!SE,  Sr  he  bad  fc:  Bark  T^aty  to  hide  jB  ntaes,  aad 

can   the:?   ift    i  sweeter  specne-    ci  wzrtn.  yet  Bet  ^saoEh  af  atlseBMeal  tedefeete.    Thei^tO' 

rhastesed  desc^^pdc!!.  th^n  his  iiives  ct  Jl:=.~  yr-i',  tiaj^  t£  Ub  BiBd  Kay  be  tnced  p"l"f"  a  he 

Sepchnics '  simi  the  ■>■-  !L:ie  s;-:^  c:  i-^/'jgce  to  -B-ntmss ;  hat  &e  few  fir  whiA  he  ns  -rJiirii  ire 

■   TJilm-aR,  thai  tsey  baT=  i-riy?  b=«a  sassased  I3  1  T.  M. 

i   BMAfebyae^gtcfcgnt— ijcTMl^Mte.    SOI.  | 
I   it  anet  he  eeo&saed,  ■  Oe  aiib  af  al  tliesF  I 


1  —. 


■kpora 


aAm  he^a  v  aaaifcEgg  iLaA  &e 
ncaf  gaSaaCry;  ^if  we  aie 

aSaw  the^  to  trifle  t^^  Waft  &e  aEfldfaace  af  pa^- 

SM.    Bw  I  CBMt  p^BcsR  Oat  fey  SCR  aa^ 

4ng  nare  i  aa  rial  Oaa  &e  aariaras:  they  fek  al 

af  tke  heart,  tfaaa^  Aey  kaew 

laceshy  wUrk  gafa^zyaka^ 

,    ieaekes  it  to  he  aaadfe.    Wattn,  Oe  iem^i  ^- 

•f  g^aaby&aatlie 

fmdemv  aCihe  FKaek  ztoaaraeea,  BbiUi  hzw 

widi  Ike   gmtial    krity,  tae 

af  a Tiwh^Ttir  ar a Sedey. 

As  &g  as  I  eaa  jwl(.i ,  Ae  eadr  pe^  e€  av  ass 

wMehlkLTOegfeelai  |  #<« 


JOSEPH  ATKIXSOX,  ES<i 

Mr  sKut  See, 

*      I  izzL  a  vety  i  iiw  1 1 1 :  pies€«e 
to  y«a  &e  Seeaad  E^im  af  aar  &ead  Innf  s 
PaeB&.    I  a^  Bat  ^BcaaadaaBAat  &ae  are  Baoy 

to  hate  ilTiiiJ  ar  iiiitti  il;  awi,  to  say  Oe  taaft,  I 

toaRthaKaMemiaed&eto&r&at  pspaae:  hm, 

Tl  iiaa  laf  alij.  T  ililia  li  J  iTllai  iiij  la  iit  a  aij 

lad  the  eaaaefa^Be  ie^yfla  faxic  t 


i      -.. 


He  et^i  aat  haav  aaed  at  a  gnee  laaEe 
:rf    tl  -  t^  aBlhsifewasaflaaAact 

a  ^te  to  aMavlaaa  to  periect  sack  ataate:  hat 

hawEvhe  wasBdytohasc 

Ikese 


:.Aat,&aQ^>at«D(e 
ckmty  riMwgh  to&r- 
jaa  haaw  that  tte  ^aaa 
■at  Ae  las  leraed  kr  thaae  : 
wtKk  he  pofafi^ed 
^BB  :  Mr  dd  Ike  lenty  a€  ] 
h»  fiai»  III  i1  iaj,  a  Tay  gead  < 

Befa«e  toe,  aay  dear  Fnctoi, 
^Vi&  tke  traed  e^ee 


T.M. 


»*«-- 


JUVENILE  POEMS.                                             107 

Look  Nature  round,  her  features  trace. 

JUVENILE  POEMS. 

Her  seasons,  all  her  changes  see  ; 

And  own,  upon  Creation's  face, 

The  greatest  charm's  variety. 
For  me,  ye  gracious  powers  above  I 

• 

FRAGMENTS  OF  COLLEGE  EXERCISES. 

Still  let  me  roam,  unli.\'d  and  free  ; 

NobiUtas  sola  est  atque  unica  virtus.    Juv. 

In  all  things, — but  the  nymph  I  love, 

Mark  those  proud  boasters  of  a  splendid  line, 

I'll  change,  and  taste  variety. 

Like  gilded  ruins,  mould'ring  wliile  they  sliine, 

How  heavy  sits  that  weight  of  alien  show, 

But,  Patty,  not  a  world  of  charms 

Like  martial  helm  upon  an  infant's  brow ; 

Could  e'er  estrange  my  heart  from  thee  ; — 

Those  borrow'd  splendors,  whose  contrasting  light 

No,  let  me  ever  seek  those  arms. 

Throws' back  the  native  shades  m  deeper  night. 

There  otill  I'll  find  variety. 

Ask  the  proud  train  who  gloiy's  shade  pursue, 

Where  are  the  arts  by  which  that  glory  grew? 
The  genuine  virtues  that  with  eagle-gaze 

- 

Sought  yoimg  Renown  in  all  her  orient  blaze  ! 

Where  is  the  heart  by  chymic  truth  refined, 

TO  A  BOY,  WITH  A  WATCH. 

Th'  exploring  soul,  whose  eye  had  read  mankind  ? 

Where  are  the  links  that  twined,  with  heavenly  art, 

WRITTEN  FOR  A  FRIEND. 

His  country's  interest  round  the  patriot's  heart  ? 

Is  it  not  sweet,  beloved  youth. 

***** 

To  rove  through  Erudition's  bowers. 

And  cull  the  golden  fruits  of  truth. 

And  gather  Fancy's  brilliant  flowers  ? 
And  is  it  not  more  sweet  than  this, 

Justum  belhtm  quibiis  necessarhim,  et  pia  arma  qitibus 
nulla  nisi  in  arjnis  relinquitur  spes. — Livv. 

To  feel  thy  parents'  hearts  approving. 

And  pay  them  back  in  sums  of  bliss 

***** 

The  dear,  the  endless  debt  of  lovuig? 

Is  there  no  call,  no  consecrating  cause, 

Approved  by  Heav'n,  ordain'd  by  nature's  laws, 

It  must  be  so  to  thee,  my  youth  ; 

Wiiere  justice  files  the  herald  of  our  way. 

With  this  idea  toil  is  lighter  ; 

And  truth's  pure  beams  upon  the  banners  play? 

This  sweetens  all  the  fruits  of  tnith, 

And  makes  the  flower  of  fancy  brighter 

Yes,  there's  a  call  sweet  as  an  angel's  breath 

To  slumb'ring  babes,  or  innocence  in  death  ; 

The  little  gift  we  send  thee,  boy. 

And  urgent  as  the  tongue  of  Heav'n  within, 

May  sometimes  teach  thy  soul  to  ponder. 

When  the  mind's  balance  trembles  upon  sin. 

If  indolence  or  siren  joy 

Shoidd  ever  tempt  thnt  soul  to  wander. 

Oh  !   'tis   our  country's  voice,  whose  claim  should 

meet 

'Twill  tell  thee  lliat  the  winged  day 

An  echo  in  the  soul's  most  deep  retreat ; 

Can  ne'er  be  chain'd  by  man's  endeavor ; 

Along  the  heart's  responding  chords  sliould  run, 

Tliat  life  and  time  shall  fade  away. 

Nor  let  a  tone  there  vibrate — but  the  one  ! 

While  heav'n  and  virtue  bloom  forever 

VARIETY. 

SONG. 

Ask  what  prevailing,  pleasing  power 

If  I  swear  by  that  eye,  you'll  allow, 

Allures  the  sportive,  wandermg  bee 

Its  look  is  so  sliiftiiig  and  new, 

To  roam,  nntired,  from  flower  to  flower, 

That  the  oath  I  might  lake  on  it  now 

He'll  tell  you,  'tis  variety. 

The  very  uext  glance  would  undo. 

lee^ 


.XL. 


106 


MOOR'S  WORKS. 


a  poet ;  I  should  then  endeavor  to  catch,  by  trai- 
latioii,  the  spirit  of  those  beauties  which  I  havel- 
ways  BO  warmly  admired.* 

It  seems  to  have  been  peculiarly  the  fate  of  t- 
tiilhis,  that  the  better  and  more  vahiable  part  of  is 
portry  has  not  readied  us ;  for  tliero  is  confessey 
nothing  iu  his  extant  works  to  authorize  the  epibt 
"  doctus,''  so  universally  bestowed  upon  him  by  e 
ancients.  If  time  had  suffered  bis  other  writingio 
escajje,  we  perhaps  should  have  found  among  tlm 
some  more  purely  amator)' ;  but  of  those  .vo  poss«, 
can  there  be  a  sweeter  specimen  of  warm,  "t 
chastened  description,  than  his  loves  of  Acme  id 
Seplimius?  and  the  few  little  songs  of  dalliancoo 
Leshia  are  distinguished  by  such  an  ctquisito  plr- 
fulnes.s,  that  they  have  always  been  assumed  a 
models  by  the  O'ost  elegant  modern  Latmista  St, 
it  invi.st  bo  confessed,  in  the  midst  of  all  the 
lieautics, 

Mc(Jio  dc  fonlc  Icponim 

Burgit  ainari  aliquid,  quod  in  ipsis  flortbus  angat-t 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  that  the  anciea 
knew  uolhinir  of  gallantry  ;  and  we  are  sometina 
told  there  was  too  much  sincerity  in  their  lovoo 
allow  them  to  trifle  thus  with  the  w-mblance  of  pj. 
sion.  But  I  cannot  ]ierceivo  tliat  they  were  iv 
thing  more  constant  than  the  moderns:  they  felt  1 
the  same  dissipation  of  the  heart,  though  they  knr 
not  those  seductive  graces  by  which  gallantr)'  almt 
teaches  it  to  bo  amiable.  Wotton,  the  learned  u 
voeate  for  the  modems,  deseits  them  in  considerij 
this  ])oint  of  coniparioon,  and  praise*  the  ancients  t 
their  ignorance  of  such  refinementd.  But  he  sees 
to  have  collected  his  notions  of  gallantry  from  la 
insipid  faJeiirs  of  the  French  romances,  which  lias 
nothing  congenial  with  tho  graceful  levity,  ti 
•*  grata  protervitas,"  of  a  Kochestcr  or  a  Sedley. 

.\s  far  as  I  can  judge,  the  early  poets  of  our  o» 
language  were  the  models  which  Mr.  Little  sclccli 
for  imitation.  To  attain  their  simplicity  ("  to 
rariesima  nostro  simplicitas")  was  his  fondest  ami 
tion.  Ho  could  not  have  aimed  at  a  grace  mo 
diflicult  of  attainment  ;t  and  his  life  was  of  too  she 
a  date  to  allow  him  to  perfect  such  a  taste  ;  b 
how  far  he  was  likely  to  have  succeeded,  tho  cril 
may  jndgo  from  his  productions. 

I  have  found  among  bus  papers  a  novel,  in  rath' 

*  In  the  folinwing  Pncms,  will  be  found  a  trans] 
one  of  his  finest  Ciirniina;  but   I  fsincy  it  i; 
schiKilboy'.s  essay,  and  deserves  to  be  praised  for 
tlian  the  ntteinpt. 

t  Lncretiits. 

t  It  Is  a  curious  illustrallon  of  the  labor  whici 


an  imperfect  state,  which,  a*  soon  a-i  1  have  ar- 
ranged and  collected  it,  shall  be  submitted  to  the 
public  eye. 

Where  Mr.  Little  was  bom,  or  what  is  the  gene- 
alogy of  his  parents,  are  points  in  which  very  few 
readers  can  bo  interested.  His  life  was  one  of  those 
humble  streams  which  have  scarcely  a  name  in  the 
map  of  life,  and  the  traveller  may  pass  it  by  without 
inquiring  its  source  or  direction.  His  character  was 
well  known  to  all  who  were  acquainted  with  him ; 
for  ho  had  t.i;  much  vanity  to  hide  its  virtues,  aud 
not  enough  of  art  to  conceal  its  defects.  The  lighter 
traits  of  his  mind  may  bo  traced  perhaps  in  his 
writings  ;  but  the  few  for  which  he  was  valued  live 
only  in  the  icmeiubraDce  of  liis  friends. 

T.  M. 


TO 

JOSEPH  ATKINSON,  ESQ. 

Mr  DEAR  Sir, 

I  FEEL  a  very  sincere  pleasure  in  dedicating 
to  you  tho  Second  Edition  of  our  friend  Little's 
Poems.  I  am  not  uncon.scious  that  there  are  many 
in  Iho  collection  which  perhaps  it  would  be  prudent 
to  tiave  altered  or  omitted ;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  1 
more  than  once  revised  them  for  that  piiryioso  ;  but, 
I  know  not  why,  I  distrusted  either  my  heart  or  my 
judgment ;  and  the  consequence  is,  you  have  them 
in  their  original  form : 

Non  possunt  nostrns  mnllar,  Fansline,  liturir 
Eincndare  jocos  ;  una  litura  potest, 

I  am  convinced,  hov/ever,  that,  though  not  f|- 
a  easuiste  rcliiclie,  you  have  charity  enough  t 
give  such  inoffensive  follies :  you  know  that  t ' 
Beza  was   not  tho  less  revered  for  the 
Juvenilia   which    he    published   under 
name ;  nor  did  the  levity  of  Bembo's 
him  from  making^^^^^^d  car^* 


,-? 


*»•• 


Sk--' 


y 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


Ill 


When  I  loved  you,  I  can't  but  allow 
I  liad  many  an  exquisite  minute ; 

But  the  scom  that  I  feel  for  you  now 
Hath  even  more  luxury  m  it. 

Thus,  whether  we're  on  or  we're  off, 
Some  witchery  seems  to  await  you ; 

To  love  you  was  pleasant  enough, 
And,  oh  !  'tis  delicious  to  hate  you ! 


TO  JULIA. 

IN    ALLOSION    TO    SOME    ILLIBERAL    CRITICISMS. 

Why,  let  the  sting^less  critic  chide 
With  all  that  fume  of  vacant  pride 
Which  mantles  o'er  the  pedant  fool, 
Like  vapor  on  a  stan^ant  pool. 
Oh  I  if  the  sonff,  to  feeling  tnte, 
Can  please  th'  elect,  the  sacred  few, 
Whose  souls,  by  Taste  and  Natur3  tanglit, 
Thrill  with  the  genuine  pulse  of  thought — 
If  some  fond  feeling  maid  like  thee. 
The  warm-eyed  child  of  Sympathy, 
Shall  say,  while  o'er  my  simple  theme 
She  languishes  in  Passion's  dream, 
"  He  was,  indeed,  a  tender  soul — ■ 
'  No  critic  law,  no  chill  control, 
*'  Should  ever  freeze,  by  timid  art, 
"  The  flowings  of  so  fond  a  heart !" 
Yes,  soul  of  Nature  I  soul  of  Love  ! 
That,  hov'ring  like  a  snow-wing'd  dove, 
Breathed  o'er  my  cradle  warblings  wild. 
And  hail'd  me  Passion's  warmest  child, — 
Grant  me  the  tear  from  Beauty's  eye, 
From  Feeling's  breast  the  votive  sigh  ; 
0)i !  let  my  song,  my  mem'r)',  find 
A  shrine  within  the  tender  mind  ; 
And  I  will  smile  wlicn  critics  chide, 
And  I  will  scorn  the  fume  of  pride 
W'hich  mantles  o'er  the  pedant  fool, 
Like  vapor  romid  some  stagnant  pool ! 


TO  JULIA. 

Mccx  me  no  more  with  Love's  beguilmg  dream, 
.\  dream,  I  find,  illusory  as  sweet: 

One  smile  of  friendship,  nay,  of  cold  esteem. 
Far  dearer  were  than  passion's  bland  deceit ! 


I've  heard  you  oft  eternal  truth  declare ; 

Your  heart  was  only  mine,  I  once  believed. 
Ah !  shall  I  say  that  all  your  vows  wore  air? 

And  must  I  say,  my  hopes  were  all  deceived? 

Vow,  then,  no  longer  that  cur  souls  are  twined. 
That  all  our  joys  are  felt  with  mutual  zeal ; 

Julia ! — 'tis  pity,  pity  makes  you  kind  ; 

You  know  I  love,  and  you  would  seem  to  feel. 

But  shall  I  still  go  seek  within  those  aims 
A  joy  in  which  aifection  takes  no  part? 

No,  no,  farewell !  you  give  me  but  your  charms, 
When  I  had  fondly  thought  you  gave  your  heart. 


THE  SHRINE. 


TO 


Mv  fates  had  destined  me  to  rove 
A  long,  long  pilgrimage  of  love  ; 
And  many  an  altar  on  my  way 
Has  lured  my  pious  steps  to  stay  ; 
For,  if  the  saint  was  young  and  fair, 
1  tuni'd  and  sung  my  vespers  there 
This,  from  a  youthful  pilgi-im's  fire. 
Is  what  your  pretty  saints  require : 
To  pass,  nor  tell  a  single  bead. 
With  them  would  be  profane  indeed  ! 
But,  trust  me,  all  this  young  devotion 
Was  but  to  keep  my  zeal  in  motion ; 
And,  ev'ry  lunnbler  altar  past, 
I  now  have  reach'd  the  shrine  at  last ! 


TO  A  LADY, 

WITH    SOME    MANUSCRIPT    POEMS, 
ON    LEAVING    THE    COUNTRY. 

When,  casting  many  a  look  behind, 
I  leave  the  friends  I  cherish  here — 

Perchance  some  other  friends  to  find, 
But  surely  finding  none  so  dear — 

Haply  the  little  simple  page. 

Which  votive  thus  Vvg  traced  for  thee, 
May  now  and  then  a  look  engage. 

And  steal  one  moment's  thouglit  for  me 

But,  oh !  in  pity  let  not  those 

Whose  hearts  are  not  of  gentle  mould. 
Let  not  the  eye  that  seldom  flows 

With  feeling's  tear,  my  song  behold. 


112                  •                           MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

For,  trust  mc,  tliey  who  nerer  melt 

With  pity,  never  melt  with  love ; 

To    

And  siicii  will  frown  at  all  I've  felt, 

Sweet  lady,  look  not  thus  again : 

And  all  ray  loving  lays  reprove. 

Those  bright  deluding  smiles  recall 

A  maid  remeniber'd  now  with  pain, 

Bnt  if,  perhaps,  some  gentler  mind, 

Who  was  my  love,  my  life,  my  all ! 

Which  rather  loves  to  praise  than  blame, 

Sho\iId  in  my  page  an  interest  find. 

Oh  !  while  this  heart  bewilder'd  took 

And  linger  kindly  on  my  name  ; 

Sweet  poison  from  her  thrilling  eye, 

Thus  would  she  smile,  and  lisp,  and  look, 
And  I  would  hear,  and  gaze,  and  sigh ! 

Tell  him— or,  oh !  if,  gentler  still, 

By  female  lips  my  name  be  blest : 

For,  where  do  all  affections  tliriU 

Yes,  I  did  love  her — wildly  love — 

So  sweetly  as  in  woman's  breast? — 

She  was  her  se.\'s  best  deceiver  I 

Tell  her,  that  he  whose  loving  themes 
Her  eye  indulgent  wandere  o'er, 

And  oft  she  swore  she'd  never  rove — 

And  I  was  destined  to  believe  her  I 

Could  sometimes  wake  from  idle  dreams. 

And  bolder  flights  of  fancy  soar ; 

Then,  lady,  do  not  wear  the  smile 

Of  one  whose  smile  could  thus  betray  ; 

That  Glory  oft  would  claim  the  lay. 

Alas  1  I  think  the  lovely  wile 

And  Friendship  oft  his  nimibers  move  ; 

Again  could  steal  my  heart  away. 

But  whisper  then,  that,  "  sooth  to  say, 

"  His  sweetest  song  was  giv'n  to  Love !" 

For,  when  tliose  spells  that  charm'd  my  mind, 

On  lips  so  pure  as  thine  I  see, 

I  fear  the  heart  which  she  resign'd 
Will  err  again,  and  ily  to  thee ! 

TO  JULIA. 

Though  Fate,  ray  girl,  may  bid  us  part, 

Our  souls  it  cannot,  shall  not  sever ; 
The  heart  will  seek  its  kindred  heart, 

And  cling  to  it  as  close  as  ever. 

NATURE'S  LABELS. 

But  must  we,  must  we  part  indeed? 

Is  all  our  dream  of  rapture  over? 

A  FRAGMENT. 

And  does  not  Julia's  bosom  bleed 

In  vain  we  fondly  strive  to  trace 

To  leave  so  dear,  so  fond  a  lover? 

The  soul's  reflection  in  the  face ; 

In  vain  we  dwell  on  lines  and  crosses. 

Does  sh^  too  mouni  ? — Perhaps  she  may  : 

Crooked  mouth,  or  short  proboscis; 

Perhaps  slie  mourns  our  bliss  so  fleeting. 

Boobies  have  look'd  as  wise  and  bright 

But  why  is  Julia's  eye  so  gay, 

As  Plato  or  the  Stagirite : 

If  Julia's  heart  like  mine  is  beating? 

And  many  a  sage  and  learned  skull 

Has  peep'd  through  windows  dark  and  dull 

I  oft  have  loved  tliat  sunny  glow 

Since  then,  though  art  do  all  it  can, 

Of  gladness  in  her  blue  eye  gleammg— 

We  ne'er  can  reach  the  inward  man, 

But  can  the  bosom  bleed  with  wo. 

Nor  (howsoe'er  "  Icarn'd  Tliebans"  doubt) 

While  joy  is  in  the  glances  beaming  ? 

The  inward  woman,  from  without, 

Methinks  'twere  well  if  Nature  could 

No,  no ! — Yet,  love,  I  will  not  chide ; 

(And  Nature  could,  if  Nature  would) 

Although  your  iieart  jrere  fond  of  roving, 

Some  pithy,  short  dcscrij)tion  write. 

Nor  that,  nor  all  the  world  beside 

On  tablets  large,  in  black  and  while. 

Could  keej)  yoiu-  faithful  boy  from  loving. 

Which  she  miglit  hang  about  our  throttles. 

Like  labels  upon  pliysic-bottles ; 

You'll  soon  be  distant  from  his  eye, 

And  where  all  men  might  read — but  stay — 

And,  with  you,  all  that's  worth  possessing. 

•        As  dialectic  sages  say. 

Oh  !  then  it  will  be  sweet  to  die. 

The  argument  most  apt  and  ample 

Whi'n  life  has  lost  its  only  blessing  I 

For  common  use  is  the  example. 

JUVENILE 

POEMS.                                              113 

For  iiistance,  then,  if  Nature's  care 

Thus  man,  tho  sport  of  bliss  and  care, 

Had  not  porlray'd,  in  lines  so  fair, 

Rises  on  Time's  eventful  sea ; 

Tho  inward  soul  of  Lucy  L-nd-n, 

And,  having  swell'd  a  moment  there. 

This  is  the  label  she'd  have  pinn'd  on 

Thus  melts  into  eternity  ! 

L.VI1EL    FIRST. 

Within  this  fomi  there  lies  enshrined 

The  purest,  brightest  gem  of  mind. 

Though  Feeling's  hand  may  sometimes  tlu-ow 
Upon  its  charms  tlie  shade  of  wo, 

CLORIS  AND  FANNY. 

The  lustre  of  the  gem,  when  veil'd. 
Shall  be  but  mellow'd,  not  conceal'd. 

Cloris  !  if  I  were  Persia's  king, 

I'd  make  my  graceful  queen  of  thee ; 

While  Fanny,  wild  and  artless  thing. 
Should  but  thy  humble  handmaid  be. 

Now,  sirs,  imagine,  if  you're  able, 

That  Nature  wrote  a  second  label, 

They're  her  own  words, — at  least  suppose  so— 

And  boldly  pin  it  on  Pomposo. 

There  is  but  one  objection  in  it — 

That,  verily,  I'm  much  afraid 

I  should,  in  some  -unlucky  minute, 

LABEL   SECOND. 

Forsake  the  mistress  for  the  maid 

When  I  composed  tlie  fustian  brain 

Of  this  redoubted  Captain  Vain, 
I  had  at  hand  but  few  ingredients, 

And  so  was  forced  to  use  expedients. 

I  put  therein  some  small  discerning, 
A  grain  of  sense,  a  grain  of  learning  ; 

THE  SHIELD. 

And  when  I  saw  the  void  beliindj 
I  fiird  it  up  with — froth  and  wind  ! 

^                  H                  *                  ^                  * 

Sat,  did  you  not  hear  a  voice  of  death  ! 
And  did  you  not  mark  the  paly  form 

Which  rode  on  the  silvery  mist  of  tlie  heath, 

And  sung  a  ghostly  dirge  in  tho  storm? 

Was  it  the  wailing  bird  of  the  gloom. 

That  shrieks  on  the  house  of  wo  all  night  ? 

TO  JULIA. 

ON    HER    BIRTHDAY. 

Or  a  shiv'ring  fiend  that  flew  to  a  tomb, 

To  howl  and  to  feed  till  the  glanoo  of  light? 

When  Time  was  entwining  the  garland  of  years, 

Which  to  crown  my  beloved  was  given. 

'Twas  not  the  death-bird's  cry  from  tho  wood. 

Though  some  of  the  leaves  might  be  sullied  with 

Nor  shiv'ring  fiend  that  hung  on  the  blast ; 

tears. 

'Twas  the  shade  of  Helderic — man  of  blood — 

Yet  the  flow'rs  were  all  gather'd  in  heaven. 

It  screams  for  the  guilt  of  days  that  are  past. 

And  long  may  this  garland  be  sweet  to  the  eye, 

See,  how  the  red,  red  lightning  straj's, 

May  its  verdure  forever  be  new  ; 

And  scares  the  gliding  ghosts  of  tho  heath  ! 

Young  Love  shall  enrich  it  with  many  a  sigh. 

Now  on  the  leafless  yew  it  plays. 

And  S)Tnpathy  nurse  it  with  dew. 

Wliere  hangs  the  shield  of  this  son  of  death. 

That  shield  is  blushing  with  murd'rous  stains ; 

Long  has  it  hung  from  the  cold  yew's  spray ; 
It  is  blown  by  stonns  and  wash'd  by  rains, 

But  neither  can  take  the  blood  away  ! 

A  REFLECTION  AT  SEA. 

Oft  by  that  yew,  on  the  blasted  field, 

See  how,  beneath  the  moonbeam's  smile, 

Demons  dance  to  the  red  moon's  light ; 

Yon  little  billow  heaves  its  breast. 

While  the  damp  bouglis  creak,  and  the  swinging 

And  foams  and  sparkles  for  awhile, — 

sliield 

Then  muimuring  subsides  to  rest. 

Smgs  to  tjio  raving  spirit  of  night ! 

114 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


TO  JULIA, 

WEEPING. 

Oil !  if  yoiir  tears  are  giv'n  to  care, 
If  real  wo  disturbs  your  peace, 

Come  to  my  bosom,  weeping  fair ! 
And  I  will  bid  your  weeping  cease. 

But  if  with  Fancy's  vision'd  fears, 
Witli  dreams  of  wo  your  bosom  thrill ; 

You  look  so  lovely  in  your  tears, 
That  I  must  bid  you  drop  them  still. 


DREAMS. 

TO 


In  slumber,  I  prithee  how  is  it 
That  souls  are  oft  taking  the  air, 

And  paying  each  other  a  visit, 

Wliile  bodies  are  heaven  knows  where  ? 

Last  night,  'tis  in  vain  to  deny  it. 

Your  Soul  took  a  fancy  to  roam, 
For  I  heard  her,  on  tiptoe  so  quiet. 

Come  ask,  whether  mine  was  at  home 

And  mine  let  her  in  with  delight. 

And  they  talk'd  and  they  laugh'd  the  time 
through  ; 
For,  when  souls  come  together  at  night, 

There's  no  saying  what  tliey  mayn't  do  ! 

And  your  little  Soul,  heaven  bless  her ! 

Had  mucli  to  complain  and  to  say, 
Of  how  sadly  you  wrong  and  oppress  her 

By  keepuig  her  prison'd  all  day. 

"  If  I  happen,"  said  she,  "  but  to  steal 
"  For  a  peep  now  and  then  to  her  eye, 

*'  Or,  to  quiet  the  fever  I  feel, 
"  Just  venture  abroad  on  a  «gh  ; 

"  In  an  instant  she  frightens  me  in 

"  With  some  phantom  of  prudence  or  terror, 

"  For  fear  I  should  stray  into  sin, 
"  Or,  what  is  still  worse,  into  error ! 

"  So,  instead  of  displaying  my  graces, 
**  By  daylight,  ui  language  and  mien, 

"  I  am  sliut  up  in  corners  and  places, 
"  Where  truly  I  blush  to  be  seen  '." 


Upon  hearing  this  piteous  confession. 
My  Soul,  looking  tenderly  at  her, 

Declared,  as  for  grace  and  discretion. 
He  did  not  know  much  of  the  matter ; 

"  But,  to-morrow,  sweet  Spirit !"  he  said, 
"  Be  at  home  after  midniglit,  and  then 

"  I  will  come  when  your  lady's  in  bed, 
"  And  we'll  talk  o'er  tlie  subject  again." 

So  she  whisper'd  a  word  .n  his  ear, 
I  suppose  to  her  door  to  direct  him. 

And,  just  after  midnight,  my  dear. 

Your  polite  little  Soul  may  expect  him. 


TO  ROSA. 

WRITTEN    DURING    ILLNESS. 

The  wisest  soul,  by  anguish  torn, 
Will  soon  unlearn  the  lore  it  knew  ; 

And  wlien  tlie  shining  casket's  worn, 
The  gem  within  will  tamisli  too. 

But  love's  an  essence  of  the  soul. 

Which  sinks  not  with  this  chain  of  clay ; 

AVhich  throbs  beyond  the  cliiU  control 
Of  with'rmg  pain  or  pale  decay. 

And  surely,  vihen  the  touch-of  Death 
Dissolves  the  spirit's  earthly  ties. 

Love  still  attends  th'  immortal  breath. 
And  makes  it  purer  for  the  skies  ! 

Oh  Rosa,  when,  to  seek  its  sphere. 
My  soul  sliall  leave  tliis  orb  of  men. 

That  love  which  form'd  its  treasure  here. 
Shall  be  its  hesi  of  treasures  then  ! 

And  as,  in  fabled  dreams  of  old. 
Some  air-bom  genius,  child  of  time. 

Presided  o'er  each  star  that  roll'd. 

And  track'd  it  tlirough  its  path  sublime ; 

So  thou,  fair  planet,  not  unled, 
Shalt  through  thy  mortal  orbit  stray ; 

Thy  lover's  shade,  to  thee  still  wed. 
Shall  linger  round  thy  earthly  way. 

Let  other  spirits  range  the  sky. 
And  play  around  each  starry  gem ; 

I'll  bask  beneath  that  lucid  eye. 
Nor  envy  worlds  of  suns  to  them. 


JUVENILE  POEMS.                                             115 

And  wlicn  tliat  heart  shall  cease  to  beat, 

The  learned  Pnie  took  a  pert  young  thing, 

And  when  that  breath  at  length  is  free, 

To  divert  her  virgin  Muse  with. 

Tlien,  Rosa,  soul  to  soul  we'll  meet, 

And  pluck  sometimes  a  quill  from  his  wing, 

And  miugle  to  eternity ! 

To  indite  her  billet-doux  with. 

Poor  Cloe  would  give  for  a  well-fledged  pair 

Her  only  eye,  if  you'd  ask  it ; 

And  Tabitha  begg'd,  old  toothless  fair. 

SONG. 

For  the  youngest  Love  m  the  basket 

The  wreath  you  wove,  the  wreath  you  wove 

Come  buy  my  Loves,  &c.  Slc. 

Is  fair— but  oh,  how  fair. 

If  Pity's  hand  had  stol'n  from  Love 

But  one  was  left,  when  Susan  came, 

One  leaf  to  mingle  there  '. 

One  worth  them  all  together ; 

At  sight  of  her  dear  looks  of  shame, 

If  every  rose  with  gold  were  tied, 

He  smiled,  and  pruned  his  feather. 

Did  gems  for  dewdrops  fall. 

She  wish'd  the  boy — 'twas  more  than  whun — 

One  faded  leaf  where  Love  had  sigh'd 

Her  looks,  her  sighs  betray'd  it ; 

Were  sweetly  worth  them  all. 

But  kisses  were  not  enough  for  him. 

I  ask'd  a  heart,  and  she  paid  it ! 

The  wreath  you  wove,  the  wreath  you  wove 

Good-by,  my  Loves, 

Our  emblem  well  may  be ; 

Good-by,  my  Loves, 

Its  bloom  is  yours,  but  hopeless  Love 

'Twould  make  you  smile  to've  seen  us 

Must  keep  its  tears  for  me. 

First  trade  for  this 

Sweet  child  of  bliss, 

And  then  niu^e  the  boy  between  us. 

THE  SALE  OF  LOVES. 

I  ORKAMT  that,  in  the  Paphian  groves, 

My  nest  by  moonlight  laying, 

I  caught  a  flight  of  wanton  Loves, 

TO 

Among  the  rose-beds  playing. 
Some  just  had  left  their  silv'ry  shell, 

While  some  were  full  in  feather ; 

The  world  had  just  begim  to  steal 

So  pretty  a  lot  of  Loves  to  sell, 

Each  hope  that  led  mo  lightly  on ; 

Were  never  yet  strung  together. 

I  felt  not,  as  I  used  to  feel. 

Come  buy  my  loves. 

And  life  grew  dark  and  love  was  gone. 

Come  buy  my  Loves, 

Ye  dames  and  rose-lipp'd  misses! — 

No  eye  to  mmgle  boitow's  tear. 

They're  new  and  bright. 

No  hp  to  miugle  pleasine's  breath, 

Tho  cost  is  light. 

No  circling  amis  to  draw  me  near — 

For  tho  coin  of  this  isle  is  kisses. 

'Twas  gloomy,  and  I  wish'd  for  death 

First  Cloris  came,  with  looks  sedate. 

But  when  I  saw  that  gentle  eye. 

Their  coin  on  her  lips  was  ready  ; 

Oh  !  something  seem'd  to  tell  me  then. 

"  I  buy,"  quo.h  she,  "  my  Love  by  weight. 

That  I  was  yet  too  young  to  die. 

"  Full  grown,  if  you  please,  and  steady." 

And  hope  and  bliss  might  bloom  again. 

"  Let  mine  be  light,"  said  Fanny,  "  pray — 

"  Such  lasting  toys  undo  one  ; 

With  every  gentle  smile  that  cross'd 

"  A  light  little  Love  that  will  last  to-day, — 

Yom-  kindhng  cheek,  you  lighted  home 

"  To-morrow  I'll  sport  a  new  one." 

Some  feeling,  which  my  heart  had  lost. 

Come  bny  my  Loves, 

And  peace,  which  far  had  learn'd  to  roam. 

Come  buy  my  Loves, 

Ye  dames  and  rose-lipp'd  misses ! — 

'Twas  then  indeed  so  sweet  to  live. 

There's  some  will  keep. 

Hope  look'd  so  new  and  Love  so  kind. 

Some  light  and  clieap, 

That,  though  I  mourn,  I  yet  forgive 

At  from  ten  to  twenty  kisses. 

The  ruin  they  have  left  behind. 

116 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I  could  have  loved  you — oh,  so  well ! — 
The  dicam,  that  wishing  boyhood  kuows. 

Is  but  a  bright,  beguiling  spell, 

Tliat  only  lives  while  passion  glows : 

But.  when  this  early  flush  declines, 

When  the  heart's  sunny  morning  fleets, 

You  know  riot  then  how  close  it  twines 
Round  the  first  kindred  soul  it  meets. 

Yes,  yes,  I  could  have  loved,  as  one 

Wlui,  while  his  youth's  enchantments  fall, 

Finds  something  dear  to  rest  upon. 
Which  pays  him  for  the  loss  of  alL 


Never  mind  how  the  pedagogue  proses, 
You  want  not  antiquity's  stamp ; 

A  lip,  that  such  fragrance  discloses, 
Oil !  never  should  smell  of  the  lamp. 

Old  Cloe,  whose  withering  kiss 

Hath  long  set  the  Loves  at  defiance, 

Now,  done  with  the  science  of  bliss, 
May  take  to  the  blisses  of  science. 

But  for  you  to  be  bnried  in  books — 

Ah,  Fanny,  they're  pitiful  sages, 
W^ho  could  not  in  one  of  your  looks 

Read  more  than  in  millions  of  pages. 

Astronomy  finds  in  those  eyes 

Better  light  than  the  studies  above ; 

And  Music  would  borrow  your  sighs 
As  the  melody  fittest  for  Love. 

Your  Arithmetic  only  can  trip 

If  to  count  your  own  charms  you  endeavor  ; 
And  Eloquence  glows  on  your  lip 

When  you  swear,  that  you'll  love  me  forever. 

Thus  you  see,  what  a  brilliant  alliance 

Of  arts  is  assembled  in  you  ; — 
A  course  of  more  e.\quisite  science 

Man  never  need  wish  to  pursue. 

And,  oh  ! — if  a  Fellow  like  me 

May  confer  a  diploma  of  hearts. 
With  my  lip  thus  I  seal  your  degree, 

My  divine  little  Mistress  of  Arts  ! 


ON    THE 

DEATH  OF  A  LADY. 

Sweet  spirit !  if  thy  airy  sleep 

Nor  sees  my  tears  nor  hears  my  sighs, 

Then  will  I  weep,  in  anguish  weep. 
Till  the  last  heart's  drop  fills  mine  eyes 

But  if  thy  sainted  soul  can  feel, 

And  mingles  in  our  misery  ; 
Then,  then  my  breaking  heart  I'll  seal — 

Thou  shalt  not  hear  one  sigh  from  me. 

The  beam  of  mom  was  on  the  stream, 
But  sullen  clouds  the  day  deform  : 

Like  thee  was  that  young,  orient  beam, 
Like  death,  alas,  that  sullen  storm ! 

Thou  wert  not  form'd  for  living  here, 
So  link'd  thy  soul  was  with  the  sky ; 

Yet,  ah,  we  held  thee  all  so  dear, 

We  thought  thou  wert  not  form'd  to  die. 


INCONSTANCY. 

And  do  I  then  wonder  that  Julia  deceives  me, 
When   surely   there's   notliiug    in   nature    more 
common? 
She  vows  to  be  true,  and  while  vowing  she  leaves 
me — 
And  could  I  expect  any  more  from  a  woman  ? 

Oh,  woman  !  your  heart  is  a  pitiful  treasure ; 

And  Mahomet's  doctrine  was  not  too  severe. 
When  he  held  that  you  were  but  materials  of  pleas- 
ure. 

And  reason  and  thinking  were  out  of  your  sphere. 

By  j-our  heart,  when  the  fond  sighing  lover  can 
win  it. 
He  thinks  that  an  age  of  anxiety's  paid  ; 
But,    oh,   while    he's    blest,   let   hhn   die    at   the 
minute — 
If  he  live  but  a  day,  he'll  be  surely  betray'd. 


THE  NATAL  GENIUS. 

A  DREAM. 

To  ,    - 

THE    MORNING    OF    HER    BIRTHDAY 

In  witching  slumbere  of  the  night, 
I  dreamt  I  was  the  air)'  sprite 
That  on  thy  natal  moment  smiled  j 


f 


JUVENILE  POEMS.                                             117 

And  thouglit  I  wafted  on  ray  wing 

I  hoped  that,  after  all  its  strife. 

Those  fluwers  whicli  in  Elysium  spring, 

My  weary  heart  at  length  should  rest, 

To  crown  my  lovely  mortal  child- 

And,  fainting  from  the  waves  of  life, 

Find  harbor  in  a  brother's  breast. 

With  olive-branch  I  bound  thy  head, 

Heart's  ease  along  thy  path  I  shed. 

That  brother's  breast  was  warm  with  truth. 

Which  was  to  bloom  through  all  thy  years  ; 

Was  bright  with  honor's  purest  ray ; 

Nor  yet  did  I  forget  to  bind 

He  was  the  dearest,  gentlest  youth — 

Love's  roses,  with  his  myrtle  twined. 

All,  wliy^ien  was  he  torn  away? 

And  dew'd  by  sympathetic  teara. 

Ho  should  have  stay'd,  have  liuger'd  here 

Such  was  the  wild  but  precious  boon 

To  sooth  his  Julia's  every  wo ; 

Which  Fancy,  at  her  magic  noon, 

He  should  have  chased  each  bitter  tear. 

Bade  me  to  Nona's  image  pay ; 

And  not  have  caused  those  tears  to  flow. 

And  were  it  thus  my  fate  to  be 

Thy  little  guardian  deity, 

We  saw  within  his  soul  expand 

How  blest  around  thy  steps  I'd  play  ! 

The  fruits  of  genius,  nursed  by  taste ; 

While  Science,  with  a  fost'ring  hand, 

Tliy  life  should  glide  in  peace  along. 

Upon  his  brow  her  chaplet  placed. 

Calm  as  some  lonely  shepherd's  song 

That's  heard  at  distance  in  the  grove  ; 

W^e  saw,  by  bright  degrees,  his  mind 

No  cloud  should  ever  dim  thy  sky, 

Grow  rich  in  all  t'lat  makes  men  dear ; — 

No  thonis  along  thy  pathway  lie. 

Enlighten'd,  social,  and  refined. 

But  all  bo  beauty,  peace,  and  love. 

In  friendship  firm,  in  love  sincere. 

Indulgent  Time  should  never  bring 

Such  was  the  youth  we  loved  so  well, 

To  thee  one  blight  upon  his  wing, 

And  such  the  hopes  that  fate  denied ; — 

So  gently  o'er  thy  brow  he'd  fly ; 

We  loved,  but  all  I  could  scarcely  tell 

And  death  itself  should  but  be  felt 

How  deep,  how  dearly,  till  he  died ! 

Like  that  of  daybeams,  when  they  melt, 

Bright  to  the  last,  in  evening's  sky ! 

Close  as  the  fondest  links  could  strain. 

Twined  with  my  verj'  heart  ho  grew ; 

And  by  that  fate  which  breaks  the  chain, 

The  heart  is  almost  broken  too. 

ELEGIAC  STANZAS, 

SUPFOSED    TO    BE    WRITTEN    BY   1VU.\, 

TO    THE    LARGE    AND    BEAUTIFCL 

ON   THE   DEATH    OF   HER   BROTDER. 

MISS , 

IN    ALLUSION   TO    SOME   PARTNERSHIP  IN  A  LOTTERY  SHARE 

Though  sorrow  long  has  worn  my  heart  ; 

Though  every  day  I've  counted  o'er 

LUPROMPTi;. 

Hath  brought  a  new  and  quick'ning  smart 

— Ego  pars VlRd. 

To  wouuds  that  rankled  fresh  before  ; 

In  wedlock  a  species  of  lottery  lies, 

Though  in  my  earliest  life  bereft 

Where  in  blanks  and  in  prizes  we  deal ; 

Of  tender  Unks  by  nature  tied  ; 

But  how  conies  it  that  you,  such  a  capital  prize. 

Though  hope  deceived,  and  pleasure  left ; 

SlioiUd  so  long  have  remain'd  in  the  wheel? 

Though  friends  betray'd  and  foes  belied  ; 

If  ever,  by  Fortune's  indulgent  decree. 

I  still  had  hopes — for  hope  will  stay 

To  me  such  a  ticket  should  roll. 

After  the  sunset  of  delight ; 

A  sixteenth,  Heav'n  knows  !  were  sufiicient  for 

So  like  the  star  which  ushers  day. 

me  ; 

We  scarce  can  think  it  heralds  night ! — 

For  what  could  /  do  with  the  whole  ? 

^' 


118                                              MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Those  eyes  of  hers,  that  floating  shine, 

A  DREAM. 

Like  dianmpds  in  some  Eastern  river ; 

That  kiss,  for  which,  if  worlds  were  mine, 

I  THOUGHT  this  heart  enkindled  lay 

A  world  for  every  kiss  I'd  give  her. 

On  Cupid's  binning  shrine  : 

J                                  o 

I  thouglit  he  stole  thy  heart  away. 

That  frame  so  delicate,  yet  warm'd 

And  placed  it  near  to  mine. 

With  flushes  of  love's  genial  hue  ; — 

A  mould  transparent,  as  if  form'd 

I  saw  thy  heart  begin  to  melt, 

To  let  the  spirit's  light  shine  through. 

Like  ice  before  the  sun  ;d 

Till  both  a  glow  congenial  felt. 

Of  these  I  sung,  and  notes  and  words 

And  mingled  into  one  ! 

Were  sweet,  as  if  the  very  air 

From  Lamia's  lip  hung  o'er  tlie  chords. 

And  Lamia's  voice  still  warbled  there ! 
But  when,  alas,  I  tuni'd  the  theme, 

TO    

And  when  of  vows  and  oaths  I  spoke. 

Of  truth  and  hope's  seducing  dream — 

With  all  my  soul,  then,  let  us  part, 

The  chord  beneath  my  finger  broke. 

Since  both  are  anxious  to  be  free ; 

And  I  will  send  you  homo  your  heart, 

False  harp  I  false  woman  ! — such,  oh,  such 

And  you  will  send  back  mine  to  me. 

Are  lutes  too  frail  and  hearts  too  willing ; 

Any  hand,  whate'er  its  touch. 

We've  had  some  happy  hours  together, 

Can  set  their  chords  or  pulses  thrilling. 

But  joy  must  often  change  its  wmg  ; 

And  spring  would  be  but  gloomy  weather, 

And  when  tliat  thrill  is  most  awake, 

If  we  had  nothing  else  but  spring. 

And  when  you  think  Heav'n's  joys  await  you 

The  njnnph  will  change,  the  chord  will  break- 

'Tis  not  that  I  expect  to  find 

Oh  Love,  oh  Music,  how  I  hate  you ! 

A  more  devoted,  fond,  and  true  one. 

With  rosier  cheek  or  sweeter  mind — 

Enough  for  me  that  she's  a  new  one. 

TO  JULIA. 

Thus  let  us  leave  the  bower  of  love. 

Where  we  have  loiter'd  long  in  bliss  ; 

I  SAW  the  peasant's  hand  unkind 

From  yonder  oak  the  ivy  sever  ; 
They  seem'd  in  very  being  twined  ; 
Yet  now  the  oak  is  fresh  as  ever ! 

Not  so  the  widow'd  ivy  shines ; 

And  you  may  down  Ihat  patliway  rove, 
While  I  shall  take  my  way  tlu-ough  this. 

Tom  from  its  dear  and  ouly  stay. 

ANACREONTIC. 

In  drooping  widowhood  it  pines. 

And  scatters  all  its  bloom  away. 

"  She  never  look'd  so  kind  before — 

"  Yet  why  the  wanton's  smile  recall  ? 

Thus,  Julia,  did  our  hearts  entwine, 

"  I've  seen  this  witchery  o'er  and  o'er, 

TiU  Fate  disturb'd  their  tender  ties : 

"  'Tis  hollow,  vain,  and  heartless  all !" 

Thus  gay  indifference  blooms  in  thine, 

While  mine,  deserted,  droops  and  dies  ! 

Thus  I  said,  and,  sighing,  drain'd 

The  cup  which  she  so  late  had  tasted  ; 

Upon  whose  rim  still  fresh  remain'd 

The  breatli,  so  oft  in  falsehood  wasted. 

HYMN 

OF   A  VIRGIN  OF     DELPHI, 

I  took  the  harp,  and  would  have  sung 

AT    THE    TO.MB    OF    HER    MOTHER. 

As  if  'twere  not  of  her  I  sang ; 

But  still  the  notes  on  Lamia  hung — 

On,  lost,  forever  lost — no  more 

On  whom  but  Lamia  could  they  hang  ? 

Shall  Vesper  light  our  dewy  way 

I 


»* 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


119 


Alongf  the  rocks  of  Crissa's  shore, 

To  hymn  the  fading  fires  of  day  ; 
No  more  to  Tempi's  distant  vale 

In  holy  musings  shall  we  roam, 
Through  summer's  glow  and  winter's  gale, 

To  bear  the  mystic  chaplets  home.^ 
'Twas  then  my  soul's  expanding  zeal, 

By  nature  warm'd  and  led  by  thee, 
In  eveiy  breeze  was  taught  to  feel 

The  breathings  of  a  Deity. 
Guide  of  my  heart  I  still  hovering  round, 

Thy  looks,  thy  words  are  still  my  own — 
I  see  thee  raising  from  the  ground 

Some  laurel,  by  the  winds  o'erthrown, 
And  hear  thee  say,  *'  This  humble  bough 

"  Was  planted  for  a  doom  divine  ; 
"  And,  though  it  droop  in  languor  now, 

"  Shall  flourish  on  the  Delphic  shrine ! 
"  Thus,  in  the  vale  of  earthly  sense, 

"  Though  sunk  awhile  the  spirit  lies, 
"  A  viewless  hand  shall  cull  it  thence, 

"  To  bloom  immortal  in  the  skies  !" 

All  that  the  young  should  feel  and  know, 

By  thee  was  taught  so  sweetly  well, 
Thy  words  fell  soft  as  vernal  snow. 

And  all  was  brightness  where  they  fell,' 
Fond  soother  of  my  infant  tear, 

Fond  sharer  of  my  infant  joy, 
Is  not  thy  shade  still  ling'ring  here? 

Am  I  not  still  thy  soul's  employ  ? 
Oh  yes — and,  as  in  former  days, 

When,  meeting  on  tlie  sacred  moimt, 
Our  nymphs  awaked  tlieir  choral  lays, 

And  danced  around  Cassotis'  fount; 
As  then,  'twas  all  thy  wish  and  care, 

That  mine  should  be  the  simplest  mien, 
My  lyre  and  voice  the  sweetest  there. 

My  foot  the  lightest  o'er  the  green : 
So  still,  each  look  and  step  to  mould, 

Thy  guardian  care  is  round  me  spread, 
Arranging  every  enowy  fold, 

And  guiding  every  mazy  tread. 
And,  when  I  lead  the  hymning  choir. 

Thy  spirit  still,  unseen  and  free, 
Hovers  between  my  lip  and  lyre, 

And  weds  them  into  harmony. 
Flow,  Plistus,  flow,  thy  murmurmg  wave 

Shall  never  drop  its  silv'ry  tear 
Upon  so  pure,  so  blest  a  grave, 

To  memory  so  entirely  dear ! 


>  The  laurel,  for  the  common  nses  of  the  temple,  for  adorn- 
ing the  altiirs  and  sweeping  the  pavement,  was  supplied  by  a 
tree  near  the  fountain  of  Cnstalia  ;  but  upon  all  iniportunt 
occasions,  they  sent  to  Tempt  for  their  laurel.  We  find,  in 
Pausanias .  that  this  valley  supplied  the  branches,  of  which 


SYMPATHY. 

TO  JULIA. 

-sine  me  sit  nulla  Venus: 


SULPICU.. 


Our  hearts,  my  love,  were  form'd  to  be 
The  genuine  twins  of  Sympathy, 

They  live  with  one  sensation: 
In  joy  or  grief,  but  most  in  love, 
Like  chords  in  unison  they  move, 

And  thrill  with  lUie  vibration. 

How  oft  I've  heard  thee  fondly  say, 
Thy  vita!  pulse  shall  cease  to  play 

When  mine  no  more  is  moving ; 
Since,  now,  to  feel  a  joy  alone 
Were  worse  to  thee  than  feeling  none : 

So  twinn'd  are  we  in  loving ! 


THE  TEAR. 

On  beds  of  snow  the  moonbeam  slept, 
And  chilly  was  the  midnight  gloom, 

When  by  the  damp  grave  Ellen  wept — 
Fond  maid !  it  was  her  Lindor's  tomb ! 

A  warm  tear  gush'd,  the  wintry  air 
CongeaI'd  it  as  it  flow'd  away : 

All  night  it  lay  an  ice-drop  there, 
At  mom  it  glitter'd  in  the  ray. 

An  angel,  wand'ring  from  her  sphere. 
Who  saw  this  bright,  this  frozen  gem. 

To  dew-eyed  Pity  brought  the  tear, 
And  hung  it  on  her  diadem  ! 


THE  SNAKE. 

My  love  and  I,  the  other  day, 
Within  a  myrtle  arbor  lay, 
Wlien  near  us,  from  a  rosy  bed, 
A  little  Snake  put  forth  its  head. 

"  See,"  said  the  maid,  with  thoughtful  eyes — 

"  Yonder  the  fatal  emblem  lies  ! 

**  Who  coidd  expect  such  hidden  harm 

"  Beneath  the  rose's  smiling  charm  ?" 


the  temple  was  originally  constructed;  and  Plutarch  says,  in 
his  Dialogue  on  Music,  "The  youth  who  brings  ibe  Teinpie 
laurel  to  Delphi  is  always  attended  by  a  player  on  the  (lute.' 
A\Xf  unv  KOI  rot  KaTaKO[ii(^oi>Ti  jraiit  Tt)v  TcfiirtKtjv  ^aipvTjr 
£15  AeAi^ouj  napOfiapTCt  avXrjr^js. 


120                                             MOORE'S 

WORKS.                                                           1 

Never  did  jrrave  remark  occur 

LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE. 

Less  d-propos  than  tliis  from  her. 

Eque  brevi  verbo  ferre  perenne  malum. 

I  rose  to  kill  Ihe  snake,  but  she, 

Pecdndus,  eleg  t^. 

Half-smiUng,  pray'd  it  might  not  be. 

Still  the  question  I  must  parry, 

"  No,"  said  the  maiden — and,  alas, 

Still  a  wayward  truant  prove : 

Her  eyes  spoke  volumes,  while  she  said  it — 

Where  I  love,  I  must  not  marry ; 

'*  Long  as  the  snake  is  in  the  ^ass, 

AVhere  I  many,  cannot  love. 

"  One  7Jiay,  perhaps,  have  cause  to  dread  it : 

"  But,  when  its  wicked  eyes  appear, 

Were  she  fairest  of  creation. 

"  And  when  we  know  for  what  they  wmk  bo, 

With  the  least  presuming  mind ; 

**  One  must  be  very  simple,  dear. 

Learned  without  affectation  ; 

**  To  let  it  wound  one — don't  you  think  so  ?" 

Net  deceitful,  yet  refined  ; 

Wise  enough,  but  never  rigid  ; 
Gay,  but  not  too  lightly  free  ; 

Chaste  as  suow,  and  yet  not  frigid  ; 

TO  ROSA, 

Fond,  yet  satisfied  with  me : 

Is  the  eong  of  Rosa  mute  1 

M^cre  she  all  this  ten  times  over, 

Once  such  lays  inspired  her  lute ! 

All  that  heav'n  to  earth  allows. 

Never  doth  a  sweeter  song 

I  should  be  too  much  her  lover 

Steal  the  breezy  l}Te  along, 

Ever  to  become  her  spouse. 

When  the  wind,  in  odors  dying. 

Woos  it  with  enamor'd  sighing. 

Love  will  never  bear  enslaving ; 

Summer  garments  suit  him  best ; 

Is  my  Rosa's  lute  unstrung? 

Bliss  itself  is  not  worth  having, 

Once  a  tale  of  peace  it  simg 

If  we're  by  compulsion  blest 

To  her  lover's  throbbing  breast — 

Then  was  he  divinely  blest ! 
Ah  1  but  Rosa  loves  no  more, 

Therefore  Rosa's  song  is  o'er  ; 

ANACREONTIC. 

And  her  lute  neglected  lies  ; 

And  her  boy  forgotten  sighs. 

I  fill'd  to  thee,  to  thee  I  diank, 

Silent  lute — forgotten  lover — 

I  nothing  did  but  drink  and  fill ; 

Rosa's  love  and  song  are  over ! 

The  bow!  by  turns  was  bright  and  blank. 

'Twas  drinking,  filling,  drinking  still. 
At  length  I  bid  au  artist  paint 

Thy  image  in  this  ample  cup, 

ELEGIAC  STANZAS. 

That  I  miglit  see  the  dimpled  saint, 

To  whom  I  quaffd  my  nectar  up. 

Sic  juvat  perire. 

When  wearied  wretches  sink  to  sleep, 

Behold,  how  bright  that  purple  lip 

How  heavenly  soft  their  slumbers  lie  ! 

Now  blushes  through  the  wave  at  me ; 

How  sweet  is  death  to  those  who  weep, 

Every  roseate  drop  I  sip 

To  those  who  weep  and  long  to  die ! 

Is  just  like  kissing  wine  from  thee. 

Saw  you  the  soft  and  grassy  bed, 

And  still  I  drink  the  more  for  this ; 

Where  flow'rets  deck  the  green  earth's  breast? 

For,  ever  wlien  the  draught  I  dram, 

'Tis  there  I  wish  to  lay  my  head. 

Thy  lip  invites  another  kiss. 

'Tis  there  I  wish  to  sleep  at  rest 

And — in  the  nectar  flows  again. 

Oh,  let  not  tears  embalm  my  tomb, — 

So,  here's  to  thee,  my  gentle  dear. 

None  but  the  dews  at  twilight  given ! 

And  may  that  eyelid  never  sliine 

Oh,  let  not  sighs  disturb  the  gloom, — 

Beneath  a  darker,  bitterer  tear 

None  but  the  whisp'ring  winds  of  heaven ! 

Than  bathes  it  in  this  bowl  of  mine ! 

JUVENILE  POEMS.                                             121 

And  if  her  cheek  be  smooth  and  bright. 

THE  SURPRISE. 

While  truth  within  her  bosom  lies. 

CiiLORis,  I  swear,  by  all  I  ever  sw^ore, 

Tliat  from  this  hour  I  shall  not  love  thee  more. — 

I'll  gaze  upon  her  mom  and  night, 

Till  my  heart  leave  me  through  my  eyes. 

"  What  1  lovo  no  more  ?  Oil !  why  this  alter'd  vow?" 

Show  me  on  earth  a  thing  so  rare, 

Because  I  cannot  love  thee  more — than  now  1 

I'll  own  all  miracles  are  true ; 

To  make  one  maid  sincere  and  fair. 

Oh,  'tis  the  utmost  Heav'u  can  do  ! 

TO  MISS    , 

LYING. 

ox  HER  ASKING  THE  AUTHOR  WHY  SHE  HAD  BIE.EPLES3 

Che  con  le  lor  bugie  pajon  divini.    Mauro  d'.Srcano. 

NIGHTS. 

I  DO  confess,  in  many  a  sigh, 

I'll  ask  the  sylph  who  round  thee  flies, 

My  lips  have  breathed  you  many  a  lie ; 

And  in  thy  breath  his  pinion  dips, 

And  who,  with  such  delights  in  view, 

Who  suns  him  in  thy  radiant  eyes, 

Would  lose  them,  for  a  lie  or  two? 

And  faints  upon  thy  sighing  lips: 

Nay, — look  not  thus,  with  brow  reproving ; 

I'll  ask  him  where's  the  veil  of  sleep 

Lies  are,  my  dear,  the  soul  of  loving. 

That  used  to  shade  thy  looks  of  light ; 

If  half  %ve  tell  the  girls  wixa  true. 

And  why  those  eyes  their  vigil  keep, 

If  half  we  swear  to  think  and  do, 

When  other  suns  are  sunk  in  night? 

Were  aught  but  lying's  bright  illusion. 

This  world  would  be  in  strange  confusion. 

And  I  will  say— her  angel  breast 

If  ladies'  eyes  were,  every  one. 

Has  never  tlirobb'd  with  guilty  sting ; 

As  lovers  swear,  a  radiant  sun. 

Her  bosom  is  the  sweetest  nest 

Astronomy  must  leave  the  skies. 

Where  Slumber  could  repose  liis  wing ! 

To  learn  her  lore  in  ladies'  eyes. 

Oh,  no— believe  me,  lovely  girl, 

And  I  will  say — her  cheeks  that  flush, 

When  nature  turns  your  teeth  to  pearl. 

Like  vernal  roses  in  the  sun, 

Your  neck  to  snow,  your  eyes  to  Are, 

Have  ne'er  by  shame  been  taught  to  blush, 

Your  amber  loclcs  to  golden  wire. 

Except  for  what  her  eyes  have  done ! 

Then,  only  then  can  Heaven  decree, 

That  you  should  live  for  only  me, 

Then  tell  me,  why,  thou  child  of  air ! 

Or  I  for  you,  as  night  and  mom, 

Does  slumber  from  her  eyelids  rove  ? 

We've  swearmg  kiss'd,  and  kissmg  sworn. 

What  is  her  heart's  impassion'd  care  ? — 

Perhaps,  oh  sylph !  perhaps,  'tis  love. 

And  now,  my  gentle  hints  to  clear, 

For  once  I'll  tell  you  truth,  my  dear. 

Whenever  you  may  chance  to  meet 

Some  loving  youth,  whose  love  is  sweet, 

Long  as  you're  false  and  he  believes  you, 

Long  as  you  trust  and  he  deceives  you. 

So  long  the  blissful  bond  endures, 

THE  WONDER. 

And  while  he  lies,  his  heart  is  yours : 

Come,  tell  me  where  the  maid  is  found. 

But,  oh  I  you've  wholly  lost  the  youth 

Whoso  heart  can  lore  without  deceit. 

The  instant  that  he  tells  you  truth. 

And  I  will  range  the  world  around, 

To  sii^h  one  moment  at  her  feet. 

Oh  1  tell  me  where's  her  sainted  home. 

ANACREONTIC. 

What  air  receives  her  blessed  sigh. 

A  pilgrimage  of  years  I'll  roam 

Friend  of  my  soul,  this  goblet  sip, 

To  catch  one  sparkle  of  her  eye  ! 

'Twill  chase  that  pensive  tear ; 

122 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


'Tis  not  so  sweet  as  woman's  lip, 
But,  oh  I  'tis  more  sincere. 
Like  her  delusive  beam, 

'Twill  steal  away  thy  mind : 
But,  truer  than  love's  dream, 
It  leaves  no  sting  behind. 

Come,  twine  the  wreath,  thy  brows  to  shade ; 

These  flow'rs  were  cuU'd  at  noon  ; — 
Like  woman's  love  the  rose  will  fade, 
But,  ah  !  not  half  so  soon. 

For  tliough  the  flower's  decay'd. 

Its  fragrance  is  not  o'er  ; 
But  once  when  love's  betray'd, 
Its  sweet  Ufe  blooms  uo  more. 


THE  PHILOSOPHER  ARISTIPPUS,* 
TO  A  LAMP 

WIUCII  HAD  BEEN  GIVEN  HIM  BY  LAIS. 

Dulcis  conscia  lectuli  lucerna. 

Martial.,  Ub.  xiv.  epig.  30. 

**  On  !  love  the  Lamp,"  (qjy  Mistress  said.) 
*'  The  faithful  Lamp  that,  many  a  night, 

*'  Beside  thy  Lais'  lonely  bed 

"  Has  kept  its  little  watch  of  light. 

*'  Full  often  has  it  seen  her  weep, 

"  And  fix  her  eye  upon  its  flame, 
"  Till,  weary,  she  has  fiuk  to  sleep, 

"  Repeating  her  beloved's  name. 

**  Then  love  the  Lamp — 'twill  often  lead 
"  Tliy  step  through  learning's  sacred  way ; 

*'  And  when  those  studious  eyes  shall  read, 
"  At  midnight,  by  its  lonely  ray, 

^  It  does  not  apjiear  to  have  been  very  dilficult  to  become 
a  philosopher  among  the  ancients.  A  niniierate  store  of 
learning,  with  a  considerable  portion  of  confidence,  and  j vis t 
Ti  it  enough  to  produce  an  orcasional  apnphthegtn,  seem  to 
have  been  all  the  qualifications  necessary  for  the  purpose. 
The  principles  of  moral  science  were  so  very  imperfectly 
understood,  that  the  founder  of  a  new  sect,  in  forming  his 
ethical  code,  might  consult  either  fancy  or  temperament,  and 
adapt  it  to  his  own  passions  and  propensities;  so  that  Ma- 
homet, with  a  little  more  learning,  might  have  flourished  as 
a  philosopher  in  those  days,  and  would  have  required  but  the 
polish  of  the  schools  to  become  the  rival  of  Aristippus  in 
morality.  In  the  science  of  nature,  loo,  though  some  valua- 
ble truths  were  discovered  by  them,  they  seemed  hardly  to 
know  they  were  truths,  or  at  least  were  as  well  satisfied 
with  errors;  and  Xenophanes,  who  asserted  that  the  stars 
were  igneous  clouds,  lighted  up  every  night  and  extinguished 
again  in  the  morQlng,  was  thought  and  styled  a  philosopher, 


"  Of  things  sublime,  of  nature's  birth, 
"  Of  all  that's  bright  in  heaven  or  earth, 
"  Oh,  think  that  she,  by  whom  'twas  given, 
"  Adores  thee  more  than  earth  or  heaven !" 

Yes — dearest  Lamp,  by  every  charm 

On  which  thy  midnight  beam  has  hung;' 

The  head  reclined,  tlie  graceful  arm 
Across  the  brow  of  iv.  y  flung; 

The  heavmg  bosom,  partly  hid, 
The  sever'd  lip's  unconscious  sighs. 

The  fringe  that  from  the  iialf-shut  hd 
Adown  the  cheek  of  roses  lies : 

By  these,  by  all  that  bloom  untold, 
And  long  as  all  shall  charm  my  heart; 

I'll  love  my  little  Lamp  of  gold — 
My  Lamp  and  I  shall  never  part. 

And  often,  as  she  smiling  said. 

In  faucy's  hour,  thy  gentle  rays 
Shall  guide  my  visionar\'  tread 

Tlirough  poesy's  enchanting  maze. 
Thy  flame  shall  light  tlie  page  refined, 

AMiere  still  we  catcli  the  Chian's  breath, 

Where  still  the  bard,  though  cold  in  death, 
Has  left  his  soul  unquench'd  behind. 
Or,  o'er  thy  humbler  legend  shine. 

Oh  man  of  Ascra's  drearj-  glades  I' 
To  whom  the  niglitly  warbhng  Nine* 

A  waud  of  inspiration  gave,* 
Pluck'd  from  the  greenest  tree,  that  shades 

The  crystal  of  Castalia's  wave. 

Then,  turning  to  a  purer  lore. 
We'll  cull  the  sages'  deep-hid  store ; 
From  Science  steal  her  golden  clew, 
And  ever)'  mystic  path  pursue. 
Where  Natiu*e,  far  from  vulgar  eyes, 
Through  labyrintlis  of  wonder  flies. 

as  generally  as  he  who  anticipated  Newton  in  developing  thft 
arrangement  of  the  universe. 

For  this  opinion  of  Xenophanes,  see  Plutarch,  de  Placlt. 
Philosoph.,  lib.  ii.  cap.  13.  It  is  impossible  to  read  this 
treatise  of  Plutarch,  without  alternately  admiring  the  genius, 
and  smiling  at  the  absurdities  of  the  philosophers. 

3  The  ancients  had  their  lucerna?  cubicularioe  or  bed- 
chamber lamps,  which,  eis  the  emperor  Galienus  said,  "nil 
eras  meminere  ;"  and,  with  the  same  coniuiendalion  of  se- 
crecy, Praxagora  addresses  her  lamp  in  Aristophanes, 
E<«X7)5.  We  may  judge  how  fanciful  they  were,  in  the  use 
and  embellishment  of  their  lamps,  from  the  famous  symbolic 
Lucerna  which  we  find  in  the  Romanum  Museum  Mich. 
An^.  Causei,  p.  127. 

3  Ilesiod,  who  tells  us  in  melancholy  terms  of  his  father's 
flight  to  the  WTelched  village  of  Ascra.  Epy.  kqi  "H/ifp.v.Sol. 

<  Evfvxtai  oTfiX"*')  TTCptKoWca  uccav  letaai.  The?g.  v.  10 

6  Kat  put  aKi}TTTpuv  £6ov,  daipvns  cpiOn^ca  o^ov.    Id.  v.  30, 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


123 


'Tis  thus  my  heart  shall  leam  to  know 
How  fleeting  is  this  world  below, 
Where  all  that  meets  the  morning  light, 
Is  changed  before  the  fall  of  night !' 

I'll  tell  thee,  as  I  trim  thy  fire, 
"  Swift,  swift  the  tide  of  being  runs, 

'■  And  Time,  who  bids  thy  flame  expire, 
"  Will  also  quench  yon  heaven  of  suns." 

Oh,  then  if  earth's  united  power 
Can  never  chain  one  feathery  hour ; 
If  every  print  we  leave  to-day 
To-morrow's  wave  will  sweep  away ; 
Who  pauses  to  inquire  of  heaven 
Why  were  the  fleeting  treasures  given, 
The  sunny  days,  the  shady  nights, 
And  all  their  brief  but  dear  delights. 
Which  heaven  has  made  for  man  to  use. 
And  man  should  think  it  crime  to  lose  ? 
Who  that  has  cuU'd  a  fresh-blown  rose 
Will  ask  it  why  it  breathes  and  glows. 
Unmindful  of  the  blushing  ray. 
In  which  it  shines  its  soul  away  ; 
Unmindful  of  the  scented  sigh. 
With  which  it  dies  and  loves  to  die  ? 

Pleasure,  thou  only  good  on  earth  !" 
One  precious  moment  given  to  thee — 

Oh !  by  my  Lais'  lip,  'tis  worth 
The  sage's  immortality. 

Then  far  be  all  the  wisdom  hence. 
That  would  om'  joys  one  hour  delay ! 

Alas,  the  feast  of  soul  and  sense 

Love  calls  us  to  in  youth's  bright  day. 
If  not  soon  tasted,  fleets  away. 

Ne'er  wert  thou  form'd,  my  Lamp,  to  shed 
Thy  splendor  on  a  lifeless  page  ; — 

Whate'er  my  blushing  Lais  said 
Of  thoughtful  lore  and  studies  sage, 

'Twas  mockery  all — her  glance  of  joy 

Told  me  thy  dearest,  best  employ.' 

I  'Peic  raoXa  irord^ou  6(*7)i/,  as  expressed  among  the  dog- 
mas of  Heraclitus  the  Ephesian,  and  with  the  same  Jmjige  by 
Seneca,  in  whom  we  find  a  beautiful  diffusion  of  the  thought. 
'*  Nemo  est  mane,  qui  fuit  pridie.  Corpora  nostra  rapiunlur 
fluminurn  more  ;  quidquid  vides  currit  cum  tempore.  Nihil 
ex  his  quK  videmus  manet.  Ego  ipse,  dum  loquor  mutari 
ipsa,  mutatus  sum,"  &.c. 

"^  Aristippus  considered  motion  as  the  principle  of  happi- 
ness, in  which  idea  he  diflcred  from  the  Epicureans,  who 
looked  to  a  state  of  repose  as  the  only  true  voluptuousness, 
and  avoided  even  the  tun  lively  agitations  of  pleasure,  as  a 
violent  and  ungraceful  derangement  of  the  senses. 

3  Maupertuis  has  been  still  more  explicit  than  this  philoso- 
pher, in  ranking  the  pleasures  of  sense  above  the  sublimest 
pursuits  of  wisdom.    Speaking  of  the  infant  man  in  his  pro- 


And,  soon  as  night  shall  close  the  eye 

Of  heaven's  young  wanderer  in  the  west ; 
When  seers  are  gazing  on  the  sky. 

To  find  their  future  orbs  of  rest ; 
Then  shall  I  take  ray  trembling  way. 

Unseen  but  to  those  worlds  above, 
And,  led  by  thy  mysterious  ray. 

Steal  to  the  night-bower  of  my  love. 


TO  MRS. 


ON    HER    BEAUTIFUL   TRANSI^TIO.V    OF 

VOITURE'S  KISS. 

Mon  jimo  sur  mon  levre  6toit  lors  tonte  entiere, 
Pour  savourer  le  miel  qui  sur  la  vOtre  6toit ; 

Mais  en  me  retirant,  elle  resta  derriiire, 
Tant  de  ce  doux  plaisir  I'amorce  \h  restoit. 

VoiTURB 

How  heav'nly  was  the  poet's  doom. 
To  breathe  his  spirit  through  a  kiss  ; 

And  lose  within  so  sweet  a  tomb 
The  trembling  messenger  of  bliss ! 

And,  sure  his  soul  return'd  to  feel 
That  it  again  could  ravish'd  be ; 

For  in  the  kiss  that  thou  didst  steal. 
His  life  and  soiU  have  fled  to  thee. 


RONDEAU. 

"  Good  night  I  good  night !" — And  is  it  so  ? 

And  must  I  from  my  Rosa  go  ? 

Oil  Rosa,  say  "  Good  night !"  once  more. 

And  I'll  repeat  it  o'er  and  o'er. 

Till  the  first  glance  of  dawning  light 

Shall  find  us  saying,  still,  "  Good  night." 

duction,  he  calls  him,  "  une  nouvelle  crtature,  qui  pourra 
comprendre  les  choses  les  pins  sublimes,  et  ce  qui  est  bien 
au-dessus,  qui  poiura  goiuer  les  memes  plaisirs."  See  his 
V6nus  Physique.  This  appear?  to  be  one  of  the  efforts  at 
Fontenelle's  gallantry  of  manner,  for  which  the  learned  Pres- 
ident is  su  well  and  justly  ridiculed  in  the  Akakia  of  Vol- 
taire. 

Maupertuis  may  be  thought  to  have  borrowed  from  the  an- 
cient Aristippus  that  indiscriminate  theory  of  pleasures 
which  he  has  set  forth  in  his  Essai  dc  I'hilosophie  Morale, 
and  for  which  he  was  so  very  justly  condemned.  Aristip- 
pus, according  to  I.aertius,  held  /.ij  Sta(pipav  tc  hli""!' 
Wonjs,  which  irrational  sentiment  has  been  adopted  by 
Maupertuis:  "Tantqu'on  ne  considere  que  I'etat  present, 
tous  les  plaisirs  sunt  du  meme  genre,"  &.c.  &c. 


124                                              MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

And  still  "  Goot  night,"  my  Rosa,  eay — 

But  whisper  etill,  "  A  minute  stay  ;" 

WRITTEN  IN  A  COMMONPLACE  BOOK, 

And  I  will  stay,  and  every  minute 

CALLED 

Shall  have  an  age  of  transport  in  it ; 

"THE  BOOK  OF  FOLLIES;" 

Till  Time  himself  shall  stay  his  flight, 

IN  WHICH  EVERY  ONE  THAT  'JPENED  IT  WAS  TO  COSTRIDDTl 

To  listen  to  oiu-  sweet  "  Good  night." 

SOMGTUINQ. 

TO    THE    BOOK    OF    FOLLIES. 

"  Good  night !"  you'll  murmur  with  a  sigh, 

Aud  tell  me  it  is  time  to  fly  : 

Tins  tribute's  from  a  wretched  elf. 

And  I  will  vow,  will  swear  to  go. 

Who  hails  thee,  emblem  of  himself. 

While  still  that  sweet  voice  murmurs  "  No  '." 

The  book  of  life,  which  I  have  traced. 

Till  slumber  seal  our  weary  sight — 

Has  been,  like  thee,  a  motley  waste 

And  then,  my  love,  my  soul,  "  Good  night !" 

Of  follies  scribbled  o'er  and  o'er. 

One  folly  bringing  hundreds  more. 

Some  have  indeed  been  writ  so  neat. 

In  characters  so  fair,  so  sweet. 

That  those  who  judge  not  too  severely. 

Have  said  they  loved  such  follies  dearly : 

SONG. 

Yet  still,  0  book !  the  allusion  stands  ; 

For  these  were  pcnn'd  by  female  hands : 

Why  does  aziu-e  deck  the  sky  1 

The  rest — alas !  I  own  the  truth — 

'Tis  to  he  like  thine  eyes  of  blue  ; 

Have  all  been  scribbled  so  uncouth 

Wliy  is  red  the  rose's  dye  ? 

That  Prudence,  with  a  with'ring  look. 

Because  it  is  thy  blushes'  hue. 

Disdainful,  flings  away  the  book. 

All  that's  fair,  by  Love's  decree, 

Like  thine,  its  pages  here  and  there 

Has  been  made  resembling  thee ! 

Have  oft  been  stain'd  with  blots  of  care ; 

And  sometimes  hours  of  peace,  I  own, 

Why  is  falling  snow  so  white. 

Upon  some  fairer  leaves  have  shone, 

But  to  be  like  thy  bosom  fair  1 

White  as  the  snowings  of  that  heav'u 

Why  are  solar  beams  so  bright? 

By  which  tho.se  hours  of  peace  were  given. 

•      That  they  may  seem  thy  golden  hair ! 

But  now  no  longer — such,  oh,  such 

All  that's  bright,  by  Love's  decree. 

The  blast  of  Disappointment's  touch  ! — 

Has  been  made  resembling  thee ! 

No  longer  now  those  hours  appear ; 

Each  leaf  is  sullied  by  a  tear : 

Why  are  nature's  beauties  felt  ? 

Blank,  blank  is  ev'ry  page  with  care, 

Oh !  'tis  thine  in  her  we  see  ! 

Not  ev'n  a  folly  brightens  there. 

Why  lias  music  power  to  melt  ? 

Will  they  yet  brighten  ? — never,  never ! 

Oh  !  because  it  speaks  like  thee 

Then  shut  the  book,  O  God,  forever ! 

All  that's  sweet,  by  Love's  decree, 

Has  been  made  resembling  theo 

TO  ROSA. 

TO  ROSA, 

Sat,  why  should  the  girl  of  my  soul  be  in  tears 

At  a  meeting  of  rapture  like  this. 

Like  one  who  trusts  to  summer  .=kics, 

Whin  the  gloo.-ns  of  the  past   and  the  sorrow  of 

And  puts  his  little  bark  to  sea. 

years 

Is  he  who,  liu-ed  by  smiling  eyes. 

Have  been  paid  by  one  moment  of  bliss  ? 

Consigns  his  simple  heart  to  thee. 

Aro  they  shod  for  that  moment  of  blissful  delight, 

For  fickle  is  the  summer  wind. 

Which  dwells  on  her  memory  yet  ? 

And  sadly  may  the  bark  be  toss'd  ; 

Do  they  flow,  like  the  dews  of  the  love-breathmg 

For  thou  art  sure  to  change  thy  mind, 

night, 

And  then  the  wretched  lieart  is  lost ! 

From  the  warmth  of  the  sun  that  has  set  ? 

I 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


125 


Oh  I  sweet  is  the  tear  on  that  languishing  smile, 

That  srnile,  which  is  lovehest  then  ; 
And  if  sucli  are  tlie  drops  that  delight  can  beguile, 

Thou  shall  weep  them  again  and  again. 


LIGHT  SOUNDS  THE  HARP. 

Ijght  sounds  the  harp  when  the  combat  is  over, 
When  heroes  are  resting,  and  joy  is  in  bloom  ; 
AViien  laurels  hang  loose  from  the  brow  of  the  lover, 
And  Cupid  makes  wings  of  tlie  warrior's  plume. 
But,  when  the  foe  returns, 
Aerain  tlie  hero  bimis  ; 
High  flames  the  sword  in  his  liand  once  more: 
The  clang  of  mingling  arms 
Is  then  the  sound  tiiat  charms, 
Am     Drazcn    notes    of   war,  that  stirring  trumpets 

pour ; — 

Then,  again  comes  the  Harp,  when  the  combat  is 

over — 

When  heroes  are  resting,  and  Joy  is  in  bloom — 

When  laurels  hang  loose  from  tlie  brow  of  the  lover, 

And  Cupid  makes  wings  of  the  warrior's  plume. 

Light  went  tho  harp  when  the  War-God,  reclining, 

Lay  lulPd  on  the  white  arm  of  Beauty  to  rest. 
When     round     his    rich    armor   the    mjTtle    hung 
twining, 
And  flights  of  young  doves  made  his  helmet  their 
nest. 

But,  when  the  battle  came, 
The  hero's  eye  breathed  flame : 
Soon  from  his  neck  the  white  arm  was  flung  ; 
While,  to  his  wak'ning  ear. 
No  other  somids  were  dear 
But    brazen    notes  of  war,  by  thousand    trumpets 

sung. 
But  then  came  the  light  harp,  when  danger  was 
ended. 
And   Beauty  once  more  lull'd  the  War-God  to 
rest ; 
When  tresses  of  gold  with  his  laiu*els  lay  blended. 
And  flights  of  young  doves  made  his  helmet  their 
nest. 


i  EyxEt,  Kai  iraXtv  cive,  jtoXm',  jraXtv,  'liXioSiopa^ 
EiTC,  aw  aKpT)ri->  to  y\vKV  fnf^y^  ovofia. 
Km  ftoi  TQv  ^ptxOf-vra  fivpot^  koi  x^'i""**  tovra, 
ilvaftoavi/ov  Ketyas,  ap.^iTiQct  arz^avov 


FROM 

THE  GREEK  OF  MELEAGER.' 

Fill  high  tho  cup  with  liquid  flame, 
And  speak  my  Heliodora's  name. 
Repeat  its  magic  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  let  the  sound  my  lips  adore, 
Live  in  tho  breeze,  till  ever)*  tone. 
And  word,  and  breath,  speaks  her  alone. 

Give  me  the  wreath  that  withers  there, 

It  was  but  last  delicious  night. 
It  circled  her  luxuriant  hair, 

And  caught  her  eyes'  reflected  light. 
Oh  !  haste,  and  twine  it  round  my  brow  : 
'Tis  all  of  her  tliat's  left  me  now. 
And  see — eacli  rosebud  drops  a  tear, 
To  find  the  nymph  no  longer  here — 
No  longer,  where  such  heavenly  charms 
As  hers  should  be — witliin  these  arms. 


SONG. 


Fly  from  the  world,  O  Bessy  !  to  me, 

Thou  wilt  never  And  any  sinoerer ; 
I'll  give  up  the  wc:«i,  O  Bessy  !  for  thee, 

I  can  never  meet  any  that's  dearer. 
Then  tell  me  no  more,  with  a  tear  and  a  sigh, 

That  our  loves  will  be  censured  by  many  ; 
All,  all  have  their  follies,  and  who  will  deny 

That  ours  is  the  sweetest  of  any  1 

When   your   lip    has  met  mine,  in  communion  so 
sweet. 

Have  we  felt  as  if  virtue  forbid  it  ?— 
Have  we  felt  as  if  heav'n  denied  them  to  meet  ? — 

No,  rather  'twas  heav'n  that  did  it. 
So  innocent,  love,  is  the  joy  we  then  sip, 

So  little  of  wrong  is  there  in  it, 
That  I  wish  all  my  errors  were  lodged  on  your  lip, 

And  I'll  kiss  them  away  in  a  minute. 

Then  come  to  your  lover,  oh !  fly  to  his  shed, 
From  a  world  which  I  know  thou  despisest ; 

And  slumber  will  hover  as  light  o'er  our  bed 
As  e'er  on  the  couch  of  tho  wisest. 

AaKpvci  (fn\EpaaTov  t^ov  podov,  ovvEKa  KZtvav 
AWuOi  jc'  ov  KoXrroig  i]fi£T£pnti cffopa. 

Brunck.  Analcct.  Imii.  i.  p.  28. 


126                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

And  when  o'er  our  pillow  the  tempest  is  driven, 

Then  bid  me  not  to  despair  and  pine. 

And  thou,  pretty  innocent,  fearest, 

Fanny,  dearest  of  all  the  dears! 

I'll  tell  thee,  it  is  not  the  chiding  of  heaven, 

The  Love  that's  order'd  to  bathe  in  wine. 

'Tis  only  our  lullaby,  dearest. 

Would  be  sure  to  take  cold  in  tears. 

And,  oh !  while  we  lie  on  our  deathbed,  my  love, 

Reflected  bright  in  this  heart  of  mine, 

Looking  back  on  the  scene  of  our  errors. 

Fanny,  dearest,  thy  image  lies ; 

A  sigh  from  my  Bessy  shall  plead  then  above. 

But,  ah,  the  mirror  would  cease  to  shine, 

And  Deatli  be  disann'd  of  his  terrors. 

If  dimm'd  too  often  with  sighs. 

And  each  to  the  other  embracing  will  say. 

They  lose  the  half  of  beauty's  light. 

"  Farewell !  let  us  hope  we're  forgiven." 

Who  view  it  through  sorrow's  tear ; 

Thy  last  fading  glance  will  illumine  the  way, 

And  'tis  but  to  see  thee  truly  bright 

And  a  kiss  be  our  passport  to  heaven ! 

That  I  keep  my  eye-beam  clear. 

Then  wait  no  longer  till  tears  shall  flow. 

Fanny,  dearest — the  hope  is  vain; 

If  sunshine  cannot  dissolve  thy  snow, 
I  shall  never  attempt  it  with  rain. 

THE  RESEMBLANCE. 

vo  cercand'  io, 

Donna,  quant' e  possibile,  in  altrai 

La  desiata  vostra  forma  vera. 

Petraec.  Sonnett.  14. 

Ye*,  if  'twere  any  common  love, 

THE  RING. 

That  led  my  pliant  heart  astray, 

I  grant,  there's  not  a  power  above. 

TO 

Could  wipe  the  faithless  crime  away. 

No — Lady !  Lady  !  keep  the  ring : 

But,  twas  my  doom  to  err  with  one 

On !  tliink,  how  many  a  future  year, 

In  every  look  so  like  to  thee 

Of  placid  smile  and  downy  wing. 

That,  underneath  yon  blessed  sun, 

M.iy  sleep  within  its  holy  sphere. 

So  fair  there  are  but  thou  and  she. 

Do  not  disturb  their  tranquil  dream. 

Both  born  of  beauty,  at  a  birth. 

Though  love  hath  ne'er  the  myst'ry  warm'd  ; 

She  held  with  thine  a  kindred  sway, 

Yet  heaven  will  shed  a  soothing  beam. 

And  wore  the  only  shape  on  earth 

To  bless  the  bond  itself  hath  form'd. 

That  could  have  lured  my  soul  to  stray. 

But  then,  that  eye,  that  burning  eye, — 
Oil !  it  doth  ask,  with  witching  power. 

Then  blame  me  not,  if  false  I  be. 

'Twas  love  that  waked  the  fond  excess  ; 

If  heaven  can  ever  bless  the  tie 

My  heart  had  been  more  true  to  thee, 

Where  love  mwreaths  no  genial  flower  ? 

Had  mine  eye  prized  thy  beauty  less. 

Away,  away,  bewildering  look. 

Or  all  the  boast  of  virtue's  o'er ; 
Go — hie  thee  to  the  sage's  book, 

And  learn  from  him  to  feel  no  more. 

FANNY,  DEAREST. 

I  cannot  warn  thee  :  every  touch. 

Yes  !  had  I  leisure  to  sigh  and  moum, 

That  brings  my  pulses  close  to  tliine, 

Fanny,  dearest,  for  thee  I'd  sigh  ; 

Tells  me  I  want  thy  aid  as  much — 

And  every  smile  on  my  cheek  should  turn 

Ev'n  more,  alas,  than  thou  dost  mine. 

To  tears  when  thou  art  nigh. 

But,  between  love,  aud  wine,  and  sleep, 

Yet,  stay, — one  hope,  one  efTorf  yet — 

So  busy  a  life  I  live. 

A  moment  turn  those  eyes  away. 

That  even  the  time  it  would  take  to  weep 

And  let  me,  if  I  can,  forget 

Is  more  than  my  heart  can  give. 

The  light  that  leads  my  soul  astray. 

i 


i 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


127 


Thou  say'st,  that  we  were  bom  to  meet, 
That  our  liearts  bear  one  common  seal ; — 

Think,  Lady,  tliink,  how  man's  deceit 
Can  seem  to  sigh  and  feign  to  feel. 

When,  o'er  thy  face  some  gleam  of  thought, 
Like  daybeams  through  the  morning  air, 

Hath  gradual  stole,  and  I  have  caught 
The  feeling  ere  it  kindled  there ; 

The  sjTnpathy  I  then  betray 'd. 

Perhaps  was  but  the  child  of  art, 
T'he  guile  of  one,  who  long  hath  play'd 

With  all  these  wily  nets  of  heart. 

O  !  thino  is  not  my  earliest  vow ; 

Though  few  the  years  I  yet  have  told, 
Canst  thou  believe  I've  lived  till  now, 

With  loveless  heart  or  senses  cold? 

No — other  nymphs  to  joy  and  pain 

This  wild  and  wandering  heart  hath  moved  ; 
With  some  it  sported,  wild  and  vain, 

Wliile  some  it  dearly,  truly  loved. 

The  cheek  to  thine  I  fondly  lay, 
To  theirs  hath  been  as  fondly  laid ; 

The  words  to  thee  I  warmly  say, 
To  them  have  been  as  warmly  said. 

Then,  scorn  at  once  a  worthless  heart, 

Worthless  alike,  or  fix'd  or  free ; 
Think  of  tlie  pure,  bright  soul  thou  art, 

And — love  not  rae,  oh  love  not  me. 

Enough — now,  turn  thine  eyes  again  ; 

Wliat,  still  that  look  and  still  that  sigh ! 
Dost  thou  not  feel  my  counsel  then? 

Oh ;  no,  beloved, — nor  do  L 


THE  INVISIBLE  GIRL. 

Thev  tr)'  to  persuade  me,  my  dear  little  sprite, 
That  you're  7)ot  a  true  daughter  of  ether  and  light. 
Nor  have  any  concern  with  those  fanciful  forms 
That  dance  upon  rainbows  and  ride  upon  storms ; 
That,  in  short,  you're  a  woman ;  your  lip  and  your 

eye 
As  mortal  as  ever  drew  gods  from  the  sky. 
But  I  Kill  not  believe  them — no,  Science,  to  you 
I  havo  long  bid  a  last  and  a  careless  adieu : 


Still  flying  from  Nature  to  study  her  laws, 

And  dulling  delight  by  exploring  its  cause. 

You  forget  how  superior,  for  mortals  below. 

Is  the  fiction  they  dieam  to  the  truth  that  they 

know. 
Oh  !  who,  that  has  e'er  enjoy'd  rapture  complete. 
Would  ask  hoio  we  feel  it,  or  wltj/  it  is  sweet ; 
How  rays  are  confused,  or  how  particles  tly 
Through  the  medium  refined  of  a  glance  or  a  sigh  ; 
Is  there  one,  who  but  once  would  not  rather  have 

known  it. 
Than  written,  with  Harvey,  whole  volumes  upon  it? 

As  for  you,  my  sweet-voiced  and  invisible  love, 
You  must  surely  be  one  of  those  spirits,  tliat  rove 
By  the  bank  where,  et  twilight,  the  poet  reclines, 
When  the  star  of  the  west  on  his  solitude  shines. 
And  the  magical  figures  of  fancy  have  hung 
Every  breeze  with  a  sigh,  every  leaf  with  a  tongue. 
Oh  !  hint  to  him  then,  'tis  retirement  alone 
Can  hallow  his  harp  or  ennoble  its  tone  ; 
Like  you,  with  a  veil  of  seclusion  between. 
His  song  to  the  world  let  him  utter  unseen. 
And  like  you,  a  legitimate  child  of  the  spheres. 
Escape  from  the  eye  to  em'apture  the  ears. 

Sweet  spirit  of  mystery !  how  I  should  love, 
In  the  wearisome  ways  I  am  fated  to  rove. 
To  have  you  thus  ever  invisibly  nigh, 
Inhahng  forever  yom'  song  and  your  sigh ! 
Mid  the  crowds  of  the  world  and  the  mummrs  of 

care, 
I  might  sometimes  converse  with  my  nymph  of  the 

air. 
And  turn  with  distaste  from  the  clamorous  crew, 
To  steal  in  the  pauses  one  whisper  from  you. 

Then,  come  and  be  near  me,  forever  be  mine. 
We  shall  hold  in  the  au"  a  communion  divine. 
As  sweet  as,  of  old,  was  imagined  to  dwell 
In  the  grotto  of  Numa,  or  Socrates'  cell. 
And  oft,  at  those  lingering  moments  of  night. 
When  the  heart's  busy  thoughts  have  put  slnmber 

to  flight. 
You  shall  come  to  my  pillow  and  tell  me  of  love, 
Such  as  angel  to  angel  might  whisper  above. 
Sweet   spirit  I — and   then,   could   you   borrow   the 

tone 
Of  that   voice,   to   my   ear   like   some   fairy-song 

known. 
The  voice  of  the  one  upon  earth,  who  has  twined 
With  her  being  forever  my  heart  and  my  mind, 
Though  lonely  and  far  from  the  light  of  her  smile. 
An  exile,  aud  weary  and  hopeless  the  while, 
Could  you  shed  for  a  moment  her  voice  on  my  ear, 
I  will  think,  for  that  moment,  that  Cara  is  near ; 


128 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


That  slio   comos  with   cnnsoling  enchantment   to 

Bpeak, 
And  kisses  my  eyeUd  and  breathes  on  my  clieek, 
And  tells  me,  the  night  shall  go  rapidly  by, 
For  the  dawn  of  our  hope,  of  our  heaven  is  nigh. 

Fair  spirit  I  if  such  be  your  magical  power. 
It  will  lighten  the  lapse  of  full  many  an  hour ; 
And,  let  fortune's  realities  frown  as  they  will, 
Hope,  fancy,  and  Cara  may  smile  for  rae  still. 


THE  RING.' 

A  TALE. 
Annulus  ille  viri. — Ovid.  Jlmor.  lib.  ii.  eleg.  15. 

The  happy  day  at  length  arrived 

When  Rupert  was  to  wed 
The  fairest  maid  in  Saxony, 

And  take  her  to  his  bed. 

As  soon  as  mom  was  in  the  sky, 

The  feast  and  sports  began ; 
The  men  admired  the  happy  maid, 

The  maids  the  happy  man. 

In  many  a  sweet  device  of  mirth 

The  day  was  pass'd  along  ; 
And  somo  the  featly  dance  amused, 

And  some  the  dulcet  song. 

The  younger  maids  with  Isabel 

Disported  through  tlie  bowers. 
And  deck'd  her  robe,  and  crown'd  her  head 

With  motley  bridal  flowers. 

The  matrons  all  in  rich  attire, 

Within  the  castle  avails. 
Sat  listening  to  the  choral  strains 

That  ecbo'd  through  the  halls. 

Young  Rupert  and  his  friends  repajr'd 

Unto  a  spacious  court. 
To  strike  the  bounding  tennis-ball 

In  feat  and  manly  sport. 


*  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  that  my  friend  had  any  serious 
intentions  of  lri;:hlening  the  nursery  iiy  this  story;  I  rather 
hdjie — Ihouyh  the  manner  of  it  leails  itie  to  doul)t — that  his 
design  was  to  ridiciiie  that  distcm[M^red  taste  which  prefers 
those  monsters  of  the  fancy  to  the  "speciosa  miracnia"  of 
true  poetic  imagination. 


The  bridegroom  on  his  finger  wore 
The  wedding-ring  so  bright, 

Which  was  to  grace  the  lily  hand 
Of  Isabel  that  night. 

And  fearing  lie  might  break  the  gem. 

Or  lose  it  in  the  play, 
He  look'd  around  the  court,  to  see 

Where  he  the  ring  might  lay. 

Now  in  the  court  a  statue  stood. 
Which  there  full  long  had  been ; 

It  might  a  Heathen  goddess  be, 
Or  else,  a  Heathen»queen. 

Upon  its  marble  finger  then 

He  tried  the  ring  to  fit ; 
And,  thinking  it  was  safest  there. 

Thereon  he  fasten'd  it. 

And  now  the  tennis  sports  went  on. 

Till  they  were  wearied  all, 
And  messengers  announced  to  them 

Then-  dinner  in  the  hall. 

Young  Rupert  for  his  wedding-ring 

Unto  the  statue  went ; 
But,  oh,  how  shock'd  was  he  to  fuid 

The  marble  finger  bent ! 

The  hand  was  closed  upon  the  ring 
With  firm  and  mighty  clasp  ; 

In  vain  he  tried,  and  tried,  and  tried, 
He  coidd  not  loose  the  grasp ! 

Then  sore  surprised  was  Rupert's  mind — 
And  well  his  mind  might  be  ; 

"  I'll  come,"  quoth  he,  "  at  night  again, 
"  When  none  are  here  to  see." 

He  went  unto  the  feast,  and  much 

He  thought  upon  his  ring ; 
And  mar^'ell'd  sorely  what  could  mean 

So  very  strange  a  thing  I 

The  feast  was  o'er,  and  to  the  court 

He  hied  without  delay, 
Resolved  to  break  the  marble  hand 

And  force  the  ring  away. 


I  find,  by  a  note  in  the  manuscript,  that  he  met  with  this 
story  in  a  German  author.  Fromman  upon  Fascinntiou,  Imok 
iii.  partvi.  ch.  18.  On  consulting  the  work,  I  perceive  that 
Fromman  quotes  it  from  Beluacensis,  among  many  oltier 
stories  equally  diabolical  and  interesting.  E. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


129 


But,  mark  a  stranger  wonder  still — 

The  ring  was  there  no  more, 
And  yet  the  marble  hand  uugrasp'd, 

And  open  as  before ! 

lie  search'd  t!ie  base,  and  all  the  court. 

But  nothing  could  he  find ; 
Then  to  the  castle  hied  he  back 

Witli  sore  bev.'ilder'd  mind. 

Within  he  found  them  all  in  mirth, 

The  night  in  dancing  flew  ; 
The  youtli  another  ring  procured. 

And  none  the  adventure  knew. 

And  now  the  priest  has  join'd  their  hands, 

The  lioui-s  of  love  advance  : 
Rupert  almost  forgets  to  think 

Upon  the  morn's  mischance. 

Within  the  bed  fair  Isabel 

In  bluslring  sweetness  lay. 
Like  flowers,  half-opeu'd  by  the  dawn, 

And  waiting  for  the  day. 

And  Rupert,  by  her  lovely  side, 

In  youthful  beauty  glows. 
Like  Phoebus,  when  he  bends  to  cast 

His  beams  upon  a  rose. 

And  here  my  song  would  leave  them  both, 

Nor  let  the  rest  be  told, 
If  'twere  not  for  the  hoiTid  tale 

It  yet  has  to  imfold. 

Soon  Rupert,  'twixt  his  bride  and  him, 

A  death-cold  carcass  found  ; 
He  saw  it  not,  but  thought  he  felt 

Its  arms  embrace  liim  round. 

He  started  >ip,  and  then  return'd. 

But  found  the  phantom  still ; 
In  vain  he  shrunk,  it  clipp'd  him  round, 

Willi  damp  and  deadly  chill ! 

And  when  he  bent,  the  earthy  lips 

A  kiss  of  horror  gave  ; 
'Twas  like  the  smell  from  charuel  vaults. 

Or  from  the  mould' ring  grave  ! 

Ill-fated  Rupert  I — wild  and  loud 

Then  cried  he  to  his  wife, 
"  Oh  !  save  me  from  this  horrid  fiend, 

"  My  Isabel !  my  life  !" 

But  Isabel  had  nothing  seen. 

She  look'd  around  in  vain ; 
And  much  she  moum'd  the  mad  conceit 

That  rack'd  her  Rupert's  brain. 


At  length  from  this  invisible 
These  words  to  Rupert  came : 

(Oh  God !  while  he  did  hear  the  words 
What  terror  shook  his  frame  '.) 

"  Husband,  husband,  I've  the  ring 

"  Thou  gav'st  to-day  to  me  ; 
"  And  thou'rt  to  me  forever  wed, 

"  As  I  am  wed  to  thee  !" 

And  all  the  night  the  demon  lay 

Cold-chilling  by  his  side. 
And  strain'd  him  with  such  deadly  grasp. 

He  thought  he  should  have  died. 

But  when  the  dawn  of  day  was  near. 

The  horrid  phantom  fled, 
And  left  th'  affrighted  youth  to  weep 

By  Isabel  in  bed. 

And  all  that  day  a  gloomy  cloud 
Was  seen  ou  Rupert's  brows  ; 

Fair  Isabel  was  likewise  sad. 
But  strove  to  cheer  her  spouse. 

And,  as  the  day  advanced,  he  thought 

Of  coming  night  with  fear ; 
Alas,  that  he  should  dread  to  view 

The  bed  that  should  be  dear ! 

At  length  the  second  night  arrived, 
Again  their  couch  they  press'd  ; 

Poor  Rupert  hoped  that  all  w:^  o'er. 
And  look'd  for  love  and  rest. 

But  oh  !  when  midnight  came,  again 

The  fiend  was  at  his  side, 
And,  as  it  strain'd  him  in  its  grasp. 

With  howl  exulting  cried : — 

"  Husband,  husband,  I've  the  ring, 
"  The  ring  thou  gav'st  to  me  ; 

"  And  thou'rt  to  me  forever  wed, 
"  As  I  am  wed  to  thee  !" 

In  agony  of  wild  despair, 

He  started  from  the  bed  ; 
And  thus  to  his  bewilder'd  %vife 

The  trembling  Rupert  said : 

"  Oh  Isabel !  dost  thou  not  see 

"  A  shape  of  horrors  here, 
"  That  strains  me  to  its  deadly  kiss, 

"  And  keeps  me  from  my  dear  ?" 

"  No,  no,  my  love !  my  Rupert,  I 

"  No  shape  of  horrors  see ; 
'*  And  much  I  mourn  the  phantasy 

"  That  keeps  my  dear  from  me." 


130                                             MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

This  night,  just  like  the  night  before, 

In  terrors  pass'd  away, 
Nor  did  the  demon  vanish  thence 

Before  the  dawn  of  day. 

And,  as  the  gloomy  train  advanced, 

Rupert  beheld  from  far 
A  female  form  of  wanton  mien 

High  seated  on  a  car. 

Said  Rupert  then,  "  My  Isabel, 
"  Dear  partner  of  my  wo, 

"  To  Fatlier  Austin's  holy  cave 
"  This  instant  will  I  go." 

And  Rupert,  as  he  gazed  upon 
The  loosely  vested  dame, 

Thought  of  the  marble  statue's  look. 
For  hers  was  just  the  same. 

Now  Austin  was  a  reverend  man, 
Who  acted  wonders  maint — 

Wlrom  all  the  country  round  believed 
A  devil  or  a  saint ! 

Behind  her  walk'd  a  hideous  form, 
With  eyeballs  flashing  death ; 

Whene'er  he  breathed,  a  sulphiu'd  smoke 
Came  burning  in  his  breath. 

To  Father  Austin's  holy  cave 
Then  Rupert  straightway  went ; 

And  told  him  all,  and  ask'd  him  how 
These  horrors  to  prevent. 

He  seem'd  the  first  of  all  the  crowd. 

Terrific  towering  o'er  ; 
"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Rupert,  '  ihis  is  he, 

"  And  I  need  ask  no  more." 

The  Father  heard  the  youth,  and  then 

Retired  awhile  to  pray  ; 
And,  having  pray'd  for  half  an  hour 

Thus  to  the  youth  did  say : 

Then  slow  he  went,  and  to  this  fiend 
The  tablets  trembling  gave. 

Who  look'd  and  read  them  with  a  yell 
That  would  disturb  the  grave. 

**  There  is  a  place  where  four  roads  meet, 

"  Which  I  will  tell  to  thee  ; 
"  Be  there  this  eve,  at  fall  of  night, 

"  And  list  what  thou'  shalt  see 

Ajd  when  he  saw  the  blood-scrawl'd  name. 

His  eyes  with  fury  shine  ; 
"  I  thought,"  cries  he,  "  his  time  was  out, 

"  But  he  must  soon  be  mine  !" 

"  Thou'lt  see  a  group  of  figures  pass 

*'  lu  strange  disorder'd  crowd, 
**  Travelling  by  torchlight  through  the  roads, 

"  With  noises  strange  and  loud. 

Then  darting  at  the  youth  a  look 
Which  rent  his  sold  with  fear. 

He  went  unto  the  female  fiend, 
And  whisper'd  in  her  ear. 

•■  And  one  that's  high  above  the  rest, 

"  Terrific  towering  o'er, 
"  Will  make  thee  know  liim  at  a  glance, 

"  So  I  need  say  no  more. 

The  female  fiend  no  sooner  heard 
Than,  with  reluctant  look. 

The  very  ring  tliat  Rupert  lost, 
She  from  her  finger  took. 

"  To  him  from  me  these  tablets  give, 

"  They'll  quick  be  understood  ; 
"  Thou  necd'st  not  fear,  but  give  them  straight, 

"  I've  scrawl'd  them  with  my  blood!" 

And,  giving  it  unto  the  youth. 
With  eyes  that  breathed  of  hell, 

She  said,  in  that  tremendous  voice, 
Which  be  remember'd  well : 

The  nightfall  came,  and  Rupert  all 
In  pale  amazement  weut 

To  where  the  crossroads  met,  as  he 
Was  by  the  Father  sent. 

"  In  Austin's  name  take  back  the  ring, 

"  The  ring  thou  gav'st  to  me  ; 
"  And  thou'rt  to  me  no  longer  wed, 
-."  Nor  longer  I  to  thee." 

And  lo  !  a  group  of  figures  carao 

In  strange  disorder'd  crowd, 
Travelling  by  torchlight  through  the  roads, 

With  noises  strange  and  loud. 

He  took  the  ring,  the  rabble  pass'd. 
He  home  retum'd  again  ; 

His  wife  was  then  the  happiest  fair, 
The  happiest  he  of  men. 

JUVENILE 

POEMS.                                              131 

Beneath  the  touch  of  Hope,  how  soft. 

TO 

How  light  the  magic  pencil  ran  ! 

Till  Fear  would  come,  alas,  as  oft. 

ON  SEEING  HKR  WITH  A  WHITE  VEIL  AND  A  RICH  QIRDLB. 

And  trembling  close  what  Hope  began. 

Ma/ij/a/jtraf  dr^Xoutri  Saicpviiiv  fioop. 

A  tear  or  two  had  dropp'd  from  Grief, 

^p.  NiCEPHOR.  in  OneirocritiC). 

And  Jealousy  would,  now  and  then, 

Put  off  the  vestal  veil,  nor,  oh  1 
Let  weeping  angels  view  it ; 

Ruffle  in  haste  some  snow-white  leaf, 
Which  Love  had  still  to  smooth  again. 

Your  cheeks  belie  its  virgin  snow, 

But,  ah  !  there  came  a  blooming  boy, 

And  blush  repenting  through  it 

Who  often  tura"d  the  pages  o'er. 

And  wrote  therein  such  words  of  joy. 

That  all  who  read  them  sigh'd  for  more. 

The  sliining  pearls  around  it 
Are  tears,  tliat  fell  from  Virtue  there. 
The  hour  when  Love  unbound  it. 

And  Pleasure  was  this  spirit's  name. 

And  though  so  soft  his  voice  and  look, 
Yet  Innocence,  whene'er  he  came, 

Would  tremble  for  her  spotless  book. 
For,  oft  a  Bacchant  cup  he  bore, 

WRITTEN  IN  THE  BLANK  LEAF 

With  earth's  sweet  nectar  sparkling  bright ; 
Aud  much  she  fear'd  lest,  mantling  o'er, 

OF 

Some  drops  shoiUd  on  the  pages  light. 

A  LADY'S  COMMONPLACE  BOOK. 

And  so  it  chanced,  one  luckless  night. 

Here  is  one  leaf  reserved  for  me, 

The  urchin  let  that  goblet  fall 

From  all  thy  sweet  memorials  free ; 

O'er  the  fair  book,  so  pure,  so  white. 

And  liere  my  simple  song  might  tell 

And  sullied  lines  aud  marge  and  all ! 

Tlie  feelings  thou  must  guess  so  well. 
But  could  1  thus,  within  thy  mind, 
One  little  vacant  corner  find, 
AVliere  no  impression  yet  is  seen, 
Where  no  memorial  yet  hath  been, 

In  vain  now,  touch'd  with  shame,  he  tried 
To  wash  those  fatal  stams  away  ; 

Deep,  deep  had  suiik  the  sullying  tide, 
The  leaves  grew  darker  every  day. 

Oh  !  it  should  be  my  sweetest  care 
To  iDrite  my  name  forever  there  ! 

And  Fancy's  sketches  lost  tlieir  hue. 

And  Hope's  sweet  lines  were  all  effaced, 

And  Love  himself  now  scarcely  knew 

What  Love  himself  so  lately  traced. 

TO 

At  length  the  urchin  Pleasure  fled, 

(For  how,  alas !  could  Pleasure  stay  ?) 

MRS.  BL . 

And  Love,  while  many  a  tear  he  shed. 

WRITTEN    IN   HER   ALBOM. 

Reluctant  flung  the  book  away. 

TiiF.y  say  that  Love  had  once  a  book 

The  inde.t  now  alone  remains. 

(The  urchin  likes  to  copy  you,) 

Of  all  the  pages  spoil'd  by  Pleasure, 

Where,  all  who  came,  the  pencil  took, 

And  though  it  bears  some  earthy  stains, 

And  wrote,  like  us,  a  Ihie  or  two. 

Yet  Memory  comits  the  leaf  a  treasure. 

'Twas  Innocence,  the  maid  divine, 

And  oft,  they  say,  she  scans  it  o'er, 

Who  kept  tills  volume  bright  and  fair. 

And  oft,  by  this  memorial  aided. 

And  saw  that  no  unhallow'd  line 

Brings  back  the  pages  now  no  more, 

Or  thought  profane  should  enter  there ; 

And  tliinks  of  lines  that  long  have  faded 

And  daily  did  the  pages  fill 

I  know  not  if  this  tale  be  true. 

With  fond  device  and  loving  lore, 

But  tlius  the  simple  facts  are  stated ; 

And  ever)'  leaf  she  turn'd  was  still 

And  I  refer  their  truth  to  you, 

More  bright  than  that  she  turn'd  before. 

Since  Love  and  you  are  near  related. 

■ii^ 


133                                              MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

TO 

CARA, 

TO 

CARA, 

AFTER  AN  INTERVAL  OF  ABSENCE. 

on   THE    DAWmG    OF   A    NEW   TEAR'b   DAT 

CoNCKALD  within  the  shady  wood 

When  midnigl  came  to  close  the  year. 

A  mother  left  her  sleeping  child, 

We  sigti'd  Uliiuk  it  thus  should  lake 

And  flew,  to  cull  her  rustic  food. 

The  hours  it  pre  us — hours  as  dear 

The  fruitage  of  the  forest  wild. 

As  sj-mpath  and  love  could  make 

Their  blessed  oments, — every  sun 

But  storms  upon  her  pathway  rise, 

Saw  us,  my  ln>,  more  closely  one. 

The  mother  roams,  astray  and  weeping ; 

Far  from  the  weak  cj>pealing  cries 

But,  Cara,  win  the  dawn  was  nigh 

Of  him  she  left  so  sweetly  sleeping. 

Which  camn  new  year's  light  to  shed. 

That  smile  wctught  from  eye  to  eye 

She  hopes,  she  fi-ars ;  a  light  is  seen, 

Told  us,  the  moments  were  not  fled : 

And  gentler  blows  1  he  niglit  wind's  breath ; 

Oh,  no, — we  ft,  some  future  sun 

Yet  no — 'tis  gone — the  stpnns  are  keen, 

Should  see  us:ill  more  closely  one. 

The  infant  may  be  chill'd  to  death  ! 

Thus  may  wever,  side  by  side, 

Perhaps,  ev'u  now,  in  darkness  shrouded, 

From  happy  yirs  to  happier  glide ; 

His  little  eyes  lie  cold  and  still ; — 

And  still  thus  lay  the  passing  sigh 

.\nd  yet,  perhaps,  the)  are  not  clouded. 

We  give  toours,  that  vauish  o'er  la 

Life  and  love  may  light  them  still. 

Be  follow'd  bihe  smiling  eye. 

That  Hopeliall  shed  on  scenes  before  ua ; 

Thus,  Cara,  at  our  last  farewell, 

When,  fearful  ev'n  thy  hand  to  touch. 

I  nuitely  ask'd  those  eyes  to  tell 

If  parting  paiu'd  thco  half  so  much  : 

I  thought, — and,  oh  ;  forgive  the  thought. 

TO 

For  none  was  e'er  by  love  inspired 

^  1801. 

Whom  fancy  had  not  also  taught 

To  hope  the  bliss  his  soul  desired. 

To  be  the  thno  of  every  hour 

The  heart  d^otes  to  Fancy's  power. 

Yes.  I  ilid  think,  in  Cara's  mind, 

When  her  pmpt  n.agic  fills  the  mind 

Though  yet  to  that  sweet  mind  unknown, 

With  friendand  jo>-8  ve've  left  behind. 

I  left  one  iufant  wish  behind, 

And  joys  ram  and  friends  are  near, 

One  feeling  v  'lich  I  call'd  my  own. 

And  all  are  elcomed  with  a  tear : — 

In  the  mino  purest  seat  to  dwell. 

Oh  blest  1  though  out  in  fancy  blest. 

To  be  remeibcr'd  oft  and  well 

How  did  I  ask  of  Pity's  care. 

By  one  whe  heart,  though  vain  and  wild, 

To  shield  and  strengthen,  iu  thy  breast. 

By  passion  d,  by  youth  beguiled. 

The  nursling  I  had  cradled  there. 

Can  proudlrtill  aspire  to  be 

All  that  mt  yet  win  smiles  from  thee  >— 

If  thus  to  In  in  every  part 

And,  many  an  hour,  beguiled  by  pleasure. 

Of  a  lone,  vary  wanderer's  heart ; 

And  many  an  htjur  of  sorrow  numb'ring. 

If  thus  to  lits  sole  employ 

I  ne'er  forgot  the  new-born  treasure. 

Can  give  Ud  one  faint  gleam  of  joy. 

I  left  within  thy  bosom  slumb'ring. 

Believe  it,  Tary,— oh !  believe 

A  tongue  tit  never  can  deceive, 

Perhaps,  indifference  has  not  chill'd  it, 

Though,  emg,  it  too  oft  betray 

Haply,  it  yet  a  tluob  may  give — 

Ev'n  more  lan  Love  should  dare  to  say, — 

Yet,  no — perhaps,  a  doubt  has  kill'd  it ; 

In  Pleasure  dream  or  Sorrow's  hour, 

Say,  dearest — does  the  feeling  live  t 

In  crowded!  all  or  lonely  bower. 

dtp  ■▼ 


-^ 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


133 


The  business  of  my  life  shall  be, 

Forever  to  remember  thee. 

And  though  that  heart  be  dead  to  mine, 

Since  I^ove  is  life  and  wakes  not  thine, 

I'll  take  thy  image,  as  the  form 

Of  one  whoi)"'.  T-ove  had  fail'd  to  warm, 

"Which,  though  it  yield  no  answering  thrill, 

Is  not  less  dear,  is  woi-shipp'd  still — 

I'L  take  it,  wheresoe'er  I  stray, 

The  bright,  cole  burden  of  my  way. 

To  keep  this  semblance  fresh  in  bloom, 

My  heart  shall  be  its  lasting  tomb, 

And  Memoiy-,  with  embalming  care, 

Shall  keep  it  fresh  and  fadeless  there. 


GENIUS  OF  HARMONY, 

AN  IRREGULAR  ODE. 

Ad  harmoniam  canere  tmindum. 

Cicero  de  J\rat.  Dear.,  lib.  iii. 

There  lies  a  shell  beneath  tlie  waves, 
In  many  a  hollow  winding  wreath'd, 
Such  as  of  old 
Echoed  the  breath  that  warbling  sea-maids  breathed  ; 
This  magic  shell, 
From  the  white  bosom  of  a  syren  fell, 
As  once  she  wander'd  by  the  tide  that  laves 
Sicilia's  sands  of  gold. 

*  la  the  "  Histoire  Natnrelle  des  Antilles,"  there  is  an  ac- 
connt  of  some  curious  shells,  found  at  Curacua,  on  the  back 
of  which  were  lines,  filled  with  musical  characters  so  dis- 
tinct and  perfect,  that  the  writer  assures  us  a  very  charming 
Irio  was  sung  from  one  of  them-  "On  le  noninie  musical, 
parccqu'il  porta  sur  le  dos  des  lignes  noiralres  pleines  de 
notes,  qui  ont  une  espece  de  c!e  pour  les  nieUre  en  chant, 
de  sorle  que  Ton  diroit  qu'il  ne  manque  que  la  lettre  acelte 
t;iJ)l;iture  naturelle.  Cecurieux  gentilhomme  (M.  du  Montel) 
rapportc  qu'il  enavii  qui  avoient  cinq  licnes,xine  cl6,et  des 
notes,  qui  fcrmoient  un  accord  parfait  Quelqu'un  y  avoit 
ajouiii  la  Icllre,  que  la  nature  avottoubli^e.et  la  faisoit  chan- 
ter en  forme  de  trio,  dont  rair^toit  fort  agr6able." — Chap.  xix. 
art.  11.  The  author  adds,  a  poet  might  imagine  that  these 
shells  were  used  by  Uie  syrens  at  their  concerts. 

^  According  to  Cicero,  and  his  commenUitor,  Macrobius, 
tlie  lunar  tone  is  the  CTavest  and  faintest  on  the  planetary 
heptachord.  "Uuam  ob  causam  suminus  ille  cojli  stellifcr 
cursus,  cujus  conversio  est  concitatior,  acuto  et  excitato 
movelur  snno;  gravissimo  autem  hie  lunarisalquc  infiinus." 
— Somrt.  Scip.  Because,  says  Macrobius,  "spirilu  ut  in  ei- 
tremilate  languescente  jam  volvitur,  et  propter  angustias 
quibus  penultinuis  urbis  arctatur  impelu  leniore  converCitur." 
— In  Hfimn.  Scip.,  lib.  ii.  cap.  4.  In  their  musical  arrange- 
ment of  the  heavenly  bodies,  the  ancient  writers  are  not  very 
intelligible. — See  Ptaletn.,  lib.  iii. 

Leone  Hebrco,  in  pursuing  the  idea  of  Arl^^totle,  tliat  the 
heavens  are  animal,  attributes  their  harmony  to  perft-rt  and 
reciprocal  love.  "  Non  pern  manca  fra  loro  il  perfeito  et 
reciproco  ainore:  la  causa  principale,  che  ne  mostra  il  loro 


It  bears 
Upon  ita  shining  side  the  mystic  notes, 

Of  those  entrancmg  airs,*" 

The  genii  of  the  deep  were  wont  to  swell, 

^Vhen  heaven's  eternal  orbs  their  midnight  mnsie 

Oh  !  seek  it,  wheresoe'er  it  floats  ;  [roU'd  ! 

And,  if  t'.ie  power 

Of  thrilling  numbers  to  Ihy  soul  be  dear, 

Go,  bring  the  bright  shell  to  my  bower, 
And  I  will  fold  tliee  in  such  downy  dreams 
As  lap  the  Spirit  of  the  Seventh  Sphere, 
When  Luna's  distant  tone  falls  faintly  on  his  ear" 
And  thou  shalt  owiis 
That,  through  the  circlo  of  creation's  zone, 
Where  matter  slunibeni;  or  where  spirit  beams; 
From  the  pellucid  tides,^  that  whirl 
The  planets  tlu-oufr'i  their  maze  of  song. 
To  the  small  rill,  tl  at  weeps  along 
Murmuring  o'er  beiis  ->f  peai'l ; 
From  the  rich  sigh 
Of  the  sun's  arrov/  through  an  evening  sky,* 
To  the  faint  breath  tl  e  tuneful  osier  yields 

On  x\fric's  burning  fields  ;^ 
Thou'lt  wondering  own  this  universe  divine 

Is  mine ! 
That  I  respire  in  all  and  all  in  me, 
One  mighty  mmgled  soul  of  boundless  harmony. 

Welcome,  welcome,  mystic  shell ! 
Many  a  star  has  ceased  to  bum," 
Many  a  tear  has  Saturn's  vmi 
O'er  the  cold  bosom  of  the  ocean  wept,'' 

amore,  e  la  lor  amicitia  armonica  et  la  concordanza,  che 
perpeluamente  si  trova  in  loro." — Dialog,  ii.  di  Amore,  p. 
58.  This  "  reciprico  amore"  of  Leone  is  the  ^lAurr/s  of  the 
ancient  Einpedocles,  who  seems,  in  his  Love  and  Uate  of 
the  Elements,  to  have  given  a  glimpse  of  the  principles  of 
attraction  and  repulsion.  See  the  fragment  to  which  I  al- 
lude in  Laertius,  AX>ort  ftcv  ^iXorf/n,  cTVi'Epx''f'^f\  *■  t-  ^-i 
lib.  viii.  cap.  2,  n.  13. 

s  Leucippus,  the  atomist,  im^ined  a  kind  of  vortices  in 
the  heavens,  which  he  borrowed  from  Anaxagoras,  and  pos- 
sibly suggested  to  Descartes. 

*  Hcractide5,  upon  the  allegories  of  Homer,  conjectures 
that  the  idea  of  the  harmony  of  the  spheres  originated  with 
this  poet,  who,  in  representing  the  solar  beams  as  arrows, 
su|>poses  them  to  emit  a  peculiar  sound  in  the  air. 

5  In  tlie  account  of  Africa  which  D'Ablancourt  has  trans- 
lated, there  is  mention  of  a  tree  in  that  country,  whose 
branches  when  shaken  by  the  hand  produce  very  sweet 
sounds,  "Le  nieme  auteur  (Abenzogar)  dit,  qu'il  y  a  un 
certain  arbre,  qui  produit  des  gaules  conime  d'oster,  et  qu  en 
les  prenant  a  la  main  et  les  branlant.  elles  font  une  cspece 
d'harmonie  fort  agr6able,"  &c.  Sec. — V Jifrique dc  Marmol. 

fl  Alluding  to  the  extinction,  or  at  least  the  disap|)ea ranee, 
of  some  of  those  fixed  stars,  which  we  are  taught  to  consider 
as  suns,  attended  each  by  its  system.  Descartes  thought 
that  our  earth  might  formerly  have  been  a  sun.  which  be- 
came obscured  by  a  thick  incrusLition  over  its  surface.  This 
prolKibly  suggested  the  idea  of  a  central  fire. 

'  Porphyry  sa>.  ,  thnt  Pythagoras  held  the  sea  to  beatear, 
T^jv  ^aXoTTav  ^tv  iKtiXtt  uvai  iaxpvov,  (De  VitS. ;)  and  some 


134 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Since  thy  aerial  spell 
Hath  in  the  waters  slept. 
Now  blest  I'll  fly 
With  the  bright  treasure  to  my  choral  sky, 
Where  she,  who  waked  its  early  swell, 
The  Syren  of  the  heavenly  choir. 
Walks  o'er  the  great  string  of  my  Orpliic  Lyre  ;* 
Or  guides  around  the  burning  pole 
The  winged  chariot  of  some  blissfid  soul  :^  ' 
While  thou— 
Oh  son  of  earth,  what  dreams  shall  rise  for  thee  1 
Beneath  Hispania's  smi, 
Tliou'lt  see  a  streamlet  run, 
Which  I've  imbued  with  breathing  melody ;' 
And  there,  when  night-winds  down  tlie  current  die, 
Thou'lt  hear  how  like  a  harp  its  waters  sigh: 
A  liquid  chord  is  everj^  wave  that  flows. 
An  air)'  plectrum  every  breeze  that  blows.* 

There,  by  that  wondrous  stream, 

Go,  lay  thy  languid  brow, 
And  I  will  send  thee  such  a  godlike  dream, 
As  never  bless'd  the  slumbers  even  of  him,* 
Who,  many  a  night,  with  liis  primordial  lyre,* 

Sate  on  the  chill  Pangiean  mount,'' 

And,  looking  to  the  orient  dim, 
Watch'd  the  first  flowing  of  that  sacred  fount, 

From  which  his  soul  had  di-unk  its  fire. 


one  else,  if  I  mistake  not,  has  added  the  planet  Saturn  as  the 
source  of  it.  Empedocles,  with  similar  affectation,  called  the 
sea  "  the  sweat  of  the  earth  :"  Idpojra  rns  yr}S-  See  Rittcrs- 
husius  vpon  Porphyry,  Num.  41. 

I  The  system  of  the  harmonized  orbs  was  styled  by  the  an- 
cients the  Great  Lyre  of  Orpheus,  for  which  Lucian  thus 
accounts; — fi  6c  Avpn  e-raitirog  Eovua  rrjv  tuiv  Kivov^tvusv 
aarpoiv  apitovtav  avvt0a\XcTo,  k.  r.  \.  in  Jistrolog. 

^  ^ui\£  ip'^X'^^  icapiOjiovg  Tois  aarpnii,  iv£i}xc  5'  iKaarriv 
wpogUacTov,  Kai  €p(3i0aaai  'flS  EIS  OXHMA.—"  Distribu- 
ting the  souls  severally  among  the  stars,  and  moundng  each 
soul  upon  a  star  as  on  its  chariot."— P/afo,  Timaus. 

3  This  musical  river  is  mentioned  in  the  romance  of 
Achilles  Tatius.  En-ri  vora^tov  .  .  rju  h  aKOVcai  ^eXrig  tov 
vdaras  XaXovuTo;.  The  Latin  version,  in  supplying  the  hia- 
tus which  is  in  the  ori-iinal,  has  placed  the  river  in  Hi*pa- 
nia.  ''  In  Hispania  quoque  fluvius  est,  queni  primo  aspectu," 
Slc.  &c. 

■•  These  two  lines  are  translated  from  the  words  of  Achilles 
Tatius.  Eat'  yap  o\iyo^  at'f/ioj  ciy  to?  Siva;  sptwear},  to  pzv 
■vdojp  ws  X'^P^I  KpovETftt.  TO  Si  TTi'fi'/ia  row  vSfiTos  nXriKTpov 
yivcrai.  Tu  pivpa  6c  wj  KiQapa  XaXet. — Lib.  ii. 

'•>  Orpheus. 

0  They  called  his  l)Te  ap^'"'*''?'"'''"'  iirraxopiov  Op^cws. 
See  a  curious  work  hy  a  professor  of  Greek  at  Venice,  enti- 
tled "ilebdomr.des,  sive  septcm  de  septenario  libri." — Lib. 
iv.  cap.  3,  p.  1*7. 

7  Eratosthenes,  in  mentioning  the  extreme  veneration  of 
Orpheus  for  Apollo,  says  that  he  was  accustomed  to  go  to  the 
Piingaian  mountain  at  daybreak,  and  there  wait  the  rising 
of  the  !-un,  that  he  might  be  the  first  to  hail  its  beams. — 
En'£j£t/)0/Jti'oj  Tt  rrii  vvKroi,  Kara  rtjv  1(j)Uivtjv  tm  to  opo^ 
TO  KaX<)V[iEvoi'  Tl'iyy  aiov,  vpocciuvc  rui  avaruXa^,  ti-a  i6ri 
Tuv  'IlAioi'  TtptiiTuv. — KaiaoTtptap.  24. 


Oh !  think  what  visions,  in  that  lonely  hour, 

Stole  o'er  his  musmg  breast ; 
What  pious  ecstasy® 
Wafted  his  prayer  to  that  eternal  Power, 
Whose  seal  upon  this  new-born  world  impressed* 
The  various  foniis  of  briglit  divinity  ! 

Or,  doet  thou  know  what  dreams  I  wove, 
*IVIid  the  deep  horror  of  that  silent  bower,*'* 
Where  the  rapt  Samian  slept  his  holy  slumber? 
When,  free 
From  earthly  chain, 
From  wreaths  of  pleasure  and  from  bonds  of  pain, 

His  spirit  flew  through  fields  above, 
Drank  at  the  source  of  nature's  fonta!  number," 
And  saw,  in  mystic  choir,  around  liim  move 
Tlie  stars  of  song,  Heaven's  burning  minstrelsy ! 
Such  dreams,  so  heavenly  bright, 
I  swear 
By  the  great  diadem  that  twines  my  hair. 
And  by  the  seven  gems  tliat  sparkle  tbere,'^ 

Mingling  their  beams 
In  a  soft  iris  of  harmonious  light, 

Oh,  mortal !  such  shall  be  thy  radiant  dreaias. 


8  There  are  some  verses  of  Orpheus  preserved  to  ns,  which 
contain  sublime  ideas  of  the  unity  and  magnificence  of  iho 
Deity.  For  instance,  those  which  Justin  Martyr  has  pro- 
duced : — 

OvTOi  fitv  xaXwio*'  eg  ovpavov  ccTrjpcKrai 

Xpuff£iw  evi  ^povo),  K.  T.  A.  .?J  Grtre.  Cokortat. 

It  is  thought  by  some  that  these  are  to  be  reckoned  among 
the  fabrications,  which  were  frequent  in  the  early  times  of 
Christianity.  Still,  it  appears  doubtful  lo  whom  they  are  to 
be  attributed,  being  too  pious  for  the  Pagans,  and  too  poeti- 
cal for  the  Fathers. 

»  In  one  of  the  Hymns  of  Orpheus,  he  attributes  a  figured 
seal  to  Apollo,  with  which  he  imagines  iliat  deity  to  have 
stamped  a  variety  of  forms  upon  llic  universe. 

'"  Alluding  to  the  cave  near  Samos,  where  Pythagoras  de- 
voted the  greater  part  of  his  days  and  nights  to  meditation 
and  the  mysteries  of  his  philosophy.  Imnbtich.  de  Vit.  This, 
as  riolstenius  remarks,  was  in  imitation  of  the  Magi. 

"  Tlie  tetractys,  or  sacred  number  of  the  Pytliagoreaus, 
on  which  they  solenmly  swore,  and  which  they  called  nayav 
atvaov  (fivaeois.  "  the  fountain  of  perennial  nature.'*  Lucian 
has  ridiculed  this  religious  arithmetic  very  cleverly  in  Ms 
?ale  of  Philosophers. 

"  This  diadem  is  intended  to  represent  the  analogy  be- 
tween the  notes  of  music  and  the  prismatic  colors.  We  (ind 
in  Plutarch  a  vague  intimation  of  this  kindred  harmony  in 
colors  and  sounds. — Otpii  te  koi  ukot},  pera  (fmivjis  tl  xat 
0fi)rOi-  Trjv  apfioviav  fTf^aii'oixri. — De  Jtlusica. 

Cassiodorus,  whose  idea  I  may  be  supposed  to  have  bor- 
rowed, says,  in  a  letter  upon  music  to  Boelius,  "Ut  diadema 
oculis,  varia  luce  gemmarum,  sic  cythara  diversitate  soni, 
blanditur  auditui."  This  is  indeed  the  only  tolerable  thought 
in  the  letter. — Lib.  ii.  Variar. 


V  {g^ 


^t' 


Vnr^,^- 


..^J^ 


4  ^   f  f 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


135 


I  FOUND  her  not — the  chamber  seem'd 

Like  some  divinely  haunted  place, 
Where  fairy  forms  had  lately  beam'd, 


When  piety  confess'd  the  flame, 
And  even  thy  errors  were  divine ; 


.iic  lji>y  wiii  ii>. 


P 


tlltf 


rough  this  ;,' 


136 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"T 


Stil!  be  the  son^  to  Psyche  dear, 

The  sonff,  whose  gentle  voice  was  given 

To  he,  on  earth,  to  mortal  ear, 
An  echo  of  her  own,  in  heaven. 


FROM 

THE  HIGH  PRIEST  OF  APOLLO 

TO 

A  VIRGIN  OF  DELPHI.i 


Cum  digno  digna  . 


"  Who  is  the  maid,  with  golden  hair, 
"  With  eye  of  fire,  and  foot  of  air, 
"Whose  harp  around  my  altar  swells, 
*'  The  sweetest  of  a  thousand  shells?" 
'Twas  thus  the  deity,  who  treads 
The  arch  of  heaven,  and  proudly  sheds 
Day  from  his  eyelids — thus  he  spoke, 
As  througii  my  cell  his  glories  broke. 

ApheUa  is  the  Delphic  fair,'* 
With  eyes  of  fire  and  golden  hair, 
Aphelia's  are  the  airy  feet, 
And  hci-s  the  harp  divinely  sweet ; 
For  foot  so  light  has  never  trod 
The  laurell'd  caverns^  of  the  god, 
Nor  harp  so  soft  hath  ever  given 
A  sigh  to  earth  or  hymn  to  heaven. 

*'  Then  tell  the  virgin  to  unfold, 
*'  In  looser  pomp,  her  locks  of  gold, 
"  And  bid  those  eyes  more  fondly  shine 
"  To  welcome  down  a  Spouse  Divine  ; 
"  Since  He,  who  lights  the  path  of  years — 
"  Even  from  the  fomit  of  morning's  tears 

1  This  poem,  as  well  as  a  few  others  that  occur  after- 
wards, formed  jiart  nf  a  work  which  I  had  early  projected, 
and  even  announced  to  the  public,  hut  which,  luckily  per- 
haps fur  myself,  had  been  interrupted  by  my  visit  to  America 
in  the  year  1803. 

Among  those  impostures  in  which  the  priests  of  the  pagan 
temples  are  known  to  have  indulged,  one  of  the  most  favorite 
was  that  of  announcing  to  some  fair  votary  of  the  shrine,  ihat 
the  God  himself  had  become  enamored  of  her  beauty,  and 
would  descend  in  all  his  t?lory,  to  pay  her  a  visit  within  the 
recesses  of  the  fane.  An  adventure  of  this  description  formed 
an  episode  in  the  classic  romance  which  I  had  sketched  out ; 
and  the  short  fragment,  given  above,  belongs  to  an  epistle  by 
which  the  story  was  to  have  been  introduced. 

2  In  the  9th  Pylhic  of  Pindar,  where  Apollo,  in  the  same 
manner,  requires  of  Chiron  some  information  respecting  the 
fair  Cyrene,  the  Centaur,  in  obeying,  very  gravely  apologizes 
for  telling  the  God  what  his  omDiscience  must  know  so  per- 
fectly already . 


*'  To  where  his  setting  splendors  bum 

*'  Upon  the  western  sea-maid's  uni — 

"  Doth  not,  in  all  his  course,  behold 

"  Such  eyes  of  fire,  such  hair  of  gold. 

"  Tell  her,  he  comes,  in  blissful  pride, 

"  His  lip  yet  sparkling  with  the  tide 

"  That  mantles  in  Olympian  bowls, — 

"  The  nectar  of  eternal  souls  ! 

"  For  her,  for  her  he  quits  the  skies, 

"  And  to  her  kiss  from  nectar  flies. 

"  Oh,  he  would  quit  his  star-throned  heiglit, 

"  And  leave  the  world  to  pine  for  light, 

*'  Might  he  but  pass  the  hours  of  shade, 

*'  Beside  his  peerless  Delphic  maid, 

"  She,  more  than  earthly  woman  blest, 

"  He,  more  than  god  on  woman's  breast !" 

There  is  a  cave  beneath  the  steep,* 
Where  living  rills  of  ciystal  weep 
O'er  herbage  of  the  loveliest  hue 
That  ever  spring  begemm'd  w"it^  dew  ; 
There  oft  the  greensward's  glos&y  ^nt 
Is  brighten'd  by  the  recent  print 
Of  many  a  faun  and  naiad's  feet, — 
Scarce  touching  earth,  their  step  so  fleet, — 
That  there,  by  moonlight's  ray,  had  trod, 
In  light  dance,  o'er  the  verdant  sod. 
"  There,  there,"  the  god,  impassion'd,  said, 
*'  Soon  as  the  twilight  tinge  is  fled, 
"  And  the  dim  orb  of  lunar  souls^ 
"  Along  its  shadowy  pathway  rolls — 
*'  There  shall  wo  meet, — and  not  ev'n  He, 
*'  The  God  who  reigns  immortally, 
*'  Where  Babel's  turrets  paint  their  pride 
"  Upon  th'  Euphrates'  shining  tide," — 
*'  Not  ev'n  when  to  his  midnight  loves 
"  In  mystic  majesty  he  moves, 
"  Lighted  by  many  an  odorous  fire, 
*'  And  hymn'd  by  all  Chaldtea's  choir, — 

El  Sc  }£  xpu  f^ot  Trap  ao<poi'  acrf^i/jifni, 
EpetD. 

3  AXX'  CIS  6a^vo)S)j  yvaXa  /^Tjco/iat  raSc. 

EuRiPiD.  hn.  v.  76. 

*  The  Corycian  Cave,  which  Pawsanias  mentions.  The 
inhabitants  of  Parnassus  held  it  sacred  to  the  Corycian 
nymphs,  who  were  children  of  the  river  Plistus. 

6  See  a  preceding  note,  p.  81,  n.2.  It  should  seem  that  lunar 
spirits  were  of  a  purer  order  than  spirits  iu  general,  as 
Pythagoras  was  said  by  his  followers  to  have  descended  from 
the  regions  of  the  moon.  The  heresiarch  Manes,  in  the  same 
manner,  imagined  that  the  sun  and  moon  are  the  residence 
of  Christ,  and  that  the  ascension  was  nothing  more  than  liis 
flight  to  those  orbs. 

3  The  temple  of  Jupiter  Belus,  at  Babylon  ;  in  one  of  whose 
towers  there  was  a  large  chapel  set  apart  for  these  celestial 
assignations. "'  No  man  is  allowed  to  sleep  here,"  says  Herod- 
otus ;  "  but  the  apartment  is  apprupriated  to  a  female,  whom, 
if  we  believe  the  Chaldean  priests,  the  deity  selects  from  the 
women  of  the  country,  as  his  favorite."    Lib.  i.  cap.  181, 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


137 


"  E'er  yet,  o'er  mortal  brow,  let  shine 

"  Sucli  cfflnenco  of  Love  Diviue, 

"  As  shall  to-niglit,  blest  maid,  o'er  tliine." 

Happy  the  maid,  whom  heaven  allows 
To  break  for  heaven  her  virgin  vows  ! 
Happy  the  maid  1 — her  robe  of  shame 
Is  whilcn'd  by  a  heavenly  flame. 
Whoso  glory,  with  a  ling'ring  trace, 
Slimes  through  and  deifies  her  race  '.' 


FRAGMENT. 

PiTV  me,  love !  I'll  pity  thee, 

If  thou  indeed  hast  folt  like  me. 

All,  all  my  bosom's  peace  is  o'er! 

At  night,  which  was  my  hour  of  calm, 

When,  from  the  page  of  classic  lore. 

From  the  pure  fount  of  ancient  lay 

Sly  soul  has  di-awn  the  placid  balm, 

Which  charm'd  its  every  grief  away, 

Ah !  there  I  find  that  balm  no  more. 

Those  spells,  which  make  us  oft  forget 

The  fleeting  troubles  of  the  day, 

In  deeper  sorrows  only  whet 

The  stings  they  cannot  tear  away 

When  to  my  pillow  rack'd  I  fly, 

With  wearied  sense  and  wakeful  eye : 

While  my  brain  maddens,  where,  oh,  where 

Is  that  serene  consoling  prayer. 

Which  once  has  harbinger'd  my  rest. 

When  the  still  soothing  voice  of  Heaven 

Hath  seem'd  to  whisper  in  my  breast, 

"  Sleep  on,  thy  errors  are  forgiven  !" 

No,  though  I  still  in  semblance  pray. 

My  thoughts  are  waud'ring  far  away, 

And  ev'n  the  name  of  Deity 

Is  munnur'd  out  in  sighs  for  thee. 


A  NIGHT  THOUGHT. 

How  oft  a  cloud,  with  envious  veil, 
Obscures  yon  bashful  light, 

Which  seems  so  modestly  to  steal 
Along  the  waste  of  night ! 


*  Fontcnelle,  in  his  playful  rifacimento  of  the  teamed  ma- 
terials ol'  Van-Dale,  has  related  in  his  own  inimitable  man- 
ner an  adventure  of  this  kind  which  was  delected  and  ex- 
posed at  Alexanilria.    See  L'Hisloire  des  Oracles,  dissert.  2. 


'Tis  tlius  the  world's  obtnisive  wrongs 
Obscure  with  malice  keen 

Some  timid  heart,  which  only  longs 
To  live  and  die  unseen. 


THE  KISS. 

Grow  to  my  lip,  thou  sacred  kiss. 
On  which  my  soul's  beloved  swore 
That  there  should  come  a  time  of  bliss, 
When  she  would  mock  my  hopes  no  more. 
And  fancy  shall  thy  glow  renew. 
In  siglis  at  morn,  and  dreams  at  night, 
And  none  shall  steal  thy  holy  dew 
Till  thou'rt  absolved  by  rapture's  rite. 
Sweet  hours  that  are  to  make  me  blest, 
Ply,  swift  as  breezes,  to  the  goal. 
And  let  my  love,  my  more  than  soul 
Come  blushing  to  this  ardent  breast. 
Then,  while  in  ever)-  glance  I  drink 
The  rich  o'erflowings  of  her  mind, 
Oh  !  let  her  all  enamor'd  sink 
In  sweet  abandonment  reslgn'd. 
Blushing  for  all  our  struggles  past, 
And  mmTOuring,  "  I  am  tbme  at  last '." 


SONG. 


TitiNK  on  that  look  whose  melting  ray 
For  one  sweet  moment  mix'd  with  mine. 

And  for  that  moment  seeTn'd  to  say, 
"  X  dare  not,  or  I  would  bo  thine  I" 

Think  on  thy  ev'ry  smile  and  glance. 
On  all  thou  hast  to  charm  and  move ; 

And  then  forgive  my  bosom's  trance. 
Nor  tell  me  it  is  sin  to  love. 

Oh,  not  to  love  thee  were  the  sin  ; 

For  sure,  if  Fate's  decrees  be  dono. 
Thou,  thou  art  destined  still  to  win. 

As  I  am  destined  to  be  won  ! 


chap.  vii.  Crebillon,  too.  in  one  of  his  most  nnnisin?  little 
stories,  has  made  the  G.'nie  Manpe-Taupes,  of  the  Isle  Jon- 
quille,  assert  this  privilege  of  spiritual  lieinjis  in  a  manner 
rather  fortnidable  to  the  husbands  of  the  island. 


138 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  CATALOGUE. 

*'  Come,  tell  me,"  says  Rosa,  as  kissing  and  kiss'd, 

One  day  slie  reclined  on  my  breast ; 
"  Come,  tell  me  tiie  number,  repeat  me  the  list 

"  Of  tlie  nymplis  you  have  loved  and  caress'd." — 
Oh  Rosa  !  'twas  only  my  fancy  tliat  roved, 

My  heart  at  the  moment  was  free  ; 
But  I'll  tell  thee,  my  girl,  how  many  I've  loved, 

And  tlic  number  shall  finish  witli  thee. 

My  tutor  was  Kitty  ;  in  infancy  wild 

She  taugiit  me  the  way  to  be  blest ; 
She  taught  mo  to  love  her,  I  loved  hko  a  child, 

But  Kitty  could  fancy  the  rest. 
This  lesson  of  dear  and  enrapturmg  lore 

I  have  never  forgot,  I  allow : 
I  have  liad  it  hy  rote  very  often  before, 

But  never  hy  heart  until  now. 

Pretty  Martlia  was  next,  and  my  soul  was  all  flame, 

But  my  head  was  so  full  of  romance 
That  I  fancied  her  into  some  chivalry  dame. 

And  I  was  her  knight  of  the  lance. 
But  Martha  was  not  of  this  fanciful  school. 

And  she  luugh'd  at  her  poor  little  knight ; 
While  I  thought  her  a  goddess,  she  thougiit  me  a  fool, 

And  rU  swear  she  was  most  in  the  right. 

My  soul  was  now  calm,  till,  by  Cloris's  looks,  . 

Again  I  was  tempted  to  rove  ; 
But  Cloris,  I  found,  wa?  so  learned  in  books 

That  she  gave  me  more  logic  than  love. 
So  I  left  this  young  Sappho,  and  hasten'd  to  fly 

To  those  sweeter  logicians  in  bliss. 
Who  argue  tlie  point  with  a  soul-telling  eye. 

And  convince  us  at  once  with  a  kiss. 

Oh  !  Susan  was  then  all  the  world  unto  me, 

But  Susan  was  piously  given  ; 
And  the  worst  of  it  was,  we  could  never  agree 

On  the  road  tbat  was  shortest  to  Heaven. 
"  Oh,  Susan  !"  I've  said,  in  tbe  moments  of  mirth 

"  What's  devotion  to  thee  or  to  me  ? 
"  I  devoutly  believe  there's  a  heaven  on  earth, 

"  And  believe  that  that  heaven's  in  thee .'" 


IMITATION  OF  CATULLUS 

TO  HIMSELF. 

Miser  CatuUe,  (105)11.15  incptire,  &c. 

Cease  the  sighing  fool  to  play  ; 
Cease  to  trifle  life  away  ; 


Nor  vainly  think  those  joys  thine  own, 
Which  all,  alas,  have  falsely  flown. 
What  hours,  Catullus,  once  were  thine, 
How  fairly  seein'd  thy  day  to  shine. 
When  lightly  thou  didst  fly  to  meet 
The  girl  whose  smile  was  then  so  sweet — 
The  girl  thou  lovedst  with  fonder  pain 
Than  e'er  thy  heart  can  feel  again. 

Ye  met — your  souls  sccm'd  all  in  one, 
Like  tapers  that  commingling  shon*.  ; 
Thy  heart  was  warm  enough  for  both, 
And  hers,  in  truth,  was  nothing  loath 

Such  were  the  hours  that  once  were  thine : 
But,  ah !  those  hours  no  longer  shuie. 
For  now  the  nymph  delights  no  more 
In  what  she  loved  so  much  before ; 
And  all  Catullus  now  can  do. 
Is  to  be  proud  and  frigid  too  ; 
Now  follow  where  the  wanton  flies, 
Nor  sue  the  bliss  that  she  denies. 
False  maid !  he  bids  farewell  to  thee, 
To  love,  and  all  love's  misery ; 
The  heyday  of  his  heart  is  o'er, 
Nor  will  he  court  one  favor  more. 

Fly,  perjured  girl  I — but  whither  fly  ? 
Who  now  will  praise  thy  cheek  and  eye? 
Who  now  will  di'ink  the  syren  tone, 
Which  tells  him  thou  art  all  his  own? 
Oh,  none : — and  he  who  loved  before 
Can  never,  never  love  thee  more. 


"  Neither  do  I  condemn  Ihee ;  go,  and  sin  no  more  I'* 

St.  John,  chap.  viii. 

On  woman,  if  through  sinful  wile 

Thy  soul  hath  stray 'd  from  honor's  track, 

'Tis  mercy  only  can  beguile. 

By  gentle  ways,  the  wand'rer  back. 

The  stain  that  on  thy  virtue  lies, 

Wash'd  by  those  tears,  not  long  will  stay ; 
As  clouds  that  sully  morning  skies 

May  all  be  wept  in  show'rs  away 

Go,  go,  be  innocent, — and  live  ; 

The  tongues  of  men  may  wound  thee  sore ; 
But  Heav'n  in  pity  can  forgive, 

And  bid  thee  "  go,  and  sin  no  more !" 


\ 


JUVE>JTLE  POEMS. 


139 


NONSENSE. 

Good  reader !  if  you  e'er  have  seen, 

Wlien  Pliccbus  liastens  to  his  pillow, 
Tlie  mermaids,  with  their  tresses  green, 

Dancing  upon  the  western  billow: 
If  you  have  seen,  at  twilight  dim, 
When  the  lone  spirit's  vesper  hymn 

Floats  wild  along  the  winding  shore, 
If  you  iiave  seen,  through  mist  of  eve, 
Tho  fairy  train  their  ringlets  weave. 
Glancing  along  the  spangled  grecu : — 

If  you  have  seen  all  this,  and  more, 
God  bless  me,  what  a  deal  you've  seen ! 


EPIGRAM, 

FRO.M  THE  FRENCH. 

"  I  NEVER  give  a  kiss  (says  Prue) 
"  To  naughty  man,  for  I  abhor  it" 

Slie  will  not  give  a  kiss,  'tis  true  ; 

She'll  take  one  though,  and  thank  you  for  it. 


ON  A  SQUINTING  POETESS. 

To  no  one  Muse  does  slie  her  glance  confine, 
But  has  an  eye,  at  once,  to  all  the  Nine .' 


To 


Moria  pur  quando  vuol,  non  i:  bisogna  inutar  ni  faccia  nl 
voce  per  esser  an  Angelo.i 

Die  when  you  will,  you  need  not  wear 
At  Heaven's  Court  a  form  more  fair 

Than  Beauty  here  on  earth  has  given ; 
Keep  but  tho  lovely  looks  wo  see — 
The  voice  we  hear — and  you  will  be 

An  angel  ready-made  for  Heaven  I 


TO  ROSA. 

A  far  conscrva,  e  cumiilo  d'amanli.  Past.  Fid. 

And  are  you  then  a  thing  of  art, 
Sediicing  all,  and  loving  none ; 

1  The  words  addressed  by  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  to 
the  beautiful  nun  at  JMurano. — See  his  Life. 


And  have  I  strove  to  gain  a  heart 

Which  every  coxcomb  thinks  his  own  ? 

Tell  me  at  once  if  this  be  true. 

And  I  will  calm  my  jealous  breast ; 

Will  learn  to  join  the  dangling  crew, 
And  sliare  yom  simpers  with  the  rest. 

But  if  your  heart  bo  vot  so  free, — 
Oh  !  if  another  sliare  that  heart, 

Tell  not  the  hateful  tale  to  mo, 
But  mingle  mercy  with  your  art. 

I'd  rather  think  you  "  false  as  hell," 
Than  find  you  to  be  all  divine, — 

Than  know  that  heart  could  love  so  well. 
Yet  know  that  heart  would  not  bo  mine  ! 


TO  PHILLIS. 

PiiiLLis,  you  little  rosy  rake. 

That  heart  of  yours  I  long  to  rifle : 

Come,  give  it  me,  and  do  not  make 
So  much  ado  about  a  trifle  I 


TO    A    LADY, 

ON  HER  SINGING, 

Thy  song  has  taught  my  heart  to  feel 
Those  soothing  thoughts  of  heav'nly  love, 

Which  o'er  the  sainted  spirits  steal 
When  list'ning  to  the  spheres  above  ! 

When,  tired  of  life  and  miser\-, 
I  wish  to  sigh  my  latest  breath. 

Oh,  Emma !  I  will  fly  to  thee, 
And  thou  shalt  sing  me  into  death. 

And  if  along  thy  lip  and  cheek 

That  smile  of  heav'nly  softness  play, 

Which, — ah  !  forgive  a  mind  that's  weak, — 
So  oft  has  stol'n  my  mind  away  ; 

Thou'lt  seem  an  angel  of  the  sky. 
That  comes  to  cliarm  me  into  bliss: 

I'll  gaze  and  die — Who  would  not  die. 
If  death  were  half  so  sweet  as  this  ? 


140                                              MOORE'S  WORKS. 

But  now  I  mount  that  e'er  I  knew 

SONG. 

A  girl  so  fair  and  so  deceiving. 

ON  THE  BIRTHDAY  OF  MRS.  . 

Fare  thee  well. 

WRITTE.V  IN  IRELAND.    1799. 

Few  have  ever  loved  like  me, — 

Of  all  my  luppiest  houra  of  joy, 
And  even  I  have  had  my  measure, 

Yes,  I  have  loved  thee  too  sincerely  ! 
And  few  have  e'er  deceived  like  thee, — 

When  hearts  were  full," and  ev"ry  eye 

Alas  !  deceived  me  too  severely. 

Hath  kinilled  with  tlie  light  of  pleasure, 

An  hour  like  this  I  ne'er  was  given, 

Fare  thee  well  ! — yet  think  awhile 

So  full  of  friendship's  purest  blisses  ; 

On  one  whose  bosom  bleeds  to  doubt  thee  ; 

Young  Love  hiinself  looks  down  from  heaven. 

Who  now  would  rather  trust  that  smile, 

To  smile  on  such  a  day  as  this  is. 

And  die  with  thee  than  live  without  thee. 

Then  come,  my  friends,  this  hour  improve, 
Let's  feel  as  if  wo  ne'er  could  sever ; 

Fare  thee  well !  I'll  think  of  thee. 

And  may  the  birtli  of  her  we  love 

Thou  leav'st  me  many  i  hitter  token  ; 

Be  thus  w'ith  joy  remember'd  ever ! 

For  see,  distracting  woman,  see. 

Oh  !  banish  ev'ry  thought  to-night, 

My  peace  is  gone,  my  heart  is  broken  1— 
Fare  thee  well ! 

Which  could  disturb  our  soid's  communion  ; 

Abandon'd  thus  to  dear  delight. 

We'll  ev'n  for  once  forget  tlie  Union  ! 

On  that  let  statesmen  trj'  their  pow'rs, 

And  tremble  o'er  tho  rights  they'd  die  for  ; 

The  union  of  the  soul  be  ours. 

MORALITY. 

And  ev  ry  union  else  wo  sigh  for. 

Then  come,  my  friends,  &.C. 

A    FAMILIAR    EPISTLE. 
ADDRESSED   TO 

In  ev'ry  eye  around  I  mark 

J.  AT— NS— N,  ESQ.  M.  R,  I.  A. 

The  feelings  of  the  heart  o'erflowiug  ; 
From  ev'iy  soul  I  catch  the  spark 

Of  sympathy,  in  friendship  glowing. 
Oh  !  could  such  moments  ever  fly  ; 

Oh  !  that  we  ne'er  were  doom'd  to  lose  'em  ; 
And  all  as  bright  as  Charlotte's  eye, 

And  all  as  pure  as  Charlotte's  bosom. 

Then  come,  my  friends,  &c. 

Though  long  at  school  and  college  dosing, 
O'er  hooks  of  verse  and  books  of  prosing. 
And  copying  from  their  moral  pages 
Fine  recipes  for  making  sages  ; 
Though  long  with  those  divines  at  school. 
Who  think  to  make  us  good  by  rule  ; 
Who,  in  mctliodic  fonus  advancing, 
Teaching  morality  like  dancing. 

For  me,  whate'er  my  span  of  years, 

Whatever  sun  may  light  my  roving  ; 
Whether  I  waste  my  life  in  tears. 

Or  live,  as  now,  for  mirth  and  loving  ; 
This  day  sliall  come  with  aspect  kind. 

Wherever  fate  may  cast  your  rover  ; 
He'll  think  of  those  he  left  behind. 

And  drink  a  liealth  to  bliss  that's  over ! 

Then  come,  my  friends,  &,c. 

Tell  us,  for  Heaven  or  money's  sake. 
What  steps  we  are  through  life  to  take  : 
Though  thus,  my  friend,  so  long  employ'd. 
With  so  much  midnight  oil  destroy 'd, 
I  must  confess,  my  searches  past, 
I've  only  learn'd  to  doubt  at  last. 
I  find  the  doctors  and  the  sages 
Have  differ'd  in  all  climes  and  ages, 
And  two  ill  fifty  scarce  agree 
On  wliat  is  piu-e  morality. 

'Tis  like  the  rainbow's  shifting  zone. 
And  everj-  vision  makes  its  own. 

SONG.' 

The  doctors  of  the  Porch  advise, 

l\I,vRy,  I  believed  thee  true, 

And  I  was  bless'd  in  thus  believing  ; 

As  modes  of  being  great  and  wise. 
That  we  should  cease  to  own  or  know 
Tile  luxuries  that  from  feeling  flow : — 

>  These  words  were  written  to  the  p.ilhetic  Scotch  :iir 
"  Galla  Water." 

*'  Reason  alone  must  claim  direction, 
"  And  Apathy's  the  soul's  perfection. 

\ 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


141 


"  Like  a  dull  lake  the  heart  must  lie  ; 

"  Nor  passion's  gale  nor  pleasure's  sigh, 

"  Though  Hcav'n  the  hreezo,  the  breath,  supplied, 

"  Must  curl  the  wave  or  swell  the  tide  !" 

Such  was  the  rigid  Zcno's  plan 
To  form  his  philosophic  man  ; 
Such  were  the  modes  he  taught  mankind 
To  weed  the  garden  of  the  mind  ; 
They  tore  from  thence  some  weeds,  'tis  true, 
But  all  the  flow'rs  were  ravaged  too  ! 

Now  listen  to  the  wily  strains. 
Which,  on  Cyren^'s  sandy  plains. 
When  Pleasure,  nymph  with  loosen'd  zone, 
Usurp'd  tlie  philosophic  throne, — 
Hear  wliat  tlio  courtly  sage's^  tongue 
To  liis  surrounding  pupils  sung ; — 
*'  Pleasure's  the  only  noble  end 
"  To  which  all  human  pow'rs  should  tend, 
"  And  Virtue  gives  her  heav'nly  lore, 
"  But  to  make  Pleasure  please  us  more. 
"  Wisdom  and  she  were  both  design 'd 
"  To  make  the  senses  more  refined, 
"  That  .'uan  might  revel,  free  from  cloying, 
"  Then  most  a  sage  when  most  enjoying  !" 

Is  this  morality? — Oh,  no  ! 
Ev'n  I  a  wiser  path  could  show. 
The  fiow'r  within  this  vase  confined, 
Tlie  pure,  the  unfading  fiow'r  of  mind, 
Must  not  throw  all  its  sweets  away 
Upon  a  mortal  mould  of  clay : 
No,  no, — its  richest  breath  should  rise 
In  virtue's  incense  to  the  skies. 

But  thus  it  is,  all  sects  we  see 
Have  watchwords  of  morality  : 
Some  cry  out  Venus,  others  Jove ; 
Here  'tis  Religion,  tliere  'tis  Love. 
But  while  they  thus  so  widely  wander. 
While  mystics  dream,  and  doctors  ponder ; 
And  some,  in  dialectics  firm, 
Seek  virtue  in  a  middle  term  ; 
While  thus  they  strive,  in  Heaven's  defiance, 
To  chain  morality  with  science  ; 
The  plain  good  man,  whose  actions  teacli 
More  i-irtue  than  a  sect  can  preach, 
Pursues  his  course,  unsagely  bless'd. 
His  tutor  whisp'riug  in  his  breast ; 
Nor  could  he  act  a  purer  part, 
Though  he  had  Tully  all  by  heart. 
And  when  he  drops  the  tear  on  wo, 
He  little  knows  or  cares  to  know 


1  Aristippas. 


That  Epictetus  blamed  that  tear. 
By  Heaven  approved,  to  virtue  dear ! 

Oh  !  when  I've  seen  the  morning  beam 
Floating  witliiu  the  dimpled  stream  ; 
While  Nature,  wak'ning  from  the  night, 
Has  just  put  on  her  robes  of  light. 
Have  I,  with  cold  optician's  gaze, 
E.tplored  the  doctrine  of  those  rays? 
No,  pedants,  I  liave  left  to  you 
Nicely  to  scp'rate  hue  from  hue. 
Go,  give  that  moment  up  to  art. 
When  Heaven  and  nature  claim  the  heart ; 
And,  dull  to  all  their  best  attraction, 
Go — measure  angles  of  refraction. 
While  I,  in  feeling's  sweet  romance, 
Look  on  each  daybeam  as  a  glance 
From  the  great  eye  of  Him  above, 
Wak'ning  his  world  with  looks  of  love ! 


THE 

TELL-TALE  LYRE. 

I've  heard,  there  was  in  ancient  days 

A  Lyre  of  most  melodious  spell ; 
'Twas  heav'n  to  hear  its  fairy  lays. 

If  half  be  true  that  legends  tell. 

'Twas  play'd  on  by  the  gentlest  sighs. 
And  to  their  breatli  it  breathed  again 

In  such  entrancing  melodies 

As  ears  had  never^drunk  til   then  I 

Not  harmony's  serenest  touch 
So  stilly  could  the  notes  prolong  ; 

They  were  not  heavenly  song  so  much 
As  they  were  dreams  of  heavenly  song ! 

If  sad  the  heart,  whose  murm'ring  air 
Along  the  chords  in  languor  stole, 

The  numbers  it  awaken'd  there 
Were  eloquence  from  pity's  soul. 

Or  if  the  sigh,  serene  and  light. 

Was  but  the  breatli  of  fancied  woes. 

The  string,  that  felt  its  airy  flight. 
Soon  whisper'd  it  to  kind  repose. 

And  when  young  lovers  talk'd  alone. 
If,  'mid  their  bliss  that  Lyre  was  near. 

It  made  their  accents  all  its  own, 

And  sent  forth  notes  that  Heaven  might  hoar. 


142 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


There  was  a  nymph,  who  long  had  loved, 
But  dared  not  tell  the  world  how  well : 

The  shades,  where  she  at  evening  roved, 
Alone  could  know,  alone  could  tell. 

'Twas  there,  at  twilight  time,  she  stole, 

When  the  first  star  announced  the  night, — 

With  him  who  claim'd  her  inmost  soul, 
To  wander  by  that  soothing  Ught. 

It  chanced  that,  in  the  fairy  bower 

Wiicre  bless'd  they  woo'd  each  other's  smile. 
This  Lyre,  of  strange  and  magic  power, 

Hung  whisp'ring  o'er  their  beads  the  while. 

And  as,  with  eyes  commingling  fire. 
They  listen'd  to  each  others  vow. 

The  youth  full  oft  would  make  the  Lyre 
A  uillow  for  the  maiden's  brow : 

And,  while  the  melting  words  she  breathed 
Were  by  its  echoes  wafted  round. 

Her  locks  had  with  the  cords  so  wreathed, 
One  knew  not  which  cave  forth  the  sound. 

Alas,  their  hearts  but  little  thought, 

While  thus  they  talk'd  the  hours  away, 

That  every  sound  the  Lyre  was  taught 
Would  linger  long,  and  long  betray. 

So  mingled  with  its  tuneful  soul 

Were  all  their  tender  murmurs  grown, 

That  other  sighs  unanswer'd  stole. 

Nor  words  it  breathed  but  theirs  alone. 

Unhappy  nymph  I  thy  name  was  sung 
To  every  breeze  that  wander'd  by  ; 

The  secrets  of  thy  geutle  tongue 

Were  breathed  in  song  to  earth  and  sky. 

The  fatal  L)Te,  by  Envy's  hand 

Hung  high  amid  the  whisp'ring  groves, 

To  every  gale  by  which  'twas  fami'd, 
Proclaim'd  the  myst'ry  of  your  loves. 

Nor  long  thus  rudely  was  thy  name 

To  earth's  derisive  echoes  given  ; 
Some  pitying  spirit  downward  came. 

And  took  the  Lyre  and  thee  to  heaven. 

There,  freed  from  earth's  unholy  wrongs, 
Both  happy  in  Love's  homo  sliall  be  ; 

Thou,  uttering  naught  but  seraph  songs, 
And  that  sweet  Lyre  still  echoing  thee  ! 


PEACE  AND  GLORY. 

WRITTEN    ON    THE    APPROACH    OF   WAR. 

Where  is  now  the  smile,  that  lighten'd 

Every  hero's  couch  of  rest  ? 
Where  is  now  the  hope,  that  brighten'd 

Honor's  eye  and  Pity's  breast  ? 
Have  we  lost  the  wreatli  we  braided 

For  our  weary  warrior  men? 
Is  the  faithless  olive  faded? 

Must  the  bay  be  pluck'd  again  ? 

Passing  hour  of  sunny  weather, 

Lovely,  in  your  light  awhile, 
Peace  aud  Glorj%  wed  together, 

Wander'd  through  oiu-  blessed  isle. 
And  the  eyes  of  Peace  would  glisten, 

Dewy  as  a  morning  sun. 
When  the  timid  maid  would  listen 

To  the  deeds  her  chief  had  done. 

Is  their  hour  of  dalliance  over  7 

Must  the  maiden's  trembling  feet 
Waft  her  from  her  warlike  lover 

To  the  desert's  still  retreat  ? 
Fare  you  well !  with  sighs  we  banish 

Nymph  so  fair  and  guests  so  bright ; 
Yet  the  smile,  with  which  you  vanish, 

Leaves  behuid  a  soothing  light ; — 

Soothing  light,  that  long  shall  sparkle 

O'er  your  warrior's  sanguined  way. 
Through  the  field  where  horrors  darkle, 

Shedding  hope's  consoling  ray. 
Long  the  smile  his  heart  will  cherish, 

To  its  absent  idol  true  ; 
While  around  him  myriads  perish, 

Glory  still  will  sigh  for  you  I 


SONG. 


Take  back  the  sigh,  thy  lips  of  art 

In  passion's  moment  breathed  to  me  ; 
Yet,  no — it  must  not,  will  not  part, 
'Tis  now  the  life-breath  of  my  heart, 
And  has  become  too  pure  for  thee. 

Take  back  the  kiss,  that  faithless  sigh 

With  all  the  warmth  of  truth  impress'd  ; 
Yet,  no — the  fatal  kiss  may  lie. 
Upon  thy  lip  its  sweets  would  die, 
Or  bloom  to  malic  a  rival  blest. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


143 


Take  back  the  vows  that,  night  and  day, 

My  heart  received,  I  thought,  from  thine : 
Yet,  no^allow  them  still  to  stay, 
They  might  some  other  heart  betray, 
As  sweetly  as  they've  niin'd  mine. 


LOVE  AND  REASON. 

"  Qtiand  rhomme  commence  a  raisonner,  il  ccsse  de  sentir." 

J.  J.  ROUSSKAU.^ 

'TwAS  in  the  summer  time  so  sweet. 

When  hearts  and  flowers  are  both  in  season. 

That — who,  of  all  the  world,  should  meet. 
One  early  dawn,  but  Love  and  Reason ! 

Love  told  his  dream  of  yesternight, 

While  Reason  talk'd  about  the  weather  ; 

The  morn,  in  sooth,  was  fair  and  bright. 
And  on  they  took  their  way  together. 

The  boy  in  many  a  gambol  flew. 
While  Reason,  like  a  Juno,  stalk'd, 

And  from  her  portly  figure  threw 
A  lengtheu'd  shadow,  as  she  walk'd. 

No  wonder  Love,  as  on  they  passM, 
Should  find  that  sunny  morning  chill, 

For  still  the  shadow  Reason  cast 

Fell  o'er  the  boy,  and  cool'd  him  still. 

In  vain  he  tried  his  wings  to  warm, 

Or  find  a  pathway  not  so  dim. 
For  still  the  maid's  gigantic  form 

Would  stalk  between  the  sun  and  him. 

"  This  must  not  be,"  said  little  Love — 
"  The  sun  was  made  for  more  than  you." 

So,  turning  through  a  myrtle  grove. 
He  bid  the  portly  nymph  adieu. 

Now  gayly  roves  the  laughing  boy 

O'er  many  a  mead,  by  many  a  stream ; 

In  every  breeze  inhaling  joy. 

And  drinking  bliss  m  every  beam. 

From  all  the  gardens,  all  the  bowers, 
Ho  cuU'd  the  many  sweets  they  shaded, 

And  ate  tlie  fniits  and  smell'd  the  flowers, 
Till  taste  was  gone  and  odor  faded. 

'  Quoted  somewhere  in  St.  Pierre's  Etudes  de  la  Nature. 


But  now  the  sun,  in  pomp  of  noon, 
Look'd  blazing  o'er  the  sultry  plains ; 

Alas  !  the  boy  grew  languid  soon. 

And  fever  thriU'd  through  all  his  veins. 

The  dew  forsook  bis  baby  brow. 

No  more  with  healthy  bloom  he  smiled- 
Oh  !  where  was  tranquil  Reason  now. 

To  cast  her  shadow  o'er  the  child  ? 

Beneath  tl  green  and  aged  palm, 

His  foot  at  length  for  shelter  turning. 

He  saw  the  nymph  reclining  calm, 
With  brow  as  cool  as  his  was  burning. 

"  Oh  !  take  me  to  that  bosom  cold," 
In  murmurs  at  her  feet  he  said  ; 

And  Reason  oped  her  garment's  fold. 
And  flung  it  round  his  fever'd  head. 

He  felt  her  bosom's  icy  touch. 

And  soon  it  lull'd  his  pulse  to  rest ; 

For,  ah  !  tile  chill  was  quite  too  much. 
And  Love  expired  on  Reason's  breast ! 


Nav,  do  not  weep,  my  Fanny  dear ; 

While  in  these  arms  you  lie. 
This  world  hath  not  a  wish,  a  fear, 
That  ought  to  cost  that  eye  a  tear, 

That  heart,  one  single  sigh. 

Tho  world  1 — ah,  Fanny,  Love  must  shun 
The  patlis  where  many  rove  ; 

One  bosom  to  recline  upon. 

One  heart  to  be  his  only-one, 
Are  quite  enough  for  Love. 

What  can  we  wish,  that  is  not  here 

Between  your  anns  and  mine? 
Is  there,  on  earth,  a  space  so  dear 
As  that  within  the  happy  sphere 
Two  loving  arms  entwine  ? 

For  me,  there's  not  a  lock  of  jet 

Adown  your  temples  curl'd. 
Within  whose  glossy,  tangling  net. 
My  soul  doth  not,  at  once,  forget 

All,  all  this  worthless  world. 

'Tis  in  those  eyes,  so  full  of  love, 

My  only  worlds  I  see  ; 
Let  but  their  orbs  in  sunshine  move, 
And  earth  below  and  skies  above, 

May  frown  or  smile  for  me. 


144 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ASPASIA. 

'TwAS  in  the  fair  Aspasia*s  bower, 
That  Love  and  Learning;,  many  an  hour, 
In  dalliance  met ;  and  Learning  smiled 
^Vitll  plcasnre  on  the  playful  child, 
Who  often  stole,  to  find  a  nest 
Witliin  the  folds  of  Learning's  vest. 

There,  as  the  list'ning  statesmaiMtnng 
In  transjiort  on  Aspasia's  tongue. 
The  destinies  of  Athens  took 
Their  color  from  Aspasia's  look. 
Oh  happy  time,  when  laws  of  state, 
When  all  tiiat  ruled  the  country's  fate, 
its  glory,  quiet,  or  alarms. 
Was  ]ilanu'd  between  two  snow-white  arms  I 

Blest  times  !  they  could  not  alwaj-s  last — 
And  yet,  ev'n  now,  they  are  not  past. 
Though  wo  have  lost  the  giant  mould, 
In  vi-hicli  their  men  were  cast  of  old. 
Woman,  dear  woman,  still  the  same. 
While  beauty  breathes  through  soul  or  frame, 
AVhilo  man  possesses  heart  or  eyes. 
Woman's  bright  empire  never  dies ! 

No,  Fanny,  love,  they  ne'er  shall  say, 
That  beauty's  cliarm  hath  pass'd  away ; 
Give  but  the  universe  a  soul 
Attuned  to  woman's  soft  control, 
And  Fanny  hatli  the  charm,  the  skill, 
To  wield  a  universe  at  will. 


1  It  was  imngined  by  some  of  tlie  ancients  that  there  is  an 
elliercr\l  ocenn  above  us.  iind  Ihfit  the  sun  and  moon  are  two 
floating,  luminous  islands,  in  which  the  spirits  of  the  blest 
reside.  .Accordingly  we  find  that  the  word  Hxiavof  was  some- 
times synonytnous  with  aij/i,  and  death  was  not  nnfrequent- 
ly  calhjd  SlKiai'oio  Tropos,  or  "the  passage  of  the  ocean." 

'^  Ennapius,  in  his  life  of  lamblichus,  tells  us  of  two  beau- 
tiful little  spirits  or  loves,  which  laniblichus  raised  (ly  en- 
chantment from  the  warm  springs  at  Gadara  ;  "  dicens  astan- 
tibus  (says  the  author  of  the  Dii  FaUdici,  p.  100)  illos 
esse  loci  Genios:"  which  words,  however,  are  not  in  Euna- 
pius. 

I  find  from  Ccllarius,  that  Amalha,  in  tlio  neighborhood  of 
Gadara,  was  also  cclelirated  for  its  warm  springs,  and  I  have 
preferred  it  as  a  more  poetic  name  than  Gadara.  Cellarios 
quotes  Ilieronyinus,    "  Est  et  alia  villa  in  vicinia  Gadara; 


GRECIAN  GIRL'S  DREAM 
OF   THE    BLESSED   ISLANDS." 

TO  HER  LOVER. 

flX^  TE  KaXos 

Tlvdayopriq,  hatrot  TC  X'^poi'  (rri70(|(ic  ept^TOS. 

AjToWiiiv  irept  UKbiTtvov.     Oracitl.  Metric,  a  Joan. 
Opsop.  cotlccta. 

Was  it  the  moon,  or  was  it  morning's  ray, 

That  call'd  thee,  dearest,  from  these  arms  away? 

Scarce  hadst  thou  left  me,  when  a  dream  of  night 

Came  o'er  my  spirit  so  distinct  and  bright, 

That,  while  I  yet  can  vividly  recall 

Its  witching  wonders,  thou  slialt  hear  them  all. 

Mcthouglit  I  saw,  upon  the  lundr  beam. 

Two  winged  boys,  sucli  as  thy  nmse  might  dream, 

Descending  from  above,  at  that  still  hour, 

And  gliding,  with  smooth  step,  into  my  bower. 

Fair  as  the  beauteous  spirits  that,  all  day. 

In  Anialha's  wann  founts  imprison'd  stay,'' 

But  rise  at  midnight,  from  th'  enchanted  rill, 

To  cool  their  plumes  upon  some  moonhght  liill. 

At  once  I  knew  their  mission  ; — 'twas  to  bear 
My  spirit  upward,  through  the  paths  of  air, 
To  tliat  elysian  realm,  from  whence  stray  beams 
So  oft,  in  sleep,  had  visited  my  dreams. 
Swift  at  their  touch  dissolved  tlie  ties,  that  cluntr 
All  earthly  round  me,  and  aloft  I  sprung  ; 
Wlhle,  heav'nward  guides,  the  little  genii  flew 
Tliro'  paths  of  light,  refresh'd  by  heaven's  own  dew. 
And  fann'd  by  airs  still  fragrant  with  the  breath 
Of  cloudless  climes  and  worlds  that  know  not  death. 

Thou  know'st,  that,  far  beyond  our  nether  sky, 
And  shown  but  dimly  to  man's  erring  eye, 
A  mighty  ocean  of  blue  ether  rolls,' 
Gemm'd  with  bright  islands,  where  the  chosen  souls. 
Who've  pass'd  in  lore  and  love  their  earthly  hours. 
Repose  forever  in  unfading  bowers. 


nomine  Amatha,  ubi  calids  aqua;  erumpunt."— Gfofl-rfl/j/i. 
Antiq.  lib.  iii.  cap.  13. 

sThis  belief  of  an  ocean  in  the  heavens,  or  "waters  above 
the  firmament,"  was  one  of  the  many  physical  errors  in  which 
the  early  fathers  bewildered  themselves.  Le  P.  Dnllus,  in 
Ills"  DL^fensedes  Saints  Peres  accuses  de  Plalonismc,"  taking 
it  for  granted  that  the  ancients  were  more  correct  in  their 
notions,  {which  by  no  means  appears  Iroin  what  1  have  al- 
ready qunted.)  adduces  the  obstinacy  of  the  fathers,  in  tliis 
whimsical  opinion,  as  a  proof  of  their  repugnance  to  even 
truth  from  the  hands  of  the  philosophers.  This  is  a  strange 
way  of  defending  the  fathers,  and  attributes  niucli  more  than 
they  deserve  to  the  philosophers.  For  an  abstract  of  this 
work  of  Balms,  {the  opposer  of  Fontcnelle,  Van  Dale,  &c., 
in  tlie  famous  Oracle  controversy,)  see  "Bibliothetiue  des 
Auteurs  Ecciesiast.  du  \^'*  Siecle,"  part.  1,  torn.  ii. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


145 


Tliat  very  moon,  whose  solitary  light 

So  often  CTiiidcs  tiioe  to  my  bower  at  night, 

Is  no  chill  planet,  but  an  isle  of  love, 

Floating  in  splendor  through  those  seas  above, 

And  peopled  with  bright  forms,  aerial  gi'own, 

Nor  knowing  aught  of  earth  but  love  alone. 

Thither,  I  thought,  we  wing"d  our  airy  way: — 

Mild  o'er  its  valleys  stream'd  a  silvery  day, 

While,  all  around,  on  lily  beds  of  rest, 

Reclined  the  spirits  of  tiie  niimortal  Blest.* 

Oh  !  there  I  met  those  few  congenial  maids. 

Whom  love  hath  warm'd,  in  philosophic  shades  ; 

There  still  Leontium,"  on  her  sage's  breast, 

Found  lore  and  love,  was  tutor'd  and  caress'd ; 

And  there  the  clasp  of  Pylhia's^  gentle  arms 

Repaid  the  zeal  which  deified  lier  charms. 

The  Attic  ^Master,"'  in  Aspasia's  eyes, 

Forgot  the  yoke  of  less  endearing  ties, 

While  fair  Theano,^  innocently  fair, 

Wreathed  playfully  her  Suinian's  flowing  hair," 

Wliose  soul  now  fix'd,  its  transmigrations  past, 

Found  in  those  arms  a  resting-place,  at  last ; 

And  smiling  own'd,  whate'er  his  dreamy  thought 

In  mystic  numbers  long  had  vainly  sought, 

The  One   that's  fonu'd  of   Two   whom  love  Iiath 

bound, 
Is  the  best  number  gods  or  men  e'er  found. 

But  think,  my  Theon,  with  what  joy  I  thriird. 
When   near    a    fount,    wliich    tlirough    the    valley 
rUl'd, 

1  There  were  various  opinions  among  the  ancients  with  re- 
spect tolheirlunar  establishment;  some  made  it  anelysiiim, 
and  others  a  purgatory ;  while  some  supposed  it  to  be  a  kind 
ofentrejjot  between  heaven  and  earth, where  souls  which  had 
left  their  bodies,  and  those  that  were  on  iheir  way  to  join 
them,  were  devwsited  in  the  valley  of  Hecnle.  and  remained 
till  further  orders.  Tut^rrepi  cfXiji'Tii/  aeptXeyetv  avra^  Karot- 
KCiv,  Kai  ott'  avTr)i  Kardi  x^P^^^  ^*S  '"'/•'  Jtcpi^eiov  y£i/£aiv. — 
Stob.  lib.  i.  Eclog.  Physic. 

3  The  pupil  and  mistress  of  Epicurus,  who  called  her  hist 
"dear  little  Leontinoi,"  (Afavruptof,)  as  a ppears  by  a  frag- 
ment of  one  of  his  letters  in  Laerlius.  This  Leoniium  was  a 
woman  of  talent;  "she  had  the  impudence  (says  Cicero)  lo 
write  against  Theophrastus  ;"  and  Cicero,  at  the  same  lime, 
gives  her  a  name  which  is  neither  polite  noi-  translatible. 
"  jMerctricuIa  etiam  Leontium  contra  Theophrastiim  scribere 
aus:i  est/*— Z>e  Jv'atur.  Dear.  She  left  a  daughter  called 
Danae,  who  was  just  as  rigid  an  Epicurean  as  her  mother; 
sometliing  like  Wieland's  Danae  in  Agathon. 

It  would  sound  much  better,  1  think,  ii"  the  name  were 
Leontia,  as  it  occurs  the  first  time  in  Laertius ;  but  M.  Ma- 
nage will  not  hear  of  this  reading. 

3  Pyihia  was  a  woman  whom  Aristotle  loved,  and  to  whom 
after  her  death  he  paid  divine  honors,  solemnizing  hor  nietii- 
ory  by  the  same  sacrifices  which  the  Athenians  offered  to 
the  Goddess  Ceres.  For  this  impious  gallantry  the  philoso- 
pher was.  of  course,  censured;  but  it  would  be  well  if  cer- 
tain of  our  modem  Suigj-riies  showed  a  little  of  this  super- 
stition about  the  memory  of  their  mistresses. 

*  Socrates,  who  used  to  console  himself  in  the  society  of 
Aspasia  for  those  "  less  endearing  lies"  which  he  found  at 


10 


My  fancy's  eye  beheld  a  form  recline, 

Of  lunar  race,  but  so  resembling  thine 

That,  oh !  '^vas  but  fidelity  in  mc, 

To  fly,  to  clasp,  and  worship  it  for  thee. 

No  aid  of  words  tlie  unbodied  soul  requires, 

To  waft  a  wish  or  embassy  desires ; 

But  by  a  power,  to  spirits  only  given, 

A  deep,  mute  impulse,  only  felt  in  iieaven, 

Swifter  than  meteor  shaft  through  summer  skies, 

From  soul  to  soul  the  glanced  idea  flies. 

Oh,  my  beloved,  how  divinely  sweet 
Is  the  pure  joy,  when  kindred  spirits  meet ! 
Like  liim,  the  river-god,'  whose  waters  flow. 
With  love  their  only  light,  through  caves  below, 
Wafting  in  triumph  all  the  flowery  braids. 
And  festal  riiigs,  with  which  Olympic  maids 
Have  deck'd  his  current,  as  an  ofiering  meet 
To  lay  at  Arethusa's  shining  feet. 
Thiuk,  when  he  meets  at  last  his  fountain -bride, 
What  perfect  love  must  thrill  the  blended  tide  ! 
Each  lost  in  each,  till,  mingling  into  one, 
Their  lot  tlio  same  for  shadow  or  for  sun, 
A  type  of  true  love,  to  the  deep  they  run. 
'Twas  thus — ■ 

But,  Theon,  'tis  an  endless  theme, 
And  thou  grow'st  weary  of  my  half-told  dream- 
Oh  would,  my  love,  we  were  together  now, 
And  I  would  woo  sweet  patience  to  thy  brow, 
And  make  thee  smile  at  all  the  magic  tales 
Of  starlight  bowers  and  planetarj'  vales, 

home  with  Xantippe.  For  an  account  of  this  extraordinary 
creature,  A=pasia,  and  her  school  of  erudite  luxury  at 
Athens,  see  L'Histoire  de  rAcademie.  &c.  tom.  xxxi.  p.  69. 
S^gur  rather  fails  on  the  inspiring  subject  of  Aspasia.— 
"  Les  Femmes,"  tom.  i-  p.  122. 

The  author  of  the  "Voyage  da  Monde  de  Descartes"  has 
also  placed  these  philosophers  in  the  moon,  and  has  allotted 
seigneuries  to  ihem.  as  well  as  to  the  astronomer?,  (part  ii. 
p.  143  ;)  but  he  ought  not  to  have  forgotten  Iheir  wives  and 
mistresses  ;  "  curx  non  ipsil  in  morte  relinquunt." 

6  There  are  some  sensible  letters  exLint  under  the  name  of 
this  fair  Pythagorean.  They  are  addressed  to  her  female 
friends  upon  the  education  of  children,  the  treatment  of  ser- 
vants, &.C.  One,  in  particular,  to  Nicostrala,  whose  husband 
had  given  her  reasons  for  jealousy.  cont;iins  such  truly  con- 
siderate and  rational  advice,  that  it  ought  to  be  iranslaiedfor 
the  edification  of  all  married  ladies.  See  Gale's  Opuscul. 
Rlyih.  Phys.  p.  741. 

6  Pythagoras  was  remarkable  for  fine  hair,  and  Doctor 
Thiers  (in  his  Iliscoiie  des  P^rrutjues)  seems  to  take  for 
granted  it  was  all  his  own  ;  as  he  has  not  mentioned  him 
amimg  those  ancients  who  were  obliged  to  have  recourse 
to  the  "  coma  appositiiia."  L'Histoire  des  Perruques,  chapi- 
tre  i. 

'  The  river  Alpheus,  which  flowed  by  Pisa  or  Olympia, 
and  into  which  it  was  customary  to  throw  oflTerings  of  dif- 
ferent kinds,  during  the  celebration  of  the  Olympic  g;imes. 
In  the  preUy  romance  of  Clilophon  and  Leucippe.  the  ri\er 
is  supposed  to  carry  these  offerings  as  bridal  gifts  to  the  foun- 
tain Arelhnsa.  Kai  nri  jijv  AptOovaai/  ovtu)  mv  A^^^tiov 
vvfiff)oaTuXci.  orav  ovv  1}  tidv  oAu^jrjtoi'  ebprj},K.  r.  A.    Lib.  i 


146                                                 MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Which  my  fond  soul,  inspired  by  thee  and  love, 

Ah  1 — if  there  were  not  something  wrong. 

In  slumber's  loom  hath  fancifully  wove. 

The  world  would  see  them  blended  oft ; 

But  no  ;  no  more — soon  as  to-morro^*s  ray 

The  Chain  would  make  the  Wreath  so  strong ! 

O'er  soft  lilissus  shall  have  died- away, 

The  Wreath  would  make  the  Chain  so  soft ! 

I'll  come,  and,  while  love's  planet  in  the  west, 

Then  might  the  gold,  the  flow'rets  be 

Shines  o'er  our  meeting,  tell  thee  all  the  rest 

Sweet  fetters  for  my  love  and  me. 

But,  Fanny,  so  unbless'd  they  twine 

That  (Heaven  alone  can  tell  the  reason) 
When  mingled  thus  they  cease  to  shine, 

Or  shine  but  for  a  transient  season. 

TO  CLOE. 

Whether  the  Chain  may  press  too  much, 

IMITATED    FROM    MARTIAL. 

Or  that  the  Wreath  is  slightly  braided, 

Let  but  the  gold  the  flow'rets  touch, 

I  COULD  resign  that  eye  of  blue 

And  all  their  bloom,  their  glow  is  faded ! 

Howe'er  its  splendor  used  to  thrill  me  ; 

Oh  !  better  to  be  always  free. 

And  ev'n  that  cheek  of  roseate  hue, — 

Than  thus  to  bind  my  love  to  me. 

To  lose  it,  Cloe,  scarce  would  kill  me. 

The  timid  gu:l  now  hung  her  head. 

That  snowy  neck  I  ne'er  should  miss. 

And,  as  she  turn'd  an  upward  glance. 

However  much  I've  raved  about  it ; 

I  saw  a  doubt  its  twilight  spread 

And  sweetly  as  that  lip  can  kiss. 

Across  her  brow's  divine  expanse. 

I  think  I  could  exist  without  it. 

Just  then,  the  garland's  brightest  rose 

Gave  one  of  its  love-breathing  sighs — 

In  short,  so  well  I've  leam'd  to  fast. 

Oh  !  who  can  ask  how  Fanny  chose. 

That,  sooth  my  love,  I  know  not  whether 

That  ever  look'd  in  Fanny's  eyes? 

I  miglit  not  bring  myself  at  last. 

"  The  Wreath,  my  life,  the  Wreath  shall  be 

To — do  without  you  altogether. 

"  The  tie  to  bind  my  soul  to  thee." 

THE 

WREATH  AND  THE  CHAIN. 

I  BRING  thee,  love,  a  golden  chain, 

I  bring  thee  too  a  ilowery  wreath  ; 
The  gold  shall  never  wear  a  stain, 

TO 

The  flow'rets  long  shall  sweetly  breathe. 

And  hast  thou  mark'd  the  pensive  shade, 

Come,  tell  me  which  the  tie  shall  be, 

That  many  a  time  obscures  my  brow, 

To  bind  thy  gentle  heart  to  me. 

Midst  all  the  joys,  beloved  maid. 

Which  thou  canst  give,  and  only  thou  ? 

Tlie  chain  is  form'd  of  golden  threads, 

Bright  as  Minerva's  yellow  hair, 

Oil !  'lis  not  that  I  then  forget 

When  the  last  beam  of  evening  sheds 

The  bright  looks  that  before  me  shine ; 

Its  calm  and  sober  lustre  there. 

For  never  throbb'd  a  bosom  yet 

The  Wreath's  of  brightest  myrtle  wove. 

Could  feel  their  witchery,  like  mine. 

With  sun-lit  drops  of  bliss  among  it. 

And  many  a  rose-leaf,  cuU'd  by  Love, 

When  bashful  on  my  bosom  hid. 

To  heal  his  lip  when  bees  have  stnng  it 

And  blushing  to  have  felt  so  bless'd. 

Come,  tell  me  which  the  tie  shall  be. 

Thou  dost  but  lift  thy  languid  lid. 

To  bind  thy  gentle  heart  to  me. 

Again  to  close  it  on  my  breast ; — 

Yes,  yes,  I  read  tliat  ready  eye. 

Yes, — these  are  minutes  all  thine  own. 

Which  answers  when  tlie  tongue  is  loath, 

Thine  own  to  give,  and  mine  to  feel ; 

Thou  lik'st  the  form  of  either  tie. 

Yet  ev'n  in  them,  my  heart  has  known 

And  spread'st  thy  playful  hands  for  both. 

The  sigh  to  rise,  the  tear  to  steal. 

JUVENILE  POEMS.                                             147 

For  I  have  thought  of  former  hours, 

When  ho  who  first  thy  soul  possessed, 

FRAGMENT 

Like  mo  awaked  its  witching  powers, 

OF 

Like  mo  was  loved,  like  rae  was  blest- 

A  MYTHOLOGICAL  HYMN  TO  LOVE.' 

Upon  his  name  thy  murm'ring  tongue 

Blest  infant  of  eternity  ! 

Perhaps  hath  all  as  sweetly  dwelt ; 

Before  the  day-star  loam'd  to  move, 

Upon  his  words  thine  ear  hath  hung. 

In  pomp  of  fire,  along  his  grand  career, 

With  transport  all  as  purely  felt 

Glancing  the  beamy  shafts  of  light 

From  his  rich  quiver  to  tiie  farthest  sphere, 

For  him — yet  why  the  past  recall. 

Tliou  wert  alone,  oh  Love  ! 

To  damp  aud  wither  prescut  bliss? 

Nestling  beneath  the  wings  of  ancient  Night, 

Thou'rt  now  my  own,  heart,  spirit,  all, 

Whoso  horrors  seem'd  to  smile  in  shadowing  thee. 

And  Heaven  could  grant  no  more  than  this  ! 

No  form  of  beauty  sooth'd  thiue  eye. 

Forgive  me,  dearest,  oh !  forgive ; 

As  tlirough  the  dim  expanse  it  wandcr'd  wide ; 

I  would  be  firet,  be  sole  to  thee, 

No  kindred  spirit  caught  thy  sigh, 

Thou  shouldst  have  but  begun  to  live, 

As  o'er  the  watery  waste  it  ling'ring  died. 

The  hour  that  gave  thy  heart  to  me. 

Unfelt  the  pulse,  unknowni  the  power. 

Thy  book  of  life  till  then  effaced, 

That  latent  in  his  heart  was  sleeping, — 

Love  should  have  kept  that  leaf  alone 

Oh  Sympathy !  that  lonely  horn- 

On  wliich  he  first  so  brightly  traced 

Saw  Love  himself  thy  absence  weeping. 

That  thou  wert,  soul  and  all,  my  own 

But  look,  what  glory  through  the  darkness  K  ams ! 

Celestial  airs  along  the  water  glide  ; — 
What  Spirit  art  thou,  moving  o'er  the  tide 

So  beautiful  ?  oh,  not  of  earth, 

But,  in  that  glowing  hour,  the  birth 

TO 

Of  the  young  Godhead's  own  creative  dreams. 

'S  PICTURE. 

'Tis  she ! 

Psyche,  the  firstborn  spirit  of  the  air. 

Go  then,  if  she,  whose  shade  thou  art, 

To  thee,  oh  Love,  she  turns, 

No  more  will  let  thee  sooth  my  pain ; 

On  thee  her  eyebeam  bums : 

Yet,  tell  her,  it  has  cost  this  heart 

Blest  hour,  before  all  worlds  ordain'd  to  be  ! 

Some  pangs,  to  give  thee  back  again. 

They  meet — 

The  blooming  god — the  spuit  fau- 

Tell  her,  the  smile  was  not  so  dear. 

Meet  ui  communion  sweet. 

With  which  she  made  thy  semblance  mine. 

Now,  Sympatliy,  the  hour  is  thineii 

As  bitter  is  the  burning  tear. 

All  nature  feels  the  thrill  divine. 

With  which  I  now  the  gift  resign. 

The  veil  of  Chaos  is  withdrawn. 

And  their  first  kiss  is  great  Creation's  dawn ! 

Yet  go — and  could  she  still  restore. 

As  some  exchange  for  taking  thee, 

The  tranquil  look  which  first  I  wore. 

When  her  eyes  found  me  calm  and  free ; 
Could  she  give  back  the  careless  flow, 

■ 

The  spirit  that  my  heart  then  knew — 

Yet,  no,  'tis  vain — go,  pictiu-e,  go — 

Smile  at  me  once,  emd  then — adieu  ! 

'  Love  and  Psyche  are  hen  considered  as  the  active  and 

and  Berouth,  I  think,  are  Sanchoniatho's  first  spiritual  lovers, 

passive  principles  of  creation,  and  the  universe  is  snpposed 

ajid  alanro-cnpac  and  his  wife  inlrndur.cd  creation  amongst 

tn  have  received  its  first  harmonizing  impulse  fn>nithe  nup- 

the Peruvians.    In  short,  Harlequin  seems  to  have  studied 

tial  sympathy  between  these  two  powers.    A  marriage  is 

cosmogonies,  when  he  said  '*  tutlo  11  mondo  e  fatto  come  la 

geneniUy  the  first  step  in  cosmogony.  Titn^iis  held  Form  to 

nostra  famiglia." 

be  the  father,  and  Matter  the  mother  of  the  World ;  Etion 

4] 


148 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


TO 

UI3   BERENE    HIGHNESS 

THE   DUKE   OF   MONTPENSIER, 

ON  HIS 

PORTRAIT  OF  TEIE  LADV  ADELAIDE  FORBES. 

Donin-rtun  Park,  1802. 
To  catch  the  thought,  hy  painting's  spell, 

Howe'er  remote,  howeVr  refined, 
And  o'er  the  kindling  canvass  tell 
The  silent  story  of  the  mind  ; 

O'er  nature's  form  to  glance  the  eye, 
And  fix,  by  mimic  light  and  shade, 

Her  morning  tuiges,  ere  they  fly. 

Her  evenmg  blushes,  ere  they  fade; — 

Yes,  these  are  Painting's  proudest  powers; 

The  gift,  by  which  her  art  divine 
Above  all  others  proudly  towers, — 

And  these,  oh  Prince  !  are  riclily  thine. 

And  yet,  when  Friendsliip  sees  thee  trace, 

In  almost  living  truth  express'd, 
Tills  bright  memorial  of  a  face 

On  which  her  eye  delights  to  rest ; 

While  o'er  the  lovely  look  serene, 

The  smile  of  peace,  the  bloom  of  youth, 

The  cheek,  that  blushes  to  be  seen, 
The  eye  that  tells  the  bosom's  truth ; 

While  o'er  each  line,  so  brightly  tnie, 
Our  eyes  with  ling'ring  pleasure  rove. 

Blessing  the  touch  whose  various  hue 
Thus  brings  to  mind  the  form  we  love ; 

1  Though  I  have  styled  this  poem  a  Dithyrainbic  Ciie,  I 
cannot  pres^ue  to  say  that  it  possesses,  in  any  degree,  the 
characteristics  of  that  species  of  poetrj'.  The  nature  of  the 
ancient  Diih)Tanibic  is  very  imperfectly  known.  According 
to  M.  Burette,  h  licentious  irregularity  of  metre,  an  extrava- 
gant research  of  thought  and  expression,  and  a  rude  embar- 
rassed construction,  are  among  its  most  distinguishing  fea- 
tures;  and  in  all  these  respects,  I  have  but  too  closely,  I 
fear,  followed  my  models.  Burette  adds,  "  Ces  caracteres 
des  dilhyrambes  se  font  sentir  n  ccux  qui  lisent  attentive- 
nienl  les  odes  de  Pimiare."— JJ/cmo/rcs  de  I'JJcad.  vol.  x.  p. 
306.  The  same  opinion  maybe  collected  fnmi  Schmidt's 
d:sser:^tion  uionihe  subisct.  U;_ink,  hove^-er.  if  th^  Dil'iy- 
rambics  of  Pindar  were  in  our  posscssitm,  we  should  find 
ihat,  however  wild  and  fanciful,  th«y  were  by  no  means  the 
l.isteless  jargon  they  are  repn  senicd,  and  that  even  their  ir- 
reiiularity  was  what  Boileiu  calls  "  un  beau  dtsordre."  Chia- 
brcra.  who  has  been  styled  the  Pmilar  of  It.ily,  and  from 
whom  all  its  poetry  upon  the  Greek  moiJel  was  trilled  Chia- 
breresco,  (as  Crescimbeni  informs  us.  lib.  i.  cap.  2,)hiis 
given,  amoncst  his  Veiidemmie,  a  Diihyrambic,  "  air  uso  de* 
Grcci ;"  full  of  ihnse  compound  epithets,  «  hich,  we  are  told, 
were  a  chief  char:icteristic  ol  the  style,  (ffu^OcDus  6t  Ai^ftf 
twoiovv  — Suidx  Sidvpajifioi^id.  ;j  such  as 


We  feel  the  magic  of  thy  art. 
And  own  it  with  a  zest,  a  zeal, 

A  pleasure,  nearer  to  the  heart 
Than  critic  tasle  can  ever  feel 


THE  FALL  OF  HEBE 

A  DITHYRAMBIC   DDK  ^ 

*TwAS  on  a  day 
Whii    he  immortals  at  their  banquet  lay ; 

The  bowl 
Sparkled  with  stany  dew, 
The  weeping  of  those  myriad  imis  of  light, 
Within  whose  orbs,  the  almighty  Power, 
At  nature's  dawning  hour,    . 
Stored  the  rich  fluid  of  ethereal  sotjl.^ 

Around, 
Soft  odorous  clouds,  that  upward  wing  their  flight 

From  eastern  isles, 
(Where  they  have  bathed  them  in  the  orient  ray, 
And  with  rich  fragrance  all  their  bosoms  fiU'd,) 
In  circles  flew,  and,  melting  as  they  flew, 
A  liquid  daybreak  o'er  the  board  distill'd. 

All,  all  was  luxury! 
All  must  be  luxury,  where  Lyseus  smiles. 
His  locks  divine 
Were  crown'd 
With  a  bright  meteor-braid, 
Which,  like  an  ever-springing  wrcatli  of  viae, 

Shot  into  brilliant  leafy  shapes, 
Aud  o'er  his  brow  in  lambent  tendrils  play*d: 

Briglindnralo  Pegaso 
Nubicalpestator. 
But  I  cannot  suppose  that  Pindar,  even  amidst  all  thelicens* 
of  dilhyrambics,  would  ever  have  descended  to  ballad-lau 
guage  like  the  following: 

Bella  Filli.ebellaClori, 
Kon  piu  dar  preglo  a  tue  bellezze  e  taci, 
Che  se  Bacco  fa  vezzi  alle  mie  labbra 
Fo  le  fiche  a*  vostri  baci. 

esser  vorrei  Coppicr, 

E  se  iroppo  desiro 
Deh  fossi  io  Botliglier. 

Rime  del  Ciiiabrbra,  part  ii.  p.  3jQ. 

3  This  is  a  Platonic  fancy.  The  philosopher  supposes,  in 
his  Tima-us,  that,  when  the  Deity  had  farmed  the  soul  of  Iho 
World,  he  proceeded  to  the  ci>mpi>siiion  of  other  soul-s,  in 
wliicb  process,  says  Plato,  he  made  use  of  the  same  cup, 
though  the  ingredients  he  mingled  were  not  quite  so  pure  as 
for  the  former;  and  having  refined  the  mixture  with  a  little 
of  his  own  essence,  he  distributed  it  among  the  stars,  which 
served  as  reservoirs  of  (he  fluid. — Tuur'  cure  Kai  ru\i^  eiri 
Tot'    npoT'-pov  Kfiarrjpa  ev  w  t^**  tov  iravTC/s  ^i'^'?''   Kcpavyvi 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


.49 


While  rti..i  the  fo!iag;e  hung, 
Like  lucid  grapes, 
A  thousand  chisteriug  buds  of  light, 
CuU'd  from  tlie  gardens  of  the  galaxy 

Upon  his  bosom  Cytherea's  head 

L:\y  lovely,  as  when  first  the  Syrens  sung 

Her  beauty's  dawn, 
And  all  the  curtains  of  the  deep,  undrawn, 
Reveai'd  her  sleeping  in  its  azure  bod. 
The  captive  deity 
Huiig  lingering  on  her  eyes  and  iip, 
With  looks  of  ecstasy. 

Now,  on  his  arm, 
In  blushes  slie  reposed, 
And, 'while  ho  gazed  on  each  bright  charm. 
To  siiade  his  binning  eyes  her  hand  in  dalliance  stole. 

And  now  she  raised  her  rosy  mouth  to  sip 
The  nectar'd  wave 
LyiEUs  gave, 
And  from  her  eyelids,  half-way  closed, 
Sent  forth  a  melting  gleam, 
AVhich  fell,  like  sun-dew,  in  the  bowl: 
While  her  bright  hair,  in  mazy  flow 

Of  gold  descending 
Adowu  her  cheek's  luxurious  glow, 

Hung  o'er  the  goblet's  side, 
And  was  reflected  in  its  crystal  tide, 
Like  a  bright  crocus  flower. 
Whose  sunny  leaves,  at  evening  hour 
Witii  roses  of  Cyrene  blending,* 
Hang  o'er  the  mirror  of  some  silvery  stream. 

The  Olympian  cup 
Shone  in  the  hands 
Of  dimpled  Hebe,  as  shj>  wing'd  her  feet 
Up 
Tiie  erap}Teal  mount. 
To  drain  the  soul-drops  at  their  stellar  fount  ;'■* 
And  still 
As  the  resplendent  rill 

1  We  learn  from  Theophrastus,  that  the  roses  of  Cyrene 
were  particularly  fragriint.-Eujff/iarani  6£  Ta£vK»pnfi}f)oSa. 

2  Heraclitus  (Physicus)  held  the  soul  to  he  a  sp-irk  of  the 
stellar  essence— "Scintilla stellarisessentiEe." — Macrobius, 
in  Sofsn.  Scip.  lib.  i.  cap.  M. 

3  The  country  of  the  Hyperboreans,  These  people  were 
supposed  to  he  placed  so  fur  north  that  the  north  wind  could 
not  affect  them;  Ihey  lived  longer  than  any  other  mortjils  ; 
passed  their  whole  time  in  music  and  dancing,  &.c.  £oc.  But 
the  most  extravagant  fiction  related  of  them  is  that  to  which 
the  two  lines  preceding  allude.  It  was  imagined  that,  insieiui 
of  our  vulgar  atmosphere,  the  Hyperboreans  breathed  nothing 
bat  feathers!  According  to  Herodotus  and  Pliny,  this  idea 
was  suggested  by  the  quantity  of  snow  which  was  observed  to 
fall  in  those  regions ;  thus  the  former:  Ta  uv  irrcpa  u^a^ov- 
ras  Tijv  x"i^o  rui'5  'Sl.KvOag  r£  Kat  rovs  nsptotKOvg  SoKCtj}  Xeyciv. 


Gush'd  forth  into  the  cup  with  mantling  heat, 
Her  watchful  care 
Was  still  to  cool  its  liquid  fire 
With  snow-white  sprinklings  of  that  feathery 

air 
The  children  of  thu  Pole  respire, 
In  those  enchanted  lands,^ 
Where  life  is  all  a  spring,  and  north  winds  never 
blow. 

But  oh ! 
Bright  Hebe,  what  a  tear, 
And  what  a  blush  were  thine, 
When,  as  the  breatli  of  everj-  Gracs 
Wafted  tliy  feet  along  the  studded  sphere; 
With  a  bright  cup  for  Jove  himself  to  drii.K, 
Some  star,  tiiat  shone  beneath  thy  tread, 

Raising  its  amorous  head 
To  kiss  those  matchless  feet, 

Chcck'd  thy  career  too  fleet, 
And  all  heaven's  host  of  eyes 
Entranced,  but  fearful  all, 
Saw  thee,  sweet  Hebe,  pro^-tratc  fall 

Upon  tlte  briglit  floi)r  of  the  azure  skiee 
Where,  mid  its  stars,  thy  beauty  lay, 
As  blossom,  shaken  from  the  spray 
Of  a  spring  thorn, 
Lies  mid  the  liquid  sparkles  of  the  mom. 
Or,  as  in  temples  of  the  Paphian  shade. 
The  worshippers  of  Beauty's  queen  behold 
An  image  of  their  rosy  idol,  laid 
Upon  a  diamond  shrine. 

The  wanton  wind, 
Wliich  had  pursued  tiie  flying  fair. 
And  sported  mid  tiie  tresses  uucoulined 
Of  her  bright  hair, 
Now,  as  she  fell, — oh  wanton  breeze ! 
Ruffled  the  robe,  whoso  gracefid  flow 
Hung  o'er  those  limbs  of  unsunn'd  snow, 
Piu-ely  as  the  Eleusinian  veil 
Hangs  o'er  the  Mysteries  1^ 

— IIerodot.  lib.  iv.  cap.  31.  Ovid  tells  the  fable  otherwise; 
see  Metamorph.  lib.  xv. 

Mr.  O'Halloran,  and  some  other  Irish  antiquarians,  have 
been  at  great  expense  of  learning  to  prove  that  the  strange 
country,  where  tliey  took  snow  for  feathers,  was  Ireland,  and 
that  the  lamous  Abaris  was  an  Irish  Druid.  Mr.  Rowland, 
however,  will  have  it  that  Abaris  was  a  VVeUhman,  and 
that  his  name  is  only  a  corruption  of  Ap  Rees  ! 

*  It  is  Servius.  I  helieve,  who  mentions  this  unlucky  trip 
which  Hebe  made  in  her  ocrUj)ation  of  cup-bearer;  andHoiT- 
man  tells  it  after  him  :  "Cum  Hebe  pocula  Joviadniinistrans, 
perque  lubricuni  minus  caut6  incedcns,  cecidisset,"  &.c. 

6  The  arcane  symbols  of  this  ceix-inony  were  deposited  in 
thi."  cista,  where  they  lay  religiously  concealed  from  the  eyes 
of  theprotane.  They  were  generally  carried  in  the  procession 
by  an  ass  ;  and  hence  the  proverb,  which  one  may  so  often 


150 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  brow  of  Juno  flush'd— 

Love  blcssM  the  breeze  I 
Tlie  Miises  bhisli'd ; 
And  every  cheek  was  hid  behind  a  IjTe, 
While  every  eye  look'd  laugliing  tlirough  the  strings. 

But  the  bright  cup?  the  nectar'd  draught 
Which  Jove  himself  was  to  have  quaff'd? 
Alas,  alas,  uptum'd  it  lay 
By  tlie  faH'n  Hebe's  side  ; 
^Miile,  in  slow  lingeringr  drops,  tli'  ctliereal  tide, 
As  conscious  of  its  own  rich  essence,  ebb'd  away. 

Who  was  the  Spirit  that  remember'd  Man, 
In  that  blest  liour, 
And,  witli  a  wing  of  love, 
Brush'd  off  tlie  goblet's  scattered  tears, 
As,  trembling,  near  the  edge  of  heaven  they  ran, 
And  sent  them  floating  to  our  orb  below?' 
Essence  of  immortality  ! 

The  sliower 
Fell  glowing  through  the  spheres ; 
Wiiile  all  around  new  tints  of  bhss, 
New  odors  and  new  light, 
Entich'd  its  radiant  flow. 

Now,  with  a  liquid  kiss, 
It  stole  along  the  tliriUing  wire 
Of  Heaven's  luminous  Lyre,^ 
.Stealing  the  soul  of  music  in  its  flight: 
And  now,  amid  the  breezes  bland, 
That  whisper  from  the  planets  as  they  roil, 
The  bright  libation,  softly  fann'd 
By  all  their  sighs,  meandering  stole. 
They  who,  from  Atlas'  height, 

Beheld  this  rosy  flame 
Descending  through  the  waste  of  night, 
Tliouglit  'twas  some  planet,  whose  empyreal  frame 

Had  kindled,  as  it  rapidly  revolved 
Around  its  fervid  axle,  and  dissolved 
Into  a  flood  so  bright ! 


apply  in  the  world,  '*  jisinus  portat  niyslena."    See  the 
l>ivine  Leg.ition,  book  ii.  sect.  4. 

'  In  the  Genponica,  lib.  ii.  cap.  17,  there  is  a  fable  sorae- 
whiit  like  this  descent  of  the  nccliir  loejirth.  Ei/ ou/jaw,)  rwv 
^fMiv  fiifox^"/'^''^^''  ""'  ■'"'*''  I'ifT'u/Jos  roXXou  TTafiaKCt/iCvov, 
avaGKi()rij(Tai  Xfipitarov  E/3(jra  Kai  avocciaat  rw  J:r£,ofj  row 
KparnpoSTrfv  fiaaiVyKamepiTpupat  pci- avrov  to  h  vZKTap 
CIS  TTiv  ynv  cKx^Qiv,  K.  T,  \.  Vid.  Alitor,  de  Re  Rust.  edit. 
CanlJib.  1704. 

2  The  cunstellation  Lyra.  The  astrologers  attribute  great 
virtues  to  this  si^n  in  ascendenli,  which  are  enumeratcii  by 
Pontano,  in  his  Urania  : 

Ecce  novein  cum  pectine  cltordas 

Emodulans,  iiuilcctque  novo  vaya  sidcracantu, 
Quo  captor  nascentutii  aniinie  cuncurdia  ducunt 
Tcctora,  &.C. 

'  The  Egyptians  represented  the  dawn  fif  day  by  a  young 


The  youthfid  Day, 

Within  his  twilight  bower, 
Lay  sweetly  sleeping  . 
On  the  flush'd  bosom  of  a  lotos-flower;' 
When  round  lum,  in  profusion  weeping, 
Dropp'd  the  celestial  shower, 

Steeping 
The  rosy  clouds,  that  curl'd 
About  his  infant  head, 
Like  myrrh  upon  the  locks  of  Cupid  shed. 

But,  when  the  waking  boy 
Waved  bis  exhaling  tresses  through  the  sky, 
O  mom  of  joy ! — 
The  tide  divine, 
AH  glorious  witli  tlio  vermil  dye 
It  drank  beneath  his  orient  eye, 
Distiird,  in  dews,  upon  the  world, 
And  every  drop  was  wine,  was  heavenly  wine  I 
Blest  be  the  sod,  and  blest  the  flower 
On  which  descended  first  that  shower. 
All  fresh  from  Jove's  ncctareous  springs  ; — • 
Oh  far  less  sweet  the  flower,  the  sod, 
O'er  which  the  Spirit  of  the  Rainbow  flings 
The  ma^c  mantle  of  her  solar  God  1* 


RINGS  AND  SEALS. 

'  SlaTT£p  c<l>payi6ES  ra  ^i\r)para, 

Achilles  Tatius,  lib.  U. 

"  Go  I"  said  the  angry,  weeping  maid, 
"  The  charm  is  broken  I — once  betray'd, 
"  Never  can  tliis  wrong'd  heart  rely 
"  On  word  or  look,  on  colli  or  sigh. 
"  Take  back  the  gifLs,  so  fondly  given, 
"  With  promised  faith  and  vows  to  heaven  ; 
"  That  little  ring  which,  night  and  morn, 
"  AVith  wedded  truth  my  hand  hath  worn  ; 


boy  seated  uponalotos,  'Eire  AiyVTrrovg  lijipoKuys  apxn^'  '^t'o- 
To^ns  ToiJiof  vco}  vol'  J  pai/ioiTdi  cm  A^'rro  KaOc^o^tvoi'. -Plu- 
tarch- TTcpt  Tov  pn  XP»v  ipn^Tp.  See  also  liis  Treatise  de  Isid. 
et  Osir.  Observing  that  the  lotos  showed  its  head  ab(tve 
water  at  sunrise,  and  sanka«;ain  at  his  setting,  they  conceived 
the  idea  of  consecrating  this  tlower  to  Osiris,  or  the  sun. 

This  symbol  of  a  youth  silting  upon  a  lotos  is  very  frequent 
on  the  Abraxascs,  or  Basilidian  stones.  See  Jloutfaucon, 
torn.  ii.  planchc  158,  anfl  the  "  Supplement,'*  &.c.  torn.  ii.  lib. 
vil.  chap.  5. 

*  The  ancients  esteemed  those  flowers  and  trees  the  sweet- 
est upon  which  the  rainbow  had  appeared  to  rest;  and  the 
wood  they  chiefly  burned  in  sacrifices,  was  that  which  the 
smile  of  Iris  had  consecrated.  Plutarch.  Sympos.  lib.  iv.  cap. 
2,  where  (as  Vossius  remarks)  jfaiovo-i,  instead  of  Aa.^oinri.if 
undoubtedly  the  {renuine  reatlinp.  See  Vossiu?  for  jome 
curious  particularities  of  the  rainbow,  De  Origin,  ei  Progress. 
Idololat.  lib.  iii.  cap,  13. 


I 


JUVENILE  POEMS.                                            151 

"  That  seal  whicli  oft,  in  moments  blest, 

I  knew  not  then  that  Heaven  had  sent 

"  Thou  iiast  upon  my  lip  impress'd, 

A  voice,  a  form  like  thine  on  earth. 

"  And  swoni  its  sacred  spring  should  be 

"  A  fountain  seal'd'  for  only  thee  : 

And  yet,  in  all  that  flowery  maze 

"  Take,  take  them  back,  the  gift  and  vow, 

Through  which  my  path  of  life  has  led, 

*'  All  sullied,  lost  and  hateful  now  !" 

When  I  have  heard  the  sweetest  lays 

From  lips  of  rosiest  lustre  shed  ; 

I  took  the  ring — the  seal  I  took, 

While,  oh,  her  every  tear  and  look 

When  I  have  felt  the  warbled  word 

Were  such  as  angels  look  and  shed, 

From  Beauty's  lip,  in  sweetness  vying 

When  man  is  by  the  world  misled. 

With  music's  own  melodiotis  bird. 

Gently  I  whisper'd,  "  Fanny,  dear  ! 

When  on  the  rose's  bosom  lying ; 

"  Not  half  tliy  lover's  gifts  are  here  : 

"  Say,  where  are  all  the  kisses  given. 

Though  form  and  song  at  once  combmed 

"  From  mom  to  noon,  from  noon  to  even, — 

Their  loveliest  bloom  and  softest  thrill. 

"  Those  signets  of  true  love,  worth  more 

My  heart  hath  siffh'd,  my  ear  hath  pined 

"  Than  Solomon's  own  seal  of  yore, — 

For  something  lovelier,  softer  still : — 

"  Where  are  those  gifts,  so  sweet,  so  many? 

"  Come,  deai-est, — give  back  all,  if  any." 

Oh,  I  have  found  it  all,  at  last. 

In  thee,  thou  sweetest  living  1}T6 

Wiile  thus  I  whisper'd,  trembling  too. 

Through  which  tlie  soul  of  song  e'ei  rass'd, 

Lest  all  the  nymph  had  sworn  was  true, 

Or  feeling  breathed  its  sacred  fire. 

I  saw  a  smile  relenting  rise 

'Mid  the  moist  azure  of  her  eyes, 

All  that  I  e'er,  in  wildest  flight 

Like  dayliglit  o'er  a  sea  of  blue, 

Of  fancy's  dreams,  could  hear  or  see 

While  yet  in  mid-air  hangs  the  de-w. 

Of  mus'.c's  sigh  or  beauty's  liglit 

She  let  her  cheek  repose  on  mine, 

Is  reaUzed,  at  once,  in  thee  ! 

She  let  my  arms  around  her  twine  ; 

One  kiss  was  half  allow'd,  and  then — 

The  ring  and  seal  were  hers  again. 



IMPROMPTU, 

ON    LEAVING    SOME    FRIENDS. 

TO 

0  dulces  comitum  v.alete  ctetns !           Catullui. 

MISS  SUSAN  B— CKF— D,» 

No,  never  shall  my  soul  forget 

ON    HER    SINGING. 

The  friends  I  found  so  cordial-hearted ; 

I  MORE  than  once  have  heard,  at  night. 

Dear  shall  be  the  day  we  met. 

A  song,  like  those  thy  lip  hath  given. 

And  dear  shall  bo  the  night  we  parted. 

And  it  was  sung  by  shapes  of  light, 

Who  look'd  and  breathed,  like  thee,  of  heaven. 

If  fond  regrets,  however  sweet, 

Must  with  the  lapse  of  time  decay. 

But  this  was  all  a  dream  of  sleep, 

Yet  still,  when  thus  in  mirth  you  meet, 
1(11  high  to  him  that's  far  away  ! 

And  I  have  said,  when  morning  shone, 

"  Wliy  should  the  night-witch,  Fancy,  keep 

*'  These  wonders  for  herself  alone  ?" 

Long  be  the  light  of  memory  found 

Aiive  within  your  social  glass  ; 

I  knew  not  then  that  fate  had  lent 

Let  that  be  still  the  magic  round. 

Such  tones  to  one  of  mortal  birth ;         . 

O'er  which  Oblivion  dares  not  pass. 

I  "There  are  gardens,  supposed  to  be  those  of  King  Solo- 

and put  his  signet  upon  the  door,  to  keep  them  for  his  own 

mon,  if  (he  neighborhood  of  Bethlehem.    The  friars  show 

di\nW\n<2"—MamKiretrs  Travels     See  n\^Q  the  notes  to  Mr. 

a  fount.iin,  which,  they  say.  is  the  'sealed  fountain'  to 

Good's  Translation  of  the  Song  of  Solomon. 

which  the  hoiy  spouse  in  the  Cnnticles  is  compared ;  and 

a  The  present  Duchess  of  Hamilton. 

they  pretend  a  tradition,  that  Solomon  shut  up  these  springs 

152 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


A  WARNING. 


Oh  fair  as  heaven  and  chaste  as  light .' 
Did  nature  mould  thee  all  so  hright, 
That  thou  shouldst  e'er  be  brought  to  weep 
O'er  languid  virtue's  fatal  sleep, 
O'er  shame  extinguish'd,  honor  fled, 
Peace  lost,  heart  wither'd,  feeling  dead  1 

No,  no  !  a  star  was  born  witli  thee, 
Which  sheds  eternal  purity. 
Thou  hast,  within  those  sainted  eyes. 
So  fair  a  transcript  of  the  skies. 
In  lines  of  light  such  heavenly  lore, 
That  man  should  read  them  and  adore. 
Yet  have  I  known  a  gentle  maid 
Whos,e  mind  and  fonii  were  both  array'd 
In  nature's  purest  liglit,  like  thine  ; — 
W^ho  wore  that  clear,  celestial  sign. 
Which  seems  to  mark  the  brow  that's  fair 
For  destiny's  peculiar  care  : 
Whose  bosom  too,  like  Dian's  own, 
Was  guarded  by  a  sacred  zone. 
Where  the  bright  gem  of  virtue  shone  ; 
Whose  eyes  had,  in  their  light,  a  charm 
Against  all  wrong,  and  guile,  and  harm. 
Yet,  hapless  maid,  in  one  sad  hour. 
These  spells  have  lost  their  guardian  power ; 
The  gem  has  been  beguiled  away  ; 
Her  eyes  have  lost  their  chast'ning  ray  ; 
The  modest  pride,  the  giiiltless  shame. 
The  smiles  that  from  reflection  came. 
All,  all  have  fled,  and  left  her  mind 
A  faded  monument  behind  ; 
The  ruins  of  a  once  pure  shrine. 
No  longer  fit  for  guest  divine. 
Oh  !  'twas  a  sight  I  wept  to  see — 
Heaven  keep  the  lost  one's  fate  from  thee ! 


'Tis  time,  I  feel,  to  leave  thee  now, 
While  yet  my  soul  is  something  free  ; 

While  yet  those  dangerous  eyes  allow 
One  minute's  thought  to  stray  from  thee 


Oil !  thou  becom'st  each  moment  dearer ; 

Every  chance  that  brings  me  nigh  thee, 
Brings  my  ruin  nearer,  nearer, — 

I  am  lost,  unless  1  fly  thee. 

Nay,  if  thou  dost  not  scorn  and  hato  me, 
Doom  me  not  thus  so  soon  to  fall ; 

Duties,  fame,  and  hopes  await  me, — 
But  that  eye  would  blast  them  all ! 

For,  thou  hast  heart  as  false  and  cold 

As  ever  yet  allured  or  swajf'd. 
And  couldst,  without  a  sigh,  behold 

The  ruin  which  thyself  had  made. 

Yet, — could  I  think  that,  truly  fond. 
That  eye  but  once  would  smile  on  me, 

Ev'n  as  thou  art,  how  far  beyond 

Fame,  duty,  wealth,  that  smile  Vfculd  be  I 

Oh  !  but  to  win  it,  night  and  day. 

Inglorious  at  thy  feet  reclined, 
I'd  sigh  my  dreams  of  fame  away. 

The  world  for  thee  forgot,  resign'd. 

But  no,  'tis  o'er,  and — thus  we  part, 
Never  to  meet  again — no,  never. 

False  woman,  what  a  mind  and  heart 
Thy  treach'ry  has  undone  forever ! 


WOMAN. 


Away,  away — you're  all  the  same, 
A  smiling,  flutt'ring,  jilting  tlirong  ; 

And,  wise  too  late,  I  burn  with  shame, 
To  think  I've  been  your  slave  so  long 

Slow  to  be  won,  and  quick  to  rove. 
From  folly  kind,  from  cunning  loath, 

Too  cold  for  bliss,  too  weak  for  love. 
Yet  feigning  all  that's  best  in  both ; 

Still  panting  o'er  a  crowd  to  reign, — 
More  joy  it  gives  to  woman's  breast 

To  make  ten  frigid  coxcombs  vain, 
Than  one  true,  manly  lover  blest. 

Away,  away — your  smile's  a  curse — 
Oh  !  blot  me  from  the  race  of  men. 

Kind  pitying  Heaven,  by  death  or  worse, 
If  e'er  I  love  such  tliuigs  again. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


153 


fioaet  TO  <pt\TaTa.  Euripides. 

Come,  take  thy  harp — 'tis  vain  to  muse 

Upon  the  gathering  ills  we  see  ; 
Oh  I  take  thy  harp  and  let  me  lose 

All  tlioughts  of  ill  in  hearing  thee. 

Sin^  to  mc,  love ! — though  death  were  near, 
Thy  song  could  make  my  soul  forget — 

Nay,  nay,  in  pity,  dry  that  tear, 
All  may  be  well,  be  happy  yet. 

Let  me  but  see  that  snowy  arm 
Once  more  upon  the  dear  harp  lie, 

And  I  will  cease  to  dream  of  harm, 
Will  smile  at  fate,  while  thou  art  nigli. 

Give  me  that  strain  of  mournful  touch. 

We  used  to  love  long,  long  ago, 
Before  our  hearts  had  known  as  much 

As  now,  alas!  they  bleed  to  know. 

Sweet  notes  !  they  tell  of  former  peace, 
Of  all  that  look'd  so  smihng  then. 

Now  vanish'd,  lost — oh  pray  thee,  cease, 
I  cannot  bear  those  sounds  again. 

Art  thou,  too,  wretched?  yes,  thou  art ; 

I  see  thy  tears  flow  fast  with  miue — 
Come,  come  to  this  devoted  heart, 

'Tis  breaking,  but  it  still  is  thine  ! 

1  In  Plutarch's  Essay  on  the  Decline  of  the  Oracles,  Cleom- 
trotus,  one  <if  the  interlocutors,  describes  an  extraordinary 
man  whom  he  had  met  with,  after  long  research,  upon  the 
banks  of  the  Red  Sea.  Once  in  every  year,  this  supernat- 
ural personage  appeared  to  mortals  and  conversed  with 
them  ;  the  rest  of  his  time  he  passed  among  the  Genii  and 
the  Nymphs.  Hcpi  r/ji'  tpvOpjv  ^aXauaau  ivpov,  afdpcorrQi^ 
ava  Trav  ito^  ojrajfi'riij-xat'oi'rii,  raSXa  &£  uvv  rni^  vVfKliai^, 
vofiatTi  Kai  (Jai/joffi.  w;  e(paiTK£.  He  spoke  in  a  tone  not  far 
removed  from  singing,  and  whenever  he  opened  his  lips,  a 
fragrance  filled  the  place:  ^9tyyofi£vov  6s  rov  tottuv  cvo)Sia 
KaTF.ix(^i  Tov  crofiaTOi  riSimov  airoTTi/eovTog.  From  him  Cle- 
ombrotus  learned  the  doctrine  of  a  plurality  of  worlds. 

3  The  celebr;ited  Janus  Dousa.  a  little  before  his  denth. 
imagined  that  he  heard  a  strain  of  music  in  the  air.  See  the 
poem  of  Heinsius,  "In  harmoniam  quam  paulo  ante  obitum 
audire  sibi  visus  est  Dousa."    Page  501. 

3  tvda  fiaKapftiv 

vaaov  UHeavtScs 

avpat  TtepiTTvf.ovaiv  av' 

Bcfia  it  "xjivaov  (pXcyF.t.  Pindar.  Ohjmp.  ii. 

*  Cham,  the  son  of  Xoah,  is  supposed  to  have  taken  with 
him  inti)  the  ark  ihe  principal  doctrines  of  magical,  or  rather 
of  natural  Ecience,  which  he  had  inscribed  npnn  some  very 
duntble  substances,  ia  order  that  they  might  resist  the  ravages 


VISION  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 

'TwAS  on  tlie  Red  Sea  coast,  at  mom,  we  met 
The  venerable  man  ;'  a  healthy  bloom 
Mingled  its  softness  with  the  vigorous  thought 
That  tower'd  upon  his  brow ;  and,  when  he  spoke, 
'Twas   languago    sweeten'd   into    song — such  holy 

sounds 
As  oft,  they  say,  the  wise  and  virtuous  hear. 
Prelusive  to  the  harmony  of  heaven. 
When  death  is  nigh  ;^  and  still,  as  he  unclosed 
His  sacred  lips,  an  odor,  all  as  bland 
As  ocean-breezes  gather  from  the  flowers 
That  blossom  'u  elysium,^  breathed  around. 
With  silent  awe  we  hsten'd,  while  he  told 
Of  the  dark  veil  which  many  an  age  had  hung 
O'er  Natmc's  form,  till,  long  explortd  by  man, 
The  mystic  shroud  grew  thin  and  xmiiuous, 
And  glimpses  of  that  heavenly  form  shone  thro'; — 
Of  magic  wonders,  that  were  known  and  taught 
By  him  (')r  Cham  or  Zoroaster  named) 
Who  mused  amid  the  mighty  cataclysm, 
O'er  his  nide  tablets  of  primeval  lore  ;* 
And  gathering  round  liim,  in  the  sacred  ark, 
The  mighty  secrets  of  that  former  globe, 
Let  not  the  hving  star  of  science^  sink 
Beneath  the  waters,  whicli  ingulf'd  a  world ! — 
Of  visions,  by  Calliope  revealM 
To  him,^  who  traced  upon  his  typic  lyre 
The  diapason  of  man's  mingled  frame, 
And  the  grand  Doric  heptachord  of  heaven. 
With  all  of  pure,  of  wondrous  and  arcane. 
Which  the  grave  sons  of  Mochus,  many  a  night, 

of  the  deluj;e,  and  transmit  Ihe  secrets  of  antediluvian 
knowledge  to  his  posterity.  See  the  extracts  made  by  Bayle, 
in  his  article,  Cham.  The  identity  of  Cham  and  Zoroas- 
ter depends  upon  the  authority  of  Berosus,  (or  rather  ilie 
impostor  Annius,)  and  a  few  more  "such  respectable  testi- 
monies. See  Naud6*s  Apologie  pour  les  Granils  Hommes, 
&c.,  chap,  viii.,  where  he  takes  more  trouble  than  is  neces- 
sary in  refuting  this  gratuitous  supposition. 

^  Chamuma  posteris  hnjusartisadmiraloribus  Zoroastrum, 
sen  vivuni  astrum,  propterea  fuisse  dictum  et  pro  Deo  habi- 
tuni. — Bochart,  Geoirrapk.  Sacr.  lib.  iv.  cap.  1. 
'  6  Orpheus. — Paulinus,  in  his  Hehdomades,  cap.  2,  lib.  iii., 
has  endeavored  to  show,  after  the  Platonists,  that  man  is  a 
diapason,  or  octave,  made  up  of  a  diatesscron,  which  is  his 
soul,  and  adiapente,  which  is  his  body.  Those  freq'jeiit  allu- 
sions to  music,  by  which  the  ancient  philosophers  illustrated 
their  sublime  theories,  must  have  tended  very  much  to  ele- 
vate the  character  of  the  art.  and  to  enrich  it  with  associa- 
tions of  the  grandest  and  most  interesting  nature.  See  a  pre- 
ceding note,  for  their  ideas  upon  the  harmony  of  the  f^pheres. 
Heraclitus  compared  the  mixture  of  good  and  e\il  in  tliis 
world  to  the  blended  varieties  of  harmony  in  a  musical  instru- 
ment. (Plutarch,  de  Anima;  Procreat. ;)  and  Enryphamus.  the 
Pythagorean,  in  a  fragment  preserved  by  Stoba-u'!.  describes 
human  lile,  in  its  perfection,  as  a  sweet  and  wt-ll-tuned  lyre. 
Some  of  the  ancients  were  so  fanciful  as  to  snppose  that  the 


154 


MOORE^S  WORKS. 


Told  to  the  young  and  bright-hair'd  visitant 
Of  Carmers  sacred  mount.'— Then,  in  a  flow 
Of  cahner  converse,  he  bcfruiled  us  on 


operations  of  the  memory  were  regulated  by  a  kind  of  mtisi- 
cal  cadence,  ;ind  that  ideas  ocoiirred  to  it  "  per  arsin  et  the- 
sin,"  wliile  others  converted  the  whole  man  into  a  mere 
Itarnionized  machine,  whose  motion  depended  upon  a  certain 
tension  of  the  body,  analogous  to  that  of  the  strinps  in  an 
insirumenl.  Cicero  indeed  ridicules  Aristoxenus  tor  this 
fiinry,  and  says,  "Let  him  teach  singing, and  leave  philoso- 
phy to  Aristotle  ;"  but  Aristotle  himself,  though  decidedly 
opposed  to  the  harmonic  speculations  of  the  Pythacoreans 
and  Platonists.  could  sometimes  condescend  to  enliven  his 
doctrines  by  reference  to  the  beauties  of  musical  science  ; 
as.  in  the  treatise  Jlspt  koc^qv  attributed  to  \\\m,KaBaj:cp  Ic 
cv  X''P''''  Kopr^aiov  Karap^avTDi,  K.  T.  \. 

The  Abli6  Batleux,  in  his  inquiry  into  the  c>.f  tine  of  the 
Stoics,  attribuies  to  those  philosophers  the  same  mode  of  il- 
lustration. "  L'anie  6toit  cause  active  iroteiv  airto^  ;  ie  corps 
cau^e  passive  hdc  tuv  naaxf-tv  : — I'une  agissantdansl'autre  ; 
et  y  prenant,  par  son  action  meme,  an  caraclere,  dcs  formes, 
dcs  moditications,  qu'elle  n'avoit  pas  par  elle-m&me  ;  a  peu 
;tres  comme  I'air,  qui,  chasse  dans  un  instrument  rie 
musique,  fail  connoitre,  par  les  diff^rens  sons  qu'il  produil, 
les  ditfercntes  modifications  qu'il  y  recoil."  See  a  fine  simile 
founded  upon  this  notion  in  Cardinal  Polignac's  poem,  lib. 
5.  v.  7,14. 

1  Pythagoras  is  represented  in  lamblichus  as  descending 
with  great  solemnity  from  Mount  Carmel,  fur  which  reason 
the  Cannelitss  have  claimed  him  as  one  of  their  fraternily. 
This  Rlochus  or  Moschus,  with  the  descendants  of  whom 
Pythagoras  conversed  in  Phcenicia,  and  from  whom  he  de- 
rived the  doctrines  of  atomic  philosophy,  is  supposed  by  some 
to  be  the  same  with  IMoses.  Iluett  has  adopted  this  idea, 
Demonstration  Evangtlique,  Prop.  iv.  chap.  2,  $  7 ;  and  Le 
Clerc.  among  others,  has  refuted  it.  See  Biblioth.  Choisie, 
torn.  i.  p.  75.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  the  doctrine  of 
atoms  was  known  and  promulgated  long  before  Epicurus. 
"  With  the  fountains  of  Democritus,"  says  Cicero,  "  the  gar- 
dens of  Epicurus  were  watered  ;"  and  the  learned  author  of 
the  Intellectual  System  has  shown,  that  all  the  early  jihilos- 
ophers,  till  the  lime  of  Plato,  were  atomisls.  We  find  Epicu- 
rus, however,  boasting  that  his  tenets  were  new  and  unbor- 
rowed, and  perhaps  few  among  the  ancients  had  any  stronger 
claim  to  originality.  In  truth,  if  we  examine  their  schools  of 
philosophy,  noiwilhstaniiing  the  peculiarities  which  seem  to 
distinguish  them  from  each  other,  we  may  generally  observe 
that  the  difterence  is  but  verbal  and  trifling ;  and  that,  among 
those  various  and  learned  heresies,  there  is  scarcely  one  to 
be  selected,  whose  opinions  are  its  own,  original  and  exclu- 
sive. The  doctrine  of  the  world's  eternity  may  be  traced 
through  all  the  sects.  The  continual  metempsychosis  of 
Pythagoras,  the  grand  periodic  year  of  the  Stoics,  (at  the  con- 
clusion of  which  the  universe  is  supposed  to  return  toils 
original  order,  and  conmience  a  new  revolution,)  the  succes- 
sive dissolution  and  combination  of  atoms  maintained  by  the 
Epicureans — all  the^^e  tenets  are  but  dilTerent  imitations  of 
the  same  general  belief  in  the  eternity  of  the  world.  As  ex- 
plained by  St.  Austin,  the  periodic  year  of  the  Stoics  disa- 
grees only  so  far  with  the  idea  of  the  Pythagoreans,  that  in- 
stead of  an  endless  transmission  of  the  soul  through  a  variety 
of  bodies,  it  restores  llie  same  body  and  soul  to  repeat  their 
former  round  of  existence,  so  that  the  "  identical  Plato,  who 
lectured  in  the  Academy  of  Athens,  shall  again  and  again, 
at  certain  intervals,  during  the  lapse  of  eternity,  appear  in 

the  same  Academy  and  resume  the  same  functions:" 

sic  eadem  tempera  temporalinmque  rerum  volumina  rcpeli, 
ut  v.  g.  sicut  in  isto  sa-culo  Plato  philosophus  in  urbe  Athe- 


Through  many  a  maze  of  Garden  and  of  Porch, 
Through  many  a  system,  where  the  scatterM  hght 
Of  lieavenly  trutli  lay,  hke  a  broken  beam 

niensi,  in  eh  schoh\  quK  Academia  dicta  est,  discipulos 
docuit,  ita  per  innumerabilia  retro  sEecula,  multum  pleiis 
quidem  intervallis,  sed  cerlis,  et  idem  Plato,  et  eadem  civi- 
tas,  eademque  schola,  iidemque  discipuli  repeiiii  et  per 
innumerabilia  deinde  saecula  rcpetendi  sint. — Dc  Ciritat. 
Dei,  lib.  xii.  cap.  13.  Vanini,  in  his  dialogues,  has  given  us 
a  similar  explication  of  the  peric\'^c  revol  utions  of  the  world. 
"Ea  de  caus&,  qui  nunc  sunt  in  us"'  ritus,  centies  millies 
fuerunt.  toliesque  renascenlur  quoties  tiL\.'jderunt."     SC. 

The  paradoxical  notior.a  "f  the  Stoics  upon  the  beauty, 
the  riches,  the  dominion  of  their  imaginary  sage,  are  among 
the  most  distinguishing  characteristics  of  their  school,  and, 
according  to  their  advocate  Lipsius,  were  peculiar  to  that 
sect.  "Priora  ilia  (decreta)  quje  passim  in  philosophantium 
scholis  fere  obtinent,  ista  qute  pecuUaria  huic  seria?  et  ha- 
benl  contradictionem  :  i.  e.  paradoxa." — Jilanuduct.  ad  Stoic. 
Philos.  lib.  iii.  dissertat.  2.  But  it  is  evident  (as  the  Abb6 
Gamier  has  remarked,  M6moires  de  I'Acad.  torn,  xxxv.)  that 
even  these  absurdities  of  the  Stoics  are  borrowed,  and  that 
Plato  is  the  source  of  all  their  extravagant  paradoxes.  We 
find  their  dogma,  "  dives  qui  sapiens,"  (which  Clement  of 
Alexandria  has  transferred  from  the  Philosopher  to  the 
Christian,  Pitdagog.  lib-  iii.  cap.  6.)  expressed  in  the  prayer  of 
Socrates  at  the  end  of  the  Phcedrus.  Si  ^iXc  Uav  te  xai 
a\)^ot  baot  tt)6£  Sfoi,  6oit]tc  fiot  Ka\oi  ycveodai  ravSoOcv 
Ta^'LiOrv  ^c  baa  CX''''  '"'"5  £J'T«s  civni  /toi  ipi^tw  ttAoikkoc  ic 
i")tji\,nifit  rov  ao(pov.  And  many  other  instances  might  be 
adduced  from  the  AvTEpaarai,  the  JloXiriKn^,  &c.  to  prove 
that  these  weeds  of  paradox  were  all  gathered  among  the 
bowers  of  the  Academy.  Hence  it  is  that  Cicero,  in  the 
preface  to  his  Paradoxes,  calls  them  Socralica;  and  Lipsius, 
exulting  in  the  patronage  of  Socrates,  says,  "Ille  toius  est 
uoster."  This  is  indeed  a  coalition,  which  evinces  as  much 
as  can  he  wished  the  confused  similitude  of  ancient  philo- 
sophical opinions:  the  father  of  skepticism  is  here  enrolled 
among  the  founders  of  the  Portico;  he,  whose  best  knowl- 
edge was  that  of  his  own  ignorance,  is  called  in  to  authorize 
the  pretensions  of  the  most  obstinate  dogmatists  in  all  an- 
tiquity. 

Rutilius,  in  his  Itinerarium,  has  ridiculed  the  sabbath  of 
the  Jew.s.  as  "  lassati  mollis  imago  Dei ;"  but  Epicurus  gave 
an  eternal  holiday  to  his  gods,  and,  rather  than  disturb  the 
slumbers  of  Olympus,  denied  at  once  the  interference  of  a 
Providence.  He  does  not,  however,  seem  to  have  been  sin- 
gular in  this  ojiinion.  Theophilus  of  Antioch,  if  he  deserve 
any  credit,  imputes  a  similar  belief  to  Pythagoras  : — ^nai 
{TlvOayopa^)  Tt  twv  vavTMv  Sfou;  acO/JUTrur  pt)hv  ippnvTi- 
^£(i'.  And  Plutarch,  though  so  hostile  to  the  followers  of 
Epicurus,  has  nnaccounuUily  adopted  the  very  same  theo- 
logical error.  Thus.  at"ter  quoting  the  opinion  of  Anaxago- 
ras  and  Plato  upon  divinity,  he  adds,  Koivtog  ovv  n/iapra- 
vovati'  aiaporepoi,  hri  rov  ^cov  iTotr)tTav  fntarptipoptvov 
rwc  ai'QpuiZiV'-yv. — De  Placit.  Philosopk.  lib.  i.  cap.  7.  Plato 
himself  has  attributed  a  degree  of  indifference  to  the  gods, 
which  is  not  far  removed  from  the  apathy  of  Epicurus's 
heaven;  as  thus,  in  his  Philebus,  where  Protarchus  asks, 
OvKOVV  ctKos  )■€  OVTC  x<*'/5C"'  ■Sfouj,  OVTC  TO  LvavTiov  \  aud 
Socrates  answers,  Wavv  ^tv  ovv  ciKoi,  auxnpov  yovv  avrofv 
CKarepov  ytyvofiefoi'  cariv  ; — while  Aristotle  supposes  a  still 
more  absurd  neutrality,  and  concludes,  by  no  very  flattering 
analogy,  that  the  deity  is  as  incapable  of  virtue  as  of  vice. 
Kai  jap  uxrnep  ovhv  ^ijpiuv  can  KOKia,  ov6^  apcrrj,  ovtu}^ 
ovk  ^£Ov.—Ethir..  J^Ticoviach.  lib.  vii.  cap.  1.  In  truth,  Aris- 
totle, upon  the  subject  of  Providence,  was  little  more  correct 
than  Epicurus.    He  supposed  the  moon  to  be  tlie  limit  of 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


155 


From  the  pure  sun,  which,  though  refracted  all 

Into  a  thousand  hues,  is  sunshine  still,' 

Aud  blight  throuf^h  every  change! — he  spoke  of  Him, 

divine  interference,  excluding,  of  course,  this  sublunary 
world  from  its  influence.  The  first  definition  of  the  world, 
in  his  treatise  Uspi  Kocfiov,  (if  this  treatise  be  really  the 
wnrk  of  ArisioUe,)  agrees,  almost  verbum  verbo,  with  that 
in  the  letter  of  Epicurus  to  Pythocles  ;  and  both  omit  tlie 
mention  of  a  deity.  In  his  Ethics,  too,  he  intimates  a  doubt 
whether  the  gods  feel  any  interest  in  the  concerns  of  man- 
kind.— Et  yap  ns  tri/ifAcid  rojv  ai-dfioiTnvioy  vrro  Scwv  ytve- 
rai.  It  is  true,  he  adds  ujamp  Sukci,  but  even  this  is  very 
skeptical. 

In  these  erroneous  conceptions  of  Aristotle,  we  trace  the 
cause  of  that  general  neglect  which  his  philosophy  e.^pcri- 
enced  among  the  early  Christians.  Plato  is  seldom  much 
more  orthodox,  but  the  obscure -enthusiasm  of  his  style  al- 
lowed them  to  acconunudate  all  his  fancies  to  their  own 
purpose.  Such  glowing  steel  was  easily  moulded,  and  Pla- 
ionisin  became  a  sword  in  the  hands  of  the  fathers. 

The  Providence  of  the  Stoics,  so  vaunted  in  their  school, 
was  a  power  as  contemptibly  inetficicnt  as  the  rest.  All  was 
fate  in  the  system  of  the  Portico.  The  chains  of  destiny 
were  thrown  over  Jupiter  himself,  and  their  deity  was  like 
the  Borgia  of  the  Epigrammatist,  "et  Cssar  et  nihil."  Not 
even  the  language  of  Seneca  can  reconcile  this  degra- 
dation of  divinity  "  Ille  ipse  omnium  conditor  ac  rector 
scripsit  quidem  fata,  sed  sequitur  ;  semper  paret,  semel  jus- 
sit." — Lib.  de  Providcvtid.  cap.  5. 

With  respect  to  the  difference  between  the  Stoics,  Peripa- 
tetics, and  Academicians,  the  following  words  of  Cicero 
prove  that  he  saw  but  little  to  distinguish  them  I'rom  each 
other: — "  Peripateticos et  Academicos,  nominibus dilTerentes, 
re  congruentes  ;  a  quibus  Stoici  ipsi  verbis  magis  quani  sen- 
tentiis  dissenserunt." — JJcademic.  lib.  ii.  5;  and  perhaps 
what  Reid  has  remarked  upon  one  of  their  points  of  contro- 
versy might  be  applied  as  effectually  to  the  reconcilement  of 
all  ihc  rest.  "  The  dispute  between  the  Stoics  and  Peripa- 
tetics was  probably  all  for  want  of  definition.  The  one  said 
they  were  good  under  the  control  of  reason,  the  other  that 
they  should  be  eradicated." — £5sni/5,  vol.  iii.  In  short,  it 
appears  a  no  less  difTicult  matter  to  establish  the  boundaries 
of  opinion  between  any  two  of  the  Philosophical  sects,  than 
it  would  be  to  fi.\  the  landmarks  of  those  estates  in  the 
moon,  which  Ricciolus  so  generously  allotted  to  his  brother 
astronomers.  Accordingly  we  observe  some  of  the  greatest 
men  of  antiquity  passing  without  scruple  from  school  to 
school,  according  to  the  fancy  or  convenience  of  the  mo- 
ment. Cicero,  the  father  of  Roman  philosophy,  is  some- 
times an  Academician,  sometimes  a  Stoic;  and,  more  than 
once,  he  acknowledges  a  conformity  with  Epicurus;  "  non 
sine  causa  igitur  Epicurus  ausus  est  dicere  semper  in  pluri- 
bus  bonis  esse  sapientem,  quia  semper  sit  in  volupiatibus." — 
Tuseulav.  Qutrst.  lib.  v.  Though  often  pure  in  his  theolo- 
gy. Cicero  sometimes  smiles  at  futuriiy  as  a  fiction  ;  thus, 
in  his  Oration  for  Clucntius.  speaking  of  punishments  in  the 
life  to  come,  he  says,  "Qua;  i»i  ftilsa  sunt,  id  quod  oiiines  in- 
telligunt,  quid  ei  tandem  aliud  mors  eripuit,  prater  sunsum 
doloris  V— though  here  we  should,  perhaps,  do  him  but 
jqstice  by  agreeing  with  his  coirmientilor  Sylvius,  who  re- 
marks upon  this  passage,  "  IIa;c  auitin  dixit,  ut  causie  sux 
subserviret."  The  poet  Horace  roves  like  a  butterfly  through 
the  schools,  and  now  wings  along  the  walls  of  the  Porch, 
now  basks  among  the  flowers  of  the  Garden  ;  while  Virgil, 
with  a  tone  of  mind  strongly  philosophical,  has  yet  left  us 
wholly  uncertain  as  to  the  sect  which  he  espoused.  The 
balance  of  opinion  declares  him  to  have  been  an  Epicurean, 
bnt  the  ancient  author  of  his  lile  asserts  that  he  was  an 


Tiie  lone,'  eternal  One,  wlio  dwells  above, 

And  of  tho  bouI's  luitraceable  descent 

From  that  liigh  fount  of  spirit,  through  the  grades 

Academician  ;  and  we  trace  through  his  poetry  the  tenets 
of  almost  all  the  leading  sects.  The  same  kind  of  eclectic 
indifference  is  observable  in  most  of  the  Roman  writers. 
Thus  Propertius,  in  the  fine  elegy  to  Cynthia,  on  his  depar- 
ture for  Athens, 

Illic  vel  studiis  animum  emendare  Platonis, 
Incipiam,  aut  hortis,  docte  Epicure,  tuis. 

Lib.  iii.  Eleg.  21. 

Though  Broeckhusius  here  reads,  "du.\  Epicure,"  which 
seems  to  fix  the  poet  under  the  banners  of  Epicurus.  Even 
the  Stoic  Seneca,  whose  doctrines  have  been  considered  so 
orthodox  that  St.  Jerome  has  ranked  him  among  the  eccle- 
siastical writers,  while  Boccaccio  doubts  {in  consideration 
of  his  supposed  correspondence  with  St.  Paul)  whether 
Dante  should  have  placed  him  in  limbo  with  the  rest  of  the 
Pagans — even  the  rigid  Seneca  has  bestowed  such  commen- 
dations on  Epicurus,  that  if  only  those  passages  of  his  works 
were  preserved  to  us.  we  could  not  hesitate,  I  think,  in  pro- 
nouncing him  a  confirmed  Epicurean.  With  sniilar  incon- 
sistency, we  find  Porphyry,  in  his  work  upon  abstinence, 
referring  to  Epicurus  as  an  example  of  the  most  strict 
Pythagorean  temperance  ;  and  Lancelotti  (the  author  of 
"Farfalloni  degli  antici  Istorici")  has  been  seduced  by  this 
grave  reputation  of  Epicurus  into  the  absurd  error  of  asso- 
ciating him  with  Chrysippus,  as  a  chief  of  the  Stoic  school. 
There  is  no  doubt,  indeed,  that  however  the  Epicurean  sect 
might  have  relaxed  from  its  original  purity,  the  morals  of 
its  founder  were  as  correct  as  those  of  any  among  the  an- 
cient philosophers;  and  his  doctrines  upon  pleasure,  as  ex- 
plained in  the  letter  to  Menoeceus,  are  rational,  amiable,  and 
consistent  with  our  nature.  A  late  writer,  De  Sablons.  in 
his  Grands  Ilommes  veng^s,  expresses  strong  indignation 
against  iheEncyclnp^distes  for  their  just  and  animated  praises 
of  Epicurus,  and  discussing  the  question,  "si  ce  philosophe 
fetoit  vertueux."  denies  it  upon  no  other  authority  than  the 
calumnies  collected  by  Plutarch,  who  himself  confesses 
that,  on  this  particular  subject,  he  consulted  only  opinion 
and  report,  without  pausing  to  investigate  their  truth. — 
AXXa  Trjf  Woffle,  ov  Tr]v  a)>iiO£tav  <TKOTovfir.i'.  To  tlie  factious 
zeal  of  his  illiberal  rivals,  tlie  Stoics.  Epicurus  chiefly  owed 
these  gross  misrepresentations  of  the  life  and  opinions  of 
himself  and  his  associates,  which,  notwithstanding  the 
learned  exertions  of  Gassendr,  have  still  left  an  odium  on 
the  name  of  his  philosophy;  and  we  onsht  to  examine  the 
ancient  accounts  of  this  philo'^opher  with  about  the  same 
degree  of  cautious  belief  which,  in  reading  ecclesiastical 
history,  we  yield  to  thu  invectives  of  tho  faihcry  against  the 
heretics, — trusting  as  little  to  Plutarch  upon  a  dogma  of 
Epicurus,  a.s  we  would  to  the  vehement  St.  Cyril  upon  a 
tenet  of  Nestorius.     (ISOl.) 

The  preceding  remarks,  I  wish  the  reader  to  observe, 
were  written  at  a  time  when  I  thought  the  studies  to  which 
they  refer  much  more  important  as  well  as  more  amusing 
than.  I  freely  confess,  they  apjiear  to  me  at  present. 

1  LacUintius  asserts  that  all  the  truths  of  Christianity 
may  be  lound  dispersed  throngli  the  ancient  philosrphical 
sects,  and  that  any  one  who  would  collect  these  scattered 
fragments  of  orthodoxy  might  form  a  code  in  no  respect 
diflering  from  that  of  the  Christian.  "  Si  exiiiisset  aliquis, 
qui  veritatem  sparsam  per  singulos  per  sectasquo  diflusam 
colligcret  in  ununi,  ac  redigecet  in  corpus,  is  profecto  non 
dissentiret  a  nobis." — Inst.  lib.  vi.  c.  7. 

^  To  (iovov  Kai  tpjiuov. 


156                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Of  intellectual  being,  till  it  mix 

With  atoms  vague,  comiptiblo,  and  dark ; 

Nor  yet  even  then,  though  snnk  in  earthly  dross, 

TO 

Comiptcd  all,  nor  its  ethereal  touch 

LADY  HEATHCOTE, 

Quite  lost,  but  tasting  of  tlic  fountain  still. 

ON  AN 

As  some  bright  river,  which  has  roil'd  along 

OLD    RING    FOUND    AT    TUNBRIDGE-WELLS. 

Through  meads  of  flowery  light  and  mines  of  gold, 

When  pour'd  at  length  into  the  dusky  deep, 

"Tunnebridge  est  a  la  mfime  distance  de  Londres.   que 

Disd;iins  to  take  at  once  its  briny  taint, 

Fontainebleau  Test  de  Paris.    Ce  qu'il  y  a  de  be:iu  et  dc  ga- 

But  keejis  unclianged  awhile  the  lustrous  tinge, 

lant  dans  I'un  et  dnns  Paiitre  pcxe  s'y  rasscnible  au  terns 
des  eaux.    La  compagnie,"  &lc..  &c. 

Or  balmy  freshness,  of  the  scenes  it  left.' 

*  See  Mimoires  de  Grammont,  Second  Part,  chap.  iii. 

And  here  the  old  man  ceased — a  winged  train 

Tunbridge  Wells. 

Of  nymphs  and  genii  bore  him  from  our  eyes. 

When  Granimont  graced  tlicse  happy  springs, 

The  fair  illusion  iled  !  and,  as  I  waked, 

And  Tunbridge  saw,  npon  her  Pantiles, 

'Twas  clear  that  my  rapt  soul  had  roam'd  tlie  while, 

The  merriest  wifjht  of  all  the  kini^ 

To  that  bright  realm  of  dreams,  that  spirit-world, 

Tliat  ever  ruled  these  gay,  gallant  isles ; 

Which  mortals  know  by  its  long  track  of  light 

O'er  midnight's  sky,  and  call  the  Galaxy.' 

Like  us,  by  day,  they  rode,  they  walk'd, 

At  eve,  they  did  as  we  may  do, 
And  Grammont  just  like  Spencer  talk'd, 
And  lovely  Stewart  smiled  like  you. 

The  only  different  trait  is  this. 

TO 

That  woman  then,  if  man  beset  her, 

MRS 

Was  rather  given  to  saying  "  yes," 
Because, — as  yet,  she  knew  no  better 

To  see  thee  every  day  that  came, 

i 

To  find  thee  still  each  day  the  same ; 

Each  night  they  held  a  coterie, 

t 

In  pleasure's  smile,  or  sorrow's  tear 

WherOf  ever}-  fear  to  slimiber  chann'd, 

To  me  still  ever  kind  and  dear ; — - 

Lovers  were  all  they  ougr.i,  to  be. 

To  meet  thee  early,  leave  thee  late, 

And  husbands  not  the  least  alarm'd. 

Has  been  so  long  my  bliss,  my  fate, 

Tiiat  life,  without  this  cheering  ray. 

Then  call'd  Ihey  up  their  school-day  pranks, 

Which  came,  like  sunshine,  every  day, 

Nor  thought  it  much  tlicir  sense  beneath 

And  all  my  pain,  my  sorrow  chased, 

To  play  at  riddles.  quii)s,  and  cranks, 

Is  now  a  lone  and  loveless  waste. 

And  lord-?  !?how'd  wit,  and  ladies  teeth 

Where  are  the  chords  she  used  to  touch  ? 

As — "  Why  are  husbands  like  the  mint?'* 

The  airs,  the  songs  she  loved  so  much  1 

Because,  forsooth,  a  luisband's  duty 

Tliose  songs  are  hush'd,  those  chords  are  still, 

Is  but  to  set  the  name  and  print 

And  so,  perhaps,  will  every  thrill 

Tiiat  give  a  currency  to  beauty. 

Of  feeling  soon  be  luU'd  to  rest. 

Which  late  I  waked  in  Anna's  breast 

"  Wiy  is  a  rose  in  nettles  hid 

Yet,  no — the  simple  notes  I  play'd 

"  Like  a  young  widow,  fresh  and  fair?'* 

From  memory's  tablet  soon  may  fade  ; 

Because  'tis  sighing  to  be  rid 

The  songs,  which  Anna  loved  to  hear, 

Of  wecds^  that  "  iiave  no  business  there  !" 

May  vani.sh  from  her  heart  and  ear ; 

But  friendsliip's  voice  shall  ever  fmd 

And  thus  they  miss'd  and  tints  they  hit, 

An  echo  in  that  gentle  mind. 

And  now  they  stnick  and  now  they  parried; 

Nor  memoiy  lose  nor  time  impair 

And  some  lay  in  of  full  grown  wit. 

The  sympathies  that  tremble  there. 

While  others  of  a  puu  miscarried- 

J  This  bold  Platonic  image  I  have  taken  from  a  passage  Id 

collected  together  in  the  Galaxy.— A??/iOff  &e  ovtif.wv,  Kara 

Father  Biiuchel's  letter  tipon  the  Metempsychosis,  inserted 

llvHaynpav,  al  xpvxai  a?  avvayeaOai  ^rjatvcts  rav  ya\a^iav. 

in  Picarfs  Ctr.in.  Relig.  torn.  iv. 

—Porphyr.  de  Jlntro  J^ifinph. 

*  According  to  Pythagoras,  Iho  people  of  Dreams  are  souls 

JUVENILE  POEMS. 


157 


'Twas  one  of  those  facetious  nights 
That  Grammont  gave  tliis  foifeit  ring 

For  bre:iUing  grave  conuudrum-rites, 
Or  punning  ill,  or — some  such  thing: — 

From  whence  it  can  be  fairly  traced, 

Tiiroiigh  many  a  branch  and  many  a  bough, 

From  twig  to  twig,  until  it  graced 
The  snowy  hand  that  wears  it  now. 

All  this  rU  prove,  and  then,  to  you, 

Oh  Tunbridge  !  and  your  springs  ironical^ 

I  swear  by  Ileathcote's  eye  of  blue 
To  dedicate  the  important  chronicle. 

Long  may  your  ancient  inmates  give 
Their  mantles  to  your  modern  lodgers, 

And  Charles's  loves  in  Heathcotc  live. 
And  Cliarles's  bards  revive  in  Rogers. 

Let  no  pedantic  fools  be  there  ; 

Forever  be  those  fops  abolish'd, 
With  Iieads  as  wooden  as  thy  ware, 

And,  Heaven  knows  !  not  half  so  polish'd. 

But  still  receive  the  young,  the  gay, 
The  few  who  know  tiie  rare  deliglit 

Of  reading  Grammont  every  day. 
And  acting  Granunont  every  niglit. 


THE  DEVIL  AMONG  THE  SCHOLARS, 

A     FRAGMENT. 

T(  KOKov  h  j'cXws ; 

Chrysost.  IIomiL  in  F.pist.  ad  Hcbraos. 

If:  if:  ^ 

But,  whither  have  these  gentle  ones, 
These  rosy  nymplis  and  black-eyed  nuns, 
With  all  of  Cupid's  wild  romancing, 

1  Mamurni,  a  dogmatic  philosopher,  who  never  doubted 
about  any  thing,  except  who  was  his  father. — "NulliLdere 
unqu;im  pra'terqunni  de  patre  dubitavit-" — In  Vit.  He  was 
very  learned — "  Li^-dcdans,  (ihat  is,  in  his  head  when  it  was 
opened.)  le  Punique  heurtc  le  Persan,  PHiibreu  chnque 
PArabique,  pour  ne  pnint  pinrler  de  la  mauv.iise  intelligence 
du  Latin  avec  le  Grcc,"  &c. — See  UHistoire  de  Montmaur, 
torn.  ii.  p.  91. 

2  Bombastus  was  one  of  the  names  of  that  great  scholar 
and  quack  Paracelsus.— "  Philippus  Bombastus  latet  sub 
splendido  tegniine  Aureoli  Theophrasti  Paracelsi/'says  Sta- 
deliU5  de  circumforanea  Literatorum  vanitule. — He  used  to 
fight  the  devil  every  night  with  a  broadsword,  to  the  no 
smuU  terror  of  his  pupil  Oporiniis,  who  has  recorded  the  cir- 
cumstance. (Vide  Oporin.  Vit.  npud  Christian.  Gryph.  Vit. 
Select,  quorundani  Erudiiissimoruin,  &.c.)  Paracelsus  had 
but  a  poor  opinion  of  Gulen  ;— "*  My  very  btard  (says  he  in 
his  Paragrainuni)  has  more  learning  in  it  than  eillier  Gaien 
or  Avicenna." 

3  The  angel,  who  scolded  St.  Jernm  for  reading  Cicero,  as 
Gratian  tells  the  story  in  his  *'  Concordantia  dlscordantium 


Led  my  truant  brains  a  dancing? 
Instead  of  studying  tomes  scholastic, 
Ecclesiastic,  or  monastic, 
Off  I  fly,  careering  far 
In  chase  of  Pollys,  prettier  far 
Than  any  of  their  namesakes  are, — 
The  Polymatlis  and  Polyhislors, 
Polyglots  and  all  their  sisters. 
So  have  I  known  a  hopeful  youth 
Sit  down  in  quest  of  lore  and  truth, 
With  tomes  sufficient  to  confound  him, 
Like  Tohu  Bohu,  heap'd  around  him,— 
Mamurra'  stuck  to  Theophrastus, 
And  Galen  tumbling  o'er  Bombastus.'^ 
When  lo  !  while  all  that's  learu'd  and  WMse 
Absorbs  the  boy,  he  lifts  his  eyes, 
And  through  the  whidow  of  his  study 
Beholds  some  damsel  fair  and  ruddy. 
With  eyes,  as  brightly  tuni'd  upon  him  as 
The  angel's^  were  on  Hieronynuis. 
Quick  fly  the  folios,  widely  scatter'd, 
Old  Homer's  laurell'd  brow  is  batter'd, 
And  Sappho,  headlong  sent,  flies  just  in 
The  reverend  eye  of  St.  Augustin. 
Raptured  he  quits  each  dozing  sage, 
Oh  woman,  for  thy  lovelier  page : 
Sweet  book  ! — unlike  the  book^  oi'  art, — 
Whose  errors  are  thy  fairest  part ; 
In  whom  the  dear  errata  column 
Is  the  best  page  in  all  the  volume  !* 

But  to  begin  my  subject  rhyme — 
'Twas  just  about  tliis  devilish  time, 
When  scarce  there  happen'd  any  frolics 
That  were  not  done  by  Diabolics, 
A  cold  and  loveless  son  of  Lucifer, 
Who  woman  scorn'd,  nor  saw  the  use  of  lier, 
A  brancli  of  Dagon's  family, 
(Which  Dagon,  whether  Ho  or  She, 

Canonum,"  and  says,  that  for  this  reason  bishops  were  not 
allowed  to  read  the  Classics  :  "  Episcopus  Gentilium  libros 
non  legal." — Distinct.  37.  But  Gratian  is  notorious  for  lying 
— besides,  angels,  as  the  illustrious  pupil  of  Pantenus  assures 
us,  have  got  no  tongues.  Ov^^  oj^  i^jitf  ra  lora,  wurtoj  €KEt- 
i/oij  f]  j-Xwrra"  ov6'  au  op-yava  rij  d-ori  ^tovr}S  ayycXoti. — 
Clem.  Mexand.  Stromal. 

4  The  idea  of  the  Rabbins,  respecting  the  origin  of  woniMU, 
is  not  a  little  singular.  They  think  that  man  was  originally 
formed  with  a  tail,  like  a  monkey,  but  that  the  Deity  cut  olT 
■this  appendage,  and  made  woman  of  it.  Upon  this  extra- 
ordinary supposition  the  following  reflection  is  founded  :— 

If  such  is  the  tie  between  women  and  men, 

The  ninny  who  weds  is  a  pitiful  elf, 
For  he  takes  to  his  tail  like  an  idiot  agiiin, 

And  thus  makes  a  deplorable  ape  of  himself. 

Yet.  if  we  may  judge  as  the  fashions  prevail, 
Every  husband  remembers  th'  original  plan. 

And.  knowing  his  wife  is  no  more  than  his  tail, 
Why  he — leaves  her  behind  him  as  much  as  he  can. 


I 


158 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Is  a  dispute  that  vastly  better  is 

Referr'd  to  Scaliger'  ct  ctBteris,) 

Findiug^  ihat,  in  tliis  cage  of  fools, 

Tlie  wisest  sots  adorn  the  scliools, 

Took  it  at  once  his  head  Satanic  in, 

To  grow  a  great  scliolastic  manikin, — 

A  doctor,  quite  as  leam'd  and  fine  as 

Scotus  John  or  Tom  Aquinas,^ 

Lully,  Hales  Irrefragabilis, 

Or  any  doctor  of  tlio  rabble  is. 

In  languages,^  the  Polyglots, 

Compared  to  him,  were  Babel  sots  ; 

He  chatter'd  more  than  ever  Jew  did, 

Sanliedrim  and  Priest  included  ; — 

Priest  and  holy  Sanhedrim 

Were  ono-and-seventy  fools  to  him 

But  chief  the  learned  demon  felt  a 

Zeal  so  strong  for  gamma,  delta, 

That,  all  for  Greek  and  learning's  glory,' 

He  nightly  tippled  "  Grieco  more," 

And  never  paid  a  bill  or  balance 

Except  upon  the  Grecian  Kalends : — 

From  whence  your  scholars,  when  they  want 

tick, 
Say,  to  be  Attic's  to  be  on  tick, 
In  logics  he  was  quite  Ho  Panu  ;^ 
Knew  as  much  as  ever  man  knew. 
He  fouglit  the  combat  syllogistic 
With  so  much  skill  and  art  eristic. 


1  Scaliger.  de  Emendat.  Tempor.— Dayon  was  thought  by 
others  to  he  a  certain  sea-monster,  who  ranie  every  day  out 
of  the  Red  Sea  to  teach  the  Syrians  husbandry'. — See  Jacques 
GalTarel,  (Curiosit6s  Inouies,  chap,  i.,)  who  says  he  thinks 
this  story  of  the  sea-monster  "  carries  little  show  of  proba- 
bility with  it." 

3  I  wish  it  were  known  with  any  degree  of  certainty 
whether  the  Commentary  on  Boethius  attributed  to  Thomas 
Aquinas  be  really  the  work  of  this  Angelic  Doctor.  There 
are  some  bold  assertions  hazarded  in  it:  for  instance,  he 
says  that  Plato  kept  school  in  a  town  called  Acadetnia,  and 
that  Alcihiades  was  a  very  beautiful  woman  whom  some 
of  Aristotle's  pupils  fell  in  love  with  : — '*  Alcibiades  mulier 
fuit  plucherritiia,  quam  videntes  quidam  discipuli  Aristote- 
lis."  &c. — See  Freyta^  Adparat.  Litterar.  art.  8G,  torn.  i. 

3  The  following  compliment  was  paid  to  Lanrentius  Valla, 
upon  his  accurate  knowledge  of  the  Latin  language  :— 

Nunc  postquam  manes  defunctus  Valla  pelivit, 
Non  audet  Pluto  verba  Latina  loqui. 
Since  Val  arrived  in  Pluto's  shade, 

His  nouns  and  pronouns  all  so  pat  in, 
rinto  himself  would  be  afraid 
To  say  his  soul's  his  own,  in  Latin  ! 
Pee  for  these  lines  the  "  Auctorum  Censio"  of  Du  Verdier 
(page  29.) 

4  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  Martin  Luther,  with  all 
his  talents  for  reforming,  should  yet  be  vulgar  enough  to 
biuph  at  Camerarius  for  writing  to  hitii  in  Greek.  "  Master 
•loachim  (says  he)  ha^  sent  me  some  dates  and  some  raisins, 
and  has  also  written  me  twn  letters  in  Greek.  As  soon  as  I 
am  recovered.  I  shall  answer  them  in  Turkish,  that  he  too 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  what  he  does  not  under- 


That  though  you  were  the  leam'd  Stagirite, 

At  once  upon  the  hip  he  had  you  right 

In  music,  though  he  had  no  ears 

Except  for  that  among  the  spheres, 

(Which  most  of  all,  as  he  averr'd  it. 

He  dearly  loved,  'cause  no  one  heard  it,) 

Yet  aptly  he,  at  sight,  could  read 

Each  tuneful  diagram  in  Bede, 

And  find,  by  Euclid's  corollaria, 

The  ratios  of  a  jig  or  aria. 

But,  as  for  all  your  warbling  Delias, 

Orpheuses  and  Saint  Cecilias, 

He  own'd  he  tliought  them  much  surpass'd 

By  that  redoubted  Hyaloclasl" 

Who  still  contrived  by  dint  of  throttle, 

Where'er  he  went  to  crack  a  bottle. 

Likewise  to  show  his  might)  'iiowledgo,  he, 
On  things  unknown  in  physio!og\-, 
Wrote  many  a  cliapter  to  divert  iis, 
(Like  that  great  little  man  Albertus.) 
Wherein  he  show'd  the  reason  why. 
When  children  first  are  heard  to  crj'. 
If  boy  the  baby  chance  to  be. 
He  cries  O  A  !— if  girl,  O  E  !— 
Which  are,  quoth  he,  exceeding  fair  hints 
Respecting  their  first  sinful  parents  ; 
"  Oh  Eve  I"  exclaimeth  little  madam, 
While  Uttle  master  cries,  "  Oh  Adam  !''' 


stand."  "  Gra?ca  sunt,  legi  non  possunt,"  is  the  ignorant 
speech  attributed  to  Accursius;  but  very  unjustly  : — for,  far 
from  asserting  that  Greek  could  not  be  read,  that  worthy  ju- 
ris-consull  upon  the  Law  6.  D.  de  Bonor.  Possess.  ex[iressly 
says,  "Gr^cie  liters;  pos5uw(  intelligi  et  legi.'*  (Vide  Nov. 
Libror.  Rarior.  Collection.  Fascic.  IV.) — Scipio  Carteroma- 
chus  seems  to  have  been  of  opinion  that  there  is  no  salva- 
tion out  of  the  pale  of  Greek  Literature  :  '"  Via  prima  salutis 
Graia  pandetur  ab  urbe  ■."  and  the  zeal  of  Laurentius  Uho- 
domannus  cannot  be  sufficiently  admired,  when  he  exhorts 
his  countrymen,  "  per  gloriam  Christi,  per  salutem  palrix, 
per  reipublica;  decus  et  emolumentum,"  to  study  the  Greek 
language.  Nor  must  we  forget  Phavoriniis,  the  excellent 
Bishop  of  Nocera.  who,  careless  of  all  the  usual  commenda- 
tions of  a  Christian,  required  no  further  eulogium  on  his 
tomb  than  "  Here  lieth  a  Greek  Lexicoj^rapher.'* 

fi  'O  navv. — The  introduction  of  this  language  into  Enslish 
poetry  has  a  good  effect,  and  ought  to  be  more  universally 
adopted.  A  word  or  two  of  Greek  in  a  stanza  would  serve  as 
ballast  to  the  most  "  light  o'love"  verses.  Atisonius,  among 
the  ancients,  may  serve  as  a  model ; — 

Ou  yap  ftot  Sc/iis  coTiv  in  hac  regione  fiEvovri 
A(tof  ab  nostris  nrtSevca  esse  Kaftijyais. 
Ronsard,  the  French  poet,  has  enriched  his  sonnets  and  odes 
with  many  an  excellent  morsel    from   the   Lexicon.     His 
"chere  Entelechie,"  in  addressing  his  mistress,  can  only  be 
equalled  by  Cowley's  "  Anliperistasis." 

6  Or  Glass-Breaker— Morhnfins  has  given  an  ncconnt  of 
this  extraordinary  man,  in  a  work,  puljlished  I6d~, — "De 
viireo  scypho  fracto,"  &c. 

'  Transl.-Aied  almost  literally  from  a  passage  in  Albertua  de 
Secretis,  &c. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


159 


But  'twas  in  Optics  and  Dioptrics, 
Our  d«mon  play'd  his  first  and  top  tricks. 
Ho  held  that  sunshine  passes  quicker 
Through  wine  than  any  other  liquor  ; 
And  though  he  saw  no  great  objection 
To  steady  light  and  clear  reflection, 
He  thought  the  aberrating  rays, 
Which  play  about  a  bumper's  blaze, 
Were  by  the  doctors  look'd,  in  common,  oa, 
As  a  more  rare  and  rich  phenomenon. 
He  wisely  said  tiiat  the  sensorium 
Is  for  the  eyes  a  great  emporium, 
To  which  these  noted  picture-stealers 
Send  all  they  can  and  meet  with  dea  ers. 
In  many  an  optical  proceeding 
The  brain,  he  said,  show'd  great  good-breeding : 
For  instance,  when  we  ogle  women 
(A  trick  which  Barbara  tutor'd  him  in,) 
Although  the  dears  are  apt  to  get  in  a 
Strange  position  on  the  retina 
Yet  instantly  the  modest  brain 
Doth  set  them  on  their  legs  again  I' 

Our  doctor  thus,  with  "  stufTd  sufficiency" 
Of  all  omnigenous  omnisciency, 

1  Alluding  to  that  habitunl  act  of  the  judgment,  by  which, 
notwithstanding  ihe  inversion  of  the  image  upon  the  retina, 
a  correct  impression  of  the  object  is  conveyed  to  the  senso- 
rium. 

3  Under  this  description,  I  believe  "the  Pevil  among  the 
Scholars"  may  be  included.  Yet  Leibnitz  found  out  the  uses 
of  incomprehensibility,  when  he  was  appointed  secretary  to 
a  society  of  philosophers  at  Nuremberg,  chiefly  for  his  in- 
genuity in  writing  a  cabiilislical  letter,  not  one  word  of 
which  either  they  or  himself  could  interpret    See  the  Etoge 


Began  (as  who  would  not  begin 

That  had,  like  him,  so  much  within?) 

To  let  it  out  in  books  of  all  sorts, 

Folios,  quartos,  largo  and  small  sorts  ; 

Poems,  so  very  deep  and  sensible 

That  they  were  (luito  incomprehensible  ;' 

Frose,  which  had  been  at  learning's  Fair, 

And  bought  up  all  the  trumpery  there, 

The  tatter'd  rags  of  eveiy  vest. 

In  which  the  Greeks  and  Romans  dress'd, 

And  o'er  her  figure  swoH'n  and  antic 

Scatter'd  them  all  with  airs  so  frantic, 

That  those,  who  saw  what  fits  she  had, 

Declared  unhappy  Prose  was  madl 

Epics  he  wrote  and  scores  of  rebuses. 

All  as  neat  as  old  Turnebus's  ; 

Kggs  and  altars,  cycloptBdias, 

Grammars,  prayer-books — oh  I  'twere  tedlouSj 

Did  I  but  tell  the  half,  to  follow  .ne : 

Not  the  scribbling  bard  of  Ptolemy, 

No — nor  the  hoary  Trismegistus, 

(Whose  writings  all, thank  heaven  I  have  miss'd  us,) 

E'er  fiU'd  with  lumber  such  a  wareroom 

As  this  great  "  porcus  literarum !" 


Historique  de  M.  de  Leibnit:^l'Europe  Savante. — People 
in  all  ages  have  loved  to  be  puzzled.  We  find  Cicero  thank- 
ing Atiicus  for  having  sent  him  a  work  of  Serapion  'ex 
quo  (says  he)  quidem  ego  (quod  inter  nos  liceat  dicere) 
millesimam  partem  vix  intelliEO."  Lib.  ii.  epist.  4.  And 
we  know  that  Avicenna,  the  learned  Arabian,  read  Aris- 
totle's Metaphysics  forty  times  over  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  being  able  to  inform  the  world  that  he  could  not  compre- 
hend one  syllable  throughuul  them.  (Nicolas  Alassa  in 
Vit  Avicen.' 


I 


t  • 


100 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


FRANCIS,  EARL  OF  MOIRA, 

genera,l  in  his  majestv's  forces,  master-geheral  of 
the  ordnance,  constable  of  the  tower,  etc. 

My  Loud, 

It  is  impossible  to  think  of  addressing  a 
Dedication  to  your  Lordship  without  calling  to 
mind  t!ie  well-known  reply  of  the  Spartan  to  a 
rhetorician,  who  proposed  to  pronounce  an  eu- 
loginrn  on  Hercules.  "  On  Hercules  I"'  said  the 
honest  Spartan,  "  who  ever  thought  of  blaming 
Hercules?"  In  a  similar  manner  the  concurrence 
of  public  opinion  has  left  to  the  pauegj'rist  of  your 
Lordsliip  a  very  superfluous  task.  I  shall,  there- 
fore, bo  silent  on  the  ■bject,  and  merely  entreat 
your  indulgence  to  the  veiy  humble  tribute  of 
gratitude  which  I  have  here  the  honor  to  pre- 
sent. 

I  am,  my  Lord, 

With  every  feeling  of  attachment 
and  respect, 
Your  Lordship's  very  devoted  Servant, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 

27  Bur7j  Street.  St.  James's, 
^prU  10,  180G. 


PREFACE. » 

The  principal  poems  in  the  following  collection 
were  written  during  an  absence  of  fourteen  months 
from  Europe.  Though  curiosity  was  certainly  not 
the  motive  of  my  voyage  to  America,  yet  it  hap- 
pened that  the  gratification  of  curiosity  was  the  only 
advantage  wliich  1  derived  from  it.  Finding  my- 
self in  the  country  of  a  new  people,  whose  infancy 
had  promised  so  much,  and  whoso  progress  to 
maturity  has  been  an  object  of  such  interesting 
speculation,    I    determined    to    employ    the    short 

'  This  Prefiice,  as  well  as  the  Dedication  which  precedes 
it,  were  prefixed  origiDally  to  the  iniaceliaiieous  volume  en- 


period  of  time  which  my  plan  of  return  to  Europe 
afforded  me,  in  travelling  through  a  few  of  the 
Slates,  and  acquiring  some  knowledge  of  the  in- 
habitants. 

The  impression  which  my  mind  received  from 
the  character  and  manners  of  these  republicans, 
suggested  the  Epistles  which  are  written  from  the 
city  of  Washington  and  Lake  Erie.^  How  fur  I 
was  right,  in  thus  assuming  the  tone  of  a  satirist 
against  a  people  whom  I  viewed  but  as  a  stranger 
and  a  visiter,  is  a  doubt  which  my  feelings  did 
not  allow  me  time  to  investigate.  All  I  presume 
to  answer  for  is  the  6deiity  of  the  picture  which 
I  have  given  ;  and  though  prudence  might  have 
dictated  gentler  language,  truth,  I  think,  would 
have  iustified  severer. 

1  went  to  America  with  prepossessions  by  no 
means  unfavorable,  and  indeed  rather  indulged 
in  many  of  those  illusive  ideas,  with  respect  to  the 
purity  of  the  government  and  the  primitive  happi- 
ness of  the  people^  which  I  had  early  imbibed  in 
my  native  country,  where,  unfortunately,  discon-  J 
tent  at  home  enliances  every  distant  temptation, 
and  the  western  world  has  long  been  looked  to  as  a 
retreat  from  real  or  imaginar)-  oppression  ;  as,  in 
short,  the  elysian  Atlantis,  where  persecuted  patri- 
ots might  tind  their  visions  reahzcd,  and  be  welcomed 
by  kinared  spirits  to  liberty  and  repose.  In  all 
tiie*.-^  fl^Uering  expectations  I  found  myself  com- 
pletely disappointed,  and  felt  inclined  to  say  to 
America,  as  Horace  says  to  his  mistress,  "  in- 
tentata  nites."  Brissot,  in  the  preface  to  his  travels, 
obsei"ves,  that  "  freedom  in  that  country  is  carried 
to  so  high  a  degree  as  to  border  upon  a  state  of 
nature ;"  and  there  certainly  is  a  close  apjirox- 
imation  to  savage  life,  not  only  in  the  liberty 
wliich  they  enjoy,  but  in  the  violence  of  party 
spirit  and  of  private  anbnosity  which  results  from 
it.  This  illiberal  zeal  imbitters  all  social  inter- 
course ;  and,  tiiough  I  scarcely  could  hesitate  in 
selecting  the  party  whose  views  appeared  to  m© 
the  more  pure  and  rational,  yet  I  am  sorry  to  ob- 


titlrfl  "Odes  and  Epistles,"  of  which,  hitherto,  the  poems 
rt'Iiiiing  to  tny  American  tour  have  formed  a  part. 
3  Epistles  VI.,  VII.,  and  VIII. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


16> 


Dire  that,  ia  asserting  their  opinions,  they  both 
ssuine  an  equal  share  of  intolerance  ;  the  Demo- 
rats,  consistently   with   their  principles,   exhibiting 

vulgarity  of  rancor,  which  the  Federalists  too  often 
re  so  forgetful  of  their  cause  as  to  imitate. 

The  rude  familiarity  of  the  lower  orders,  and 
idecd  the  unpolished  state  of  society  in  general, 
roiild  neither  sui-prise  nor  disgust  if  they  seemed 
)  flow  from  that  simplicity  of  character,  that  hon- 
st  ignorance  of  the  gloss  of  refinement,  which  may 
0  looked  for  in  a  new  and  inexperienced  people, 
lut,  when  we  find  them  arrived  at  maturity  in  most 
f  the  vices,  and  all  the  pride  of  civilization,  while 
ley  are  still  so  far  removed  from  its  higher  and 
etter  characteristics,  it  is  impossible  not  to  feel 
lat  this  youthful  decay,  this  crude  anticipation  of 
le  natural  period  of  corruption,  must  repress  every 
\nguine  hope  of  the  future  energy  and  greatness  of 
Lmerica. 

I  am  conscious  that,  in  venturing  these  few 
jmarks,  I  have  said  just  enough  to  offend,  and  by 

0  means  sufficient  to  convince  ;  for  the  limits  of 
preface  prevent  me  from  entering  into  a  justifica- 

on  of  my  opinions,  and  I  am  committed  on  the 
■ibject  as  effectually  as   if  I  had   written  volumes 

1  their  defence.  My  reader,  however,  is  apprized 
f  the  very  cursory  obsen'ation  upon  wliich  these 
pinions  are  founded,  and  can  easily  decide  for  him- 
5lf  upon  the  degree  of  attention  or  confidence  which 
ley  merit. 

With  respect  to  the  poems  in  general,  which 
ccupy  the  following  pages,  I  know  not  in  what 
lanner  to  apologize  to  the  public  for  intruding  upon 
leir  notice  such  a  mass  of  unconnected  trifles, 
jch  a  world  of  epicurean  atoms  as  I  have  here 
rought  in  conflict  together.*  To  say  that  I  have 
een  tempted  by  the  liberal  offers  of  my  bookseller, 
I  an  excuse  which  can  hope  for  but  little  indulgence 
•om  the  critic  ;  yet  I  own  that,  without  this  season- 
ble  inducement,  these  poems  veiy  possibly  would 
ever  have  been  submitted  to  the  world.  The 
lare  of  publication  is  too  strong  for  such  imperfect 
reductions:  they  should  be  shown  but  to  the  eye 
f  friendship,  in  that  dim  light  of  privacy  whicli  is 
s  favorable  to  poetical  as  to  female  beauty,  and 
erves  as  a  veil  for  faults,  while  it  enhances  everj"^ 
harm  which  it  displays.  Besides,  this  is  not  a 
eriod  for  the  idle  occupations  of  poetry,  and  times 
ke  the  present  require  talents  more  active  aud  more 
iseful.  Few  have  now  the  leisure  to  read  such 
riflts,  and  I  most  sincerely  regret  that  I  have  liad 
he  leisure  to  write  them. 


1  See  the  foregoing  Note,  p.  160. 

'  Pylhagoraa ;  who  was  supposed  to  have  a  power  of 


POEMS  KELATING  TO  AMERICA 


LORD  VISCOUNT  STRANGFORD. 

ABOARD  TUE  PHAETON  FRIGATE,  OFF  THE  AZORES.  1 
MOOMLIOHT. 


Sweet  Moon  !  if,  like  Crotona's  sage,'' 
By  any  spell  my  hand  could  dare 

To  make  tliy  disk  its  ample  page, 

And  write  my  thoughts,  my  wishes  there  ; 

How  niany  a  friend,  whose  careless  eye 

Now  wandcre  o'er  that  starry  sky, 

Should  smile,  upon  thy  orb  to  meet 

The  recollection,  kind  aud  sweet, 

The  reveries  of  fond  regret. 

The  promise,  never  to  forget, 

Aud  all  my  heart  and  soul  would  send 

To  many  a  dear-loved,  distant  friend. 

How  little,  when  we  parted  last, 
I  thought  tliose  pleasant  times  were  past. 
Forever  past,  when  brilliant  joy 
Was  all  my  vacant  heart's  employ : 
When,  fresh  from  mirlli  to  mirth  again, 

We  thought  the  rapid  hours  too  few  ; 
Our  only  use  for  knowledge  then 

To  gather  bliss  from  all  n-e  knew. 
Delicious  days  of  whim  and  soul ! 

When,  mingling  lore  and  laugh  together. 
We  lean'd  the  book  on  Pleasure's  bowl. 

And  tuni'd  the  leaf  with  Folly's  feather. 
Little  I  thought  that  all  were  fled. 
That,  ere  that  sunnner's  bloom  was  shed. 
My  eye  should  see  the  sail  unfurl'd 
That  wafts  me  to  the  western  world. 

And  yet,  'twas  time  ; — in  youth's  sweet  days. 
To  cool  that  season's  glowing  rays. 
The  heart  awhile,  with  wanton  wing, 
May  dip  and  dive  in  Pleasure's  spring ; 
But,  if  it  wait  for  winter's  breeze. 
The  spring  will  chill,  the  heart  will  freeze 
And  then,  that  Hope,  that  fairy  Hope, — 

Oh  !  she  awaked  sucli  happy  dreams, 
And  gave  my  soul  such  tempting  scope 

For  all  its  dearest,  fondest  scnemes. 


writing  upon  the  Moon  by  the  means  or  a  magic  mlrror.- 
See  Bavle,  arl.  Fytkag. 


I 


163 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


That  not  Verona's  child  of  song, 

Wlicn  flying  from  tlie  Piirygian  shore, 

With  lighter  heart  could  bound  along, 
Or  pant  to  be  a  wand'rer  more  I' 

Even  now  delusive  hope  will  steal 
Amid  the  dark  regrets  I  feel, 
Soothing,  as  yonder  placid  beam 

Pursues  the  murmurei-s  of  the  deep. 
And  lights  them  with  consoling  gleam. 

And  smiles  them  into  tranquil  sleep. 
Oh !  such  a  blessed  night  as  this, 

I  often  think,  if  friends  were  near, 
How  we  should  feel,  and  gaze  with  bliss 

Upon  the  moon-bright  scenery  here  ! 
The  sea  is  like  a  silvery  lake. 

And  o'er  its  cahn  the  vessel  glides 
Gently,  as  if  it  fear'd  to  wake 

The  slumber  of  the  silent  tides. 
The  only  envious  cloud  that  lowers 

Hath  hung  its  shade  on  Pico's  height,' 
Where  dimly,  mid  the  dusk,  he  towers, 

And  scowling  at  tliis  heav'n  of  light, 
E.\ults  to  see  the  infant  storm 
Cling  darkly  round  liis  giant  form  ! 

Now,  could  I  range  those  verdant  isles. 

Invisible  at  this  soft  hour, 
And  see  the  looks,  the  beaming  smiles, 

That  brighten  many  an  orange  bower  ; 
And  could  I  lift  each  pious  veil. 

And  see  the  blusliing  cheek  it  shades, — 
Oh  !  I  should  have  full  many  a  tale, 

To  tell  of  young  Azorian  maids.' 
Yes,  Strangford,  at  tliis  hour,  perhaps, 

Some  lover  (not  too  idly  blest, 
Like  those,  who  in  their  ladies'  laps 

May  cradle  every  wish  to  rest) 
Warbles,  to  touch  his  dear  one's  soul. 

Those  madrigals,  of  breath  divine. 
Which  Camoens'  harp  from  Rapture  stole 

And  gave,  all  glowing  warm,  to  thine.* 
Oh  1  could  the  lover  leam  from  thee, 

And  breathe  them  with  thy  graceful  tone, 
Such  sweet,  beguiling  miustrelsy 

Would  make  the  coldest  uymph  his  own. 

But,  hark  ! — the  boatswain's  pipings  tell 
'TIs  time  to  bid  my  dream  farewell : 
Eight  bells : — the  middle  watch  is  set ; 
Good  night,  ray  Strangford  I — ne'er  forget 

1  Allmling  lo  these  animated  lines  in  the  44th  Carmen  of 
Catullus: — 

Jam  mens  pra;trepiilans  avet  vagari. 
Jam  Ixti  studio  pedes  vigescunt! 

3  A  very  high  mountain  on  one  of  llie  Azores,  from  which 


That,  far  beyond  the  western  sea 
Is  one,  whose  heart  remembers  tliee. 


STANZAS. 


6u^of  Se  TTwr'  C(io5 

TtVbJCKC  TafQpitiTTCta  jiT]  ocffciv  oyov. 

.^scHVLL.  Fragment, 

A  BEAM  of  tranquillity  smiled  'n  the  west. 

The  storms  of  the  morning  pursued  us  no  more ; 

And  the  wave,  while  it  welcomed  the  moment  of  rest. 
Still  heaved,  as  remembering  ills  that  were  o'er. 

Serenely  my  heart  took  the  hue  of  the  hour, 

Its  passions  were  sleeping,  were  mute  as  the  dead ; 

And  the  spirit  becalm'd  but  remember'd  tlieir  power, 
As  the  billow  the  force  of  the  gale  that  was  fled. 

I  thought  of  those  days,  when  to  pleasure  alone 
My  heart  ever  gi*anted  a  wish  or  a  sigh  ; 

When  the  saddest  emotion  my  bosom  had  known, 
Was  pity  for  those  who  were  wiser  than  I. 

I  reflected,  how  soon  in  the  cup  of  Desire 
The  pearl  of  the  soul  may  be  melted  away  ; 

How  quickly,  alas,  the  pure  sparkle  of  fire 

We  mherit  from  heav'n,  may  be  quench'd  in  the 
clay; 

And  I  pray'd  of  that  Spirit  who  lighted  the  flame, 
That  Pleasure  no  more  might  its  purity  dim  ; 

So  that,  sullied  but  little,  or  brightly  the  same, 
I  might  give  back  the  boon  I  had  borrow'd  froE 
him. 

How  blest  was  the  thought !  it  appear'd  as  if  Heaven 
Had  already  an  opening  to  Paradise  shown  ; 

As  if,  passion  all  chasten'd  and  error  forgiven. 
My  heart  then  began  to  be  purely  its  own 

I  look'd  to  the  west,  and  the  beautiful  sky, 
W^nch  morning   had   clouded,  was  clouded  no 
more  : 

"  Oh  !  thus,"  I  exclaim'd,  "  may  a  heavenly  eye 
"  Shed  light  on  the  soul  that  was  darken'd  before." 


the  island  derives  its  name.  It  is  said  by  some  to  be  as  high 
as  the  Veak  of  TeneritTe. 

3  I  believe  it  is  Gathrie  who  says,  that  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Azores  are  much  addicted  to  gallantry.  This  is  an  as- 
sertion in  which  even  Guthrie  may  be  credited. 

*  These  islands  belong  lo  the  Portuguese. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA.                              163 

A  mother  saw  our  eyelids  close, 

And  bless'd  them  into  pure  repose  ; 

THE  FLYING  FISH.' 

Then,  haply  if  a  week,  a  day. 

When  I  have  seen  thy  snow-whit6  wing 

I  linger'd  from  that  home  away. 

From  tlie  blue  wave  at  evening  spring, 

How  long  the  little  ab-seiice  seem'd ! 

And  show  those  scales  of  silvery  white, 

How  bright  the  look  of  welcome  beam'd. 

So  gayly  to  the  eye  of  light, 

As  mute  you  heard,  with  eager  smile, 

As  if  thy  frame  were  form'd  to  rise, 

My  tales  of  all  that  pass'd  the  while  ! 

And  live  amid  the  glorious  skies ; 

Oh  !  it  has  made  me  proudly  feel, 

Yet  now,  my  Kate,  a  gloomy  sea 

How  like  thy  wing's  impatient  zeal 

Rolls  wide  between  that  home  and  me  ; 

Is  the  pure  soul,  that  rests  not,  pent 

The  moon  may  thrice  be  born  and  die. 

Within  this  world's  gross  element, 

Ere  ev'n  that  seal  can  reach  mine  eye. 

But  takes  the  wing  that  God  has  given, 

Which  used  so  oft,  so  quick  to  come. 

And  rises  into  light  and  heaven ! 

Still  breathing  all  the  breath  of  home, — 

As  if,  still  fresh,  the  cordial  air 

But,  when  I  see  that  wing,  so  bright, 

From  lips  beloved  were  lingering  there. 

Grow  languid  with  a  moment's  flight, 

But  now,  alas, — far  diiTerent  fate  1 

Attempt  the  paths  of  air  m  vain. 

It  comes  o'er  ocean,  slow  and  late. 

And  sink  into  the  waves  again ; 

When  the  dear  hand  that  fiU'd  its  fold 

Alas  I  the  flattering  pride  is  o'er; 

With  words  of  sweetness  may  lie  cold. 

Like  thee,  awhile,  the  soul  may  soar. 

But  erring  man  must  blush  to  think. 

But  hence  that  gloomy  thought !  at  last, 

Like  thee,  again  the  soul  may  sink. 

Beloved  Kate,  the  waves  are  past; 

I  tread  on  earth  securely  now. 

Oh  Virtue  !  when  thy  clime  I  seek, 

And  the  green  cedar's  living  bough 

Let  not  my  spirit's  flight  be  weak : 

Breathes  more  refreshment  to  my  eyes 

Let  me  not,  like  this  feeble  thing. 

Than  could  a  Claude's  divinest  dyes. 

With  brine  still  dropping  from  its  wing, 

At  length  I  touch  the  happy  sphere 

Just  sparkle  in  the  solar  glow 

To  liberty  and  virtue  dear, 

And  plunge  again  to  depths  below ; 

Where  man  looks  up,  and,  proud  to  claim 

But,  when  I  leave  the  grosser  tlirong 

His  rank  within  the  social  frame, 

With  whom  my  soul  hath  dwelt  so  long, 

Sees  a  grand  system  round  him  roll. 

Let  me,  in  that  aspiring  day. 

Himself  its  centre,  sun,  and  soul ! 

Cast  every  lingering  stain  away, 

Far  from  the  shocks  of  Europe — far 

And,  panting  for  thy  purer  air, 

From  every  wild,  elliptic  star 

Fly  up  at  once  and  fix  me  there. 

That,  shooting  with  a  devious  fire. 

Kindled  by  heaven's  avenging  ire, 
.  So  oft  hath  into  chaos  hurl'd 

TO 

The  sj'stems  of  the  ancient  world. 

MISS  MOORE. 

The  warrior  here,  in  anns  no  more. 

FROM  NORFOLK,  IN  VIRGINIA,  NOVEUBER,  1803. 

Thinks  of  the  toil,  the  conflict  o'er. 

In  days,  my  Kate,  when  life  was  new, 

And  glorying  in  the  freedom  won 

When,  luU'd  with  innocence  and  you, 

For  hearth  and  shrine,  for  sire  and  son. 

I  heard,  in  home's  beloved  shade. 

Smiles  on  the  dusky  webs  that  hide 

The  din  the  world  at  distance  made ; 

His  sleeping  sword's  remcmbcr'd  pride. 

When,  every  night  my  wea.-;»  head 

While  Peace,  with  sunny  cheeks  of  toil. 

Sunk  on  its  own  untliorncd  bed. 

Walks  o'er  the  free,  unlorded  soil. 

And,  mild  as  evening's  matron  hour. 

Eff'acing  with  her  splendid  sliare 

Looks  on  the  faintly  shutting  flower, 

The  drops  that  war  had  sprinkled  there. 

*  It  is  the  opinion  of  St.  .\ustin  upon  Genesis,  and  I  believe 

T:tToixtvoi%  npos  Ta  vrjKra.    With  this  thought  in  our  minds, 

^nearly  all  the  Fathers,  that  birds,  liketish.  wereorlf^inally 

when  we  tirst  see  the  Flying-Fish,  we  could  almost  fancy 

oduced  from  the  waters;  in  defence  of  which  idea  they 

that  we  are  present  at  the  moment  of  creation    and  witness 

ave  collected  every  fanciful  circumstance  which  can  tend 

the  birth  of  the  first  bird  from  the  waves. 

)  prove  a  kindred  similitude  between  them  J  nyyaetarroii 

1G4 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Thrice  happy  land  !  where  he  who  flies 
From  the  dark  ills  of  other  skies, 
From  scorn,  or  want's  unnerv'inn;^  woca, 
May  shelter  him  in  prond  repose  : 
Hope  sin^  along  the  yellow  sand 
His  welcome  to  a  patriot  land; 
The  m'ghty  wood,  with  pomp,  receives 
Tiie  stranger  in  its  world  of  leaves, 
Which  soon  their  barren  glory  yield 
To  the  warm  shed  and  cultured  field; 
And  he,  who  came,  of  all  bereft, 
To  whom  malignant  fate  had  left 
Nor  home  nor  friends  nor  country  dear, 
Finds  home  and  friends  and  coimtry  here. 

Such  is  the  picture,  warmly  such. 
That  Fancy  long,  with  florid  touch, 
Had  painted  to  my  sanguine  eye 
Of  man's  new  world  of  liberty. 
Oh  I  ask  me  not,  if  Truth  have  yet 
Her  seal  on  Fancy's  promise  set ; 
If  ev'n  a  glimpse  my  eyes  behold 
Of  that  imagined  age  of  gold  ; — 
Alas,  not  yet  one  gleaming  trace  1^ 
Never  did  youth,  who  loved  a  face 
As  sketched  by  some  fond  pencil's  skill, 
And  made  by  fancy  lovelier  still, 
Siirink  back  with  more  of  sad  surprise. 
When  the  live  model  met  his  eyea, 
Tlian  I  have  felt,  in  sorrow  felt, 
To  find  a  dream  on  which  I've  dwelt 
From  boyhood's  hour,  thus  fade  and  flee 
At  touch  of  stem  reality  ! 

But,  courage,  yet,  my  wavering  heart ! 
Blame  not  the  temple's  meanest  part,' 
Till  thou  hast  traced  the  fabric  o'er: — 
As  yet,  we  have  beheld  no  more  , 

Than  just  the  porcli  to  Freedom's  fane  ; 
And,  though  a  sable  spot  may  stain 
The  vestibule,  'tis  wrong,  'tis  sin 
To  doubt  the  godhead  reigns  within  ! 
So  here  I  pause — and  now,  my  Kate, 
To  you,  and  those  dear  friends,  whoso  fate 
Touches  more  near  this  home-sick  soul 
Than  all  the  Powers  from  pole  to  polo, 
Quo  word  at  parting — in  the  tone 
Most  sweet  to  you,  and  most  my  own. 

1  Such  romniiiic  works  as  "  The  American  Farmer's  Let- 
ters," and  ilie  account  of  Kcriluclty  by  Imlay.  would  seduce 
us  inton  belief,  that  innocence,  peace,  and  freedom  had  de- 
serted the  rest  of  the  world  for  Murtiia's  Viney;ird  and  the 
banks  of  the  Ohio.  The  French  tmvellers,  too,  almost  all 
from  revolutionary'  motives,  have  contributed  their  share  to 
the  dilTiision  of  this  flaiterinp  misconception.  A  visit  to  the 
country  is,  however,  quite  sutficicnt  to  correct  even  the  most 
enthusiastic  prepossession. 


The  simple  strain  I  send  you  here,* 

Wild  though  it  be,  would  charm  your  ear, 
Did  you  but  know  tlie  trance  of  thought 
In  which  my  mind  its  numbers  cauglit. 
*Twas  one  of  tliose  half-waking  dreams, 
That  haunt  me  oft,  when  music  seems 
To  bear  my  soul  in  sound  along, 
And  turn  its  feelings  all  to  song. 
I  thought  of  home,  the  according  lays 
Came  full  of  dreams  of  other  days; 
Freshly  m  each  succeeding  note 
I  found  some  young  remembrance  float, 
Till  following,  as  a  clew,  that  strain, 
I  wander'd  back  to  home  again. 

Oh !  love  the  song,  and  let  it  oft 
Live  on  your  lip,  in  accents  soft. 
Sa)  that  it  tells  you,  simply  well, 
All  I  have  bid  its  wild  notes  tell, — 
Of  Memor>''s  dream,  of  thoughts  that  yet 
Glow  with  the  light  of  joy  that's  set, 
And  all  the  fond  heart  keeps  in  store 
Of  friends  and  scenes  beheld  no  more. 
And  now,  adieu  ! — this  artless  air, 
With  a  few  rhymes,  in  transcript  fair, 
Are  all  the  gifts  I  yet  can  bnast 
To  send  j'ou  from  Columbia's  coast ; 
But  when  the  sun,  with  warmer  smile, 
Shall  light  me  to  my  destin'd  isle,* 
You  shall  have  many  a  cowsHp-bell, 
Where  Ariel  slept,  and  many  a  shell. 
In  whicli  that  gentle  spirit  drew 
From  honey  flowers  tlie  morning  dew. 


A  BALLAD. 
THE  LAKE  OF  THE  DISMAL  SWAMP. 

WRITTEN  AT  NORFOLK,  IN  VIRGINIA. 

"They  telt  of  a  youn^  man,  who  lost  his  mind  upon  the 
death  of  a  girl  he  loved,  and  who,  suddenly  disappearinpfrom 
his  friends,  was  never  afterwanis  heard  of.  As  lie  had  fre- 
quently said,  in  his  ravings,  that  the  girl  was  not  dead,  but 
po\ie  to  the  Dismal  Swamp,  it  is  supposed  he  hati  wandered 
into  that  dreary  wilderness,  and  had  died  of  hunger,  or  been 
lost  in  some  of  its  dreadful  morasses." — ^non. 

"  La  Pofesie  a  ses  monstres  comme  la  nature." — D'Alem- 

BERT. 

*'  They  made  her  a  grave,  too  cold  and  damp 
"  For  a  soul  ^j  wann  and  true  ; 

2  Norfolk,  it  must  be  owned,  presents  an  nnfavorable  speci 
men  of  America,  The  characteristics  of  Virginia  in  gener;il 
arc  not  such  as  can  delight  either  the  politician  or  the  mor 
alist.  and  at  Norfolk  they  are  exhibited  in  their  least  atirac 
tive  form.  At  the  time  when  we  arrived  the  yellow  ftvei 
had  not  yet  disappeared,  and  every  odor  that  assailed  us  in 
the  streets  very  strongly  accounted  for  its  visitation. 

3  A  tritiing  attempt  at  musical  comrosition  accompanied 
Ih-fl  Epistle.  ■*  Bermuda, 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


165 


"  And  she's  gone  to  the  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp,* 
"  Where,  all  nio;ht  lon^,  by  a  fire-fly  lamp, 
"  Slie  paddles  her  wliite  canoe 

"  And  her  fire-fly  lamp  I  soon  shall  see, 

"  And  her  paddle  I  soon  shall  hear; 
"  Lonor  and  loving  our  life  shall  be, 
"  And  I'll  hide  the  maid  in  a  cypress  tree, 

"  When  the  footstep  of  death  is  near.'* 

Away  to  the  Dismal  Swamp  he  speeds — 

His  path  was  rugged  and  sore, 
Through  tangled  juniper,  beds  of  reeds, 
Through  many  a  fen,  where  the  serpent  feeds, 

And  man  never  trod  before. 

And,  when  ou  eartli  he  snnk  to  sleep, 

If  slumber  his  eyelids  knew, 
He  lay,  wliere  the  deadly  vine  doth  weep 
Its  venomous  tear  and  nightly  steep 

The  flesli  with  blistering  dew  ! 

And  near  him  the  slie-wolf  stirr'd  the  brake. 
And  the  copper-snake  breathed  in  his  ear, 
Pill  he  starting  cried,  from  his  dream  awake, 
''  Oh !  when  shall  I  see  the  dusky  Lake, 
"  And  the  wliite  canoe  of  my  dear?" 

He  saw  the  Lake,  and  a  meteor  bright 

Quick  over  its  surface  play'd — 
*  Welcome,"  ho  said,  "  my  dear  one's  light!" 
A.nd  the  dim  sliore  echoed,  for  many  a  night, 

The  name  of  the  death-cold  maid. 

nil  he  holiow'd  a  boat  of  the  birchen  bark, 

Which  carried  him  off  from  shore  ; 
Far,  far  he  foilow'd  the  meteor  spark, 
l^ie  wind  was  high  and  the  clouds  were  dark, 

And  the  boat  retum'd  no  more. 

But  oft,  from  the  Indian  hunter's  camp, 

This  lover  and  maid  so  true 
Are  seen  at  the  hour  of  midnight  damp 
To  cross  the  Lake  by  a  fire-fly  lamp, 

And  paddle  their  white  canoe  I 


*  The  Great  Dismnl  Swamp  is  ten  or  twelve  miles  distant 
fruni  Norfolk,  sind  the  Lnke  in  the  middle  of  it  (about  seven 
miles  Ions)  is  called  Drumuiond's  Pond. 

a  Lady  Dnneiiall.  I  had  reason  to  suppose,  was  at  this  time 
still  in  Switzerland,  where  the  well-known  powers  of  her 
p-  ncil  must  have  been  frequently  awakened. 

'  The  chapel  of  William  Tell  on  the  Lake  of  Lnceme. 


TO  THE 

MARCHIONESS  DOWAGER  OF  DONEGALL. 

FROM   BERMUDA,   JANCARY,    1804. 

Lady!  where'er  you  roam,  whatever  land 
Woos  the  bright  touches  of  that  artist  hand  ; 
Whether  you  sketch  the  valley's  golden  meads. 
Where  mazy  Linth  liis  lingering  current  letids  ;^ 
EnamorM  catch  the  mellow  hues  that  sleep, 
At  eve,  on  Meillerie's  immortal  steep  ; 
Or  musing  o'er  the  Lake,  at  day's  decline, 
Mark  the  last  shadow  on  that  holy  shrine,^ 
Where,  many  a  night,  the  shade  of  Tell  complains 
Of  Gallia's  triumph  and  Helvetia's  chains  ; 
Oh  !  lay  the  pencil  for  a  momct  by. 
Turn  from  the  canvass  ihat  create e  eye, 
And  let  its  splendor,  like  the  morning  ray 
Upon  a  shepherd's  haip,  illume  my  lay. 

Yet,  Lady,  no — for  song  so  rude  as  mine, 
Chase  not  the  wonders  of  your  art  divine  ; 
Still,  radiant  eye,  upon  the  canvass  dwell ; 
Still,  magic  finger,  weave  your  potent  spell ; 
And,  while  I  sing  the  animated  smiles 
Of  fairy  nature  in  these  f-nm-bom  isles, 
Oh,  might  the  song  awake  some  bright  design, 
Inspire  a  toucli,  or  prompt  one  happy  line, 
Proud  were  my  soul,  to  see  its  humble  thought 
On  painting's  mirror  so  divinely  caught ; 
While  wondering  Genius,  as  he  lean'd  to  trace 
The  faint  conception  kindhng  into  grace, 
Might  love  my  numbers  for  the  spark  they  threw, 
And  bless  the  lay  that  lent  a  charm  to  you. 

Say,  have  you  ne'er,  in  nightly  vision,  stray'd 
To  those  pure  isles  of  ever-blooming  shade. 
Which  bards  of  old,  with  kindly  fancy,  placed 
For  happy  spirits  in  th*  Atlantic  waste?* 
There  listening,  while,  from  earth,  each  breeze  that 

came 
Brought  echoes  of  their  own  undying  fame, 
In  eloquence  of  eye,  and  dreams  of  song, 
They  charm'd  their  lapse  of  ziightless  hours  along  : — 
Nor  yet  in  song,  tliat  mortal  ear  might  suit, 
For  every  spirit  was  itself  a  lute, 
Where  Virtue  waken'd,  with  elysian  breeze, 
Pure  tones  of  thouuht  and  mental  harmonies. 


*  M.  Gehelinsays,  in  his  JMonde  Primitif.  "Lorsque  Stra- 
bon  crut  qne  les  anciens  th6ologiens  et  puetes  placoient  les 
champs  61ysi'es  dans  les  isles  de  TOciJan  Atlanlique.  il  n'en- 
tendil  rien  aleurdoclrine."  M.  Oebelin'ssuppoiiiion.  I  have 
no  douht.  is  the  more  correct .  luii  that  of  Strabo  is,  in  the 
present  instance,  most  to  my  purpose. 


16G 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Believe  me,  Lady,  when  the  zephyrs  bland 
Flojited  onr  bark  to  this  enchanted  land, — 
These  leafy  isles  upon  the  ocean  thrown, 
Like  stnds  of  emerald  o'er  a  silver  zone, — 
Not  all  the  charm,  tliat  ethnic  fancy  gave 
To  blessed  arbors  o'er  the  westera  wave. 
Could  wake  a  dream,  more  soothing  or  sublime, 
Of  bowers  ethereal,  and  the  Spirit's  clime. 

Bright  rose  the  moraing,  every  wave  was  still, 
When  the  first  perfume  of  a  cedar  hill 
Sweetly  awaked  ns,  and,  witli  smiling  charms, 
The  fair)'  harbor  woo'd  us  to  its  anns.' 
Gently  we  stole,  before  tlie  whisp'ring  wind, 
Through  plantain  shades,  that  roimd,  like  awuings, 

twined 
And  kiss'd  on  either  side  the  wanton  sails. 
Breathing  our  welcome  to  these  vernal  vales  ; 
While,  far  reflected  o'er  the  wave  serene. 
Each  wooded  island  shed  so  soft  a  green 
That  the  enamor'd  keel,  with  whisp'ring  play, 
Through  liquid  herbage  seem'd  to  steal  its  way. 

Never  did  wear}'  bark  more  gladly  glide, 
Or  rest  its  anchor  in  a  lovelier  tide  ! 
Along  the  margin,  many  a  shining  dome, 
White  as  the  palace  of  a  Lapland  gnome, 
Brigliten'd  the  wave  ; — in  eveiy  myrtle  grove 
Secluded  bashful,  like  a  shrine  of  love. 
Some  elfin  mansion  sparkled  through  the  shade ; 
And,  while  the  foliage  interjwsing  play'd, 
Lending  the  scene  an  ever-changing  grace, 
P\incy  would  love,  in  glimpses  vague,  to  trace 
The  flowery  capital,  the  shaft,  the  porch,'* 
And  dream  of  temple;-;,  till  her  kindling  torch 
Lighted  me  back  to  all  the  glorious  days 
Of  Attic  genius  ;  and  I  seem'd  to  gaze 
On  marble,  from  the  ricli  Penlelic  mount. 
Gracing  the  imibrage  of  some  Naiad's  fount. 

Then  thought  I,  too,  of  thee,  most  sweet  of  an 
The  spirit  race  that  come  at  poet's  call, 

•  Nothing  can  be  more  romantic  limn  the  little  harbor  of 
f^[.  Gci.)ri;e's.  The  number  of  lic.iutiftil  islets,  the  singular 
clciirnessdf  the  water,  and  tlic  unimated  play  of  ihe  graceful 
little  bouts,  gliding  forever  between  the  islands,  and  seeming 
til  sail  from  one  cedar-grove  into  another,  formed  altogether 
MS  lovely  H  miniature  of  nature's  beauties  as  cau  well  be 
iriiii<!incd. 

^  This  is  an  allusion  which,  to  the  few  who  are  fanclf^il 
enoujjh  to  indultrciiiit.  renricrs  the  scenery  of  Bermuda  par- 
ticularly interesting.  In  llie  short  but  beautiful  twilight  of 
their  spring  evenings,  the  white  cottages,  scatiered  over  the 
islands,  and  but  partially  seen  through  the  trees  that  sur- 
round Iheni,  assume  often  the  appearance  of  tittle  Grecian 
temples;  and  a  vivid  fancy  may  embelUsli  the  poor  fisher- 
man's  hut  with  coUnuns  such  as  the  pencil  of  a  Claude  might 
imitate.  I  had  one  favorite  olijccl  of  this  kind  in  my  walks, 
wliich  the  hospitality  of  its  owner  robbed  me  of,  by  asking 
Die  to  visit  hiui.    He  was  a  plain  good  man,  and  received  roe 


Delicate  Ariel !  who,  in  brighter  hours, 
Lived  on  the  perfume  of  tliese  honeyM  bowers, 
In  velvet  buds,  at  evening,  loved  to  lie, 
And  win  with  music  every  rose's  sigh. 
Though  weak  the  magic  of  my  humble  strain 
To  charm  your  spirit  from  its  orb  again. 
Yet,  oh,  for  her,  beneath  whose  smile  I  sing. 
For  her  (whose  pencil,  if  your  rainbow  wing 
Were  dimm'd  or  ruffled  by  a  wmtry  sky, 
Could  smooth  its  feather  and  relume  its  dye,) 
Descend  a  moment  from  your  starry  sphere, 
And,  if  the  lime-tree  grove  that  once  was  dear, 
The  sunny  wave,  the  bower,  the  breezy  hill, 
The  sparkling  grotto  can  delight  you  stiil. 
Oh  cull  their  choicest  tints,  their  softest  light. 
Weave  all  these  spells  into  one  dream  of  night, 
And,  while  the  lovely  artist  slumbering  Hes, 
Shed  the  warm  picture  o'er  her  mental  eyes  ; 
Take  for  the  task  her  own  creative  spells. 
And  brightly  show  what  song  but  faintly  tells. 


GEORGE    MORGAN,    ESQ. 

OF   SOnFOLK,   VIROINIA.3 

FROM  BERMUDA,  JANUARY,  1804. 

Kenr]  6'  r}vz(totaaa  Kai  arpottoi,  oia  ^'  aAiJrAijf, 
A(^(i]5  Kai  ^aWov  c-rrtdpoiioi  ij^ttejO  iwnois, 

lloi'T(<3  CVECTilpiKTat. 

CALL1MA.CH.  Hymn  in  Del.  v.  11, 

On,  what  a  sea  of  storm  we've  pass'd  ! — 
High  mountain  waves  and  foamy  showers. 

And  battling  winds  whose  savage  blast 
But  ill  agrees  with  one  whose  hours 
Have  pass'd  in  old  Anacreon's  bowers. 

Yet  think  not  poesy's  briglit  chann 

Forsook  me  in  this  rude  alarm  '^ — 


well  and  warmly,  but  I  could  never  turn  his  house  into  a 
Grecian  temple  again. 

3  This  gentlemau  is  attached  to  the  Britisjh  consulate  at 
Norfolk.  His  talents  are  worthy  of  a  much  higher  sphere  ; 
but  the  excellent  dispositions  of  the  fumily  with  whom  he 
resides,  and  thecotdial  repose  he  enjoys  amongst  some  of  the 
kindest  hearts  in  the  world,  should  be  almost  enough  to  nlone 
to  him  for  the  worst  caprices  of  fortime.  The  consul  him- 
self, Colonel  Hamilton,  is  one  among  the  very  iew  instances 
of  a  man,  ardently  loyal  to  his  king,  and  yet  beloved  by  the 
Americans.  His  house  is  the  very  temple  of  hospitaliiy,  and 
I  sincerely  pitj'  the  heart  of  that  stranger  who,  warm  from 
the  welcome  ofsuchaboard,  could  sit  down  to  write  a  libel  on 
his  host,  in  the  true  spirit  of  a  modern  philosophist.  See  the 
Travels  of  the  Duke  de  la  Rouchefoucault  Liancourt,  vol.  ii. 

*  We  were  seven  days  on  our  passage  from  Norfolk  to 
Bermuda,  during  three  of  which  we  were  forced  to  lay-to  in 
a  gale  of  wind.    The  Driver  sloop  of  war,  in  which  I  went, 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


167 


"Wlien  close  they  reef'd  the  timid  sail, 

When,  every  plank  complaining  loud, 
We  labor'd  in  the  midnight  gale, 

And  ev'n  our  haughty  mainmast  bow'd, 
Even  then,  in  that  unlovely  hour, 
The  Muse  still  brought  her  soothing  power, 
And,  midst  the  war  of  waves  and  wind, 
In  song's  Elysium  lapp'd  my  mind. 
Nay,  when  no  numbers  of  my  own 
Responded  to  her  wakening  tone, 
She  open'd,  with  her  golden  key, 

The  casket  where  my  memory  lays, 
Those  gems  of  classic  poesy, 

Which  time  has  saved  from  ancient  days. 

Take  one  of  these,  to  Lais  sung, — 
I  wrote  it  while  my  hammock  swung, 
As  one  might  write  a  dissertation 
Upon  "  Suspended  Animation!" 

Sweet^  is  your  kiss,  my  Lais  dear, 
But,  with  that  kiss  I  feel  a  tear 
Gush  from  your  eyelids,  such  as  start 
When  those  who've  dearly  loved  must  part. 
Sadly  you  lean  your  head  to  mine. 
And  mute  those  arms  around  me  twine, 
Your  hair  adown  my  bosom  spread. 
All  glittering  with  the  tears  you  shed. 
In  vain  I've  kiss'd  those  lids  of  snow, 
For  still,  like  ceaseless  founts  they  flow, 
Bathing  our  cheeks,  whene'er  they  meet 
Why  is  it  thus  ?  do  tell  me,  sweet ! 
Ah,  Lais  !  are  my  bodings  right? 
Am  I  to  lose  you  ?  is  to-night 

Our  last go,  false  to  heaven  and  me  I 

Your  very  tears  are  treachery. 


Such,  while  in  air  I  floating  hung. 
Such  was  the  strain,  Morgante  mio  ! 

wns  built  at  Bermuda  of  cedar,  and  is  accounted  an  excellent 
sen-boat.  She  was  then  commanded  by  my  very  much  re- 
gretted friend  Captain  Compton,  who  in  July  last  was  killed 
aboard  the  Lilly  in  an  action  with  a  French  privateer.  Poor 
Compton!  he  fell  a  victim  to  the  strange  impolicy  of  allowing 
such  a  miserable  thing  as  the  Lilly  to  remain  in  the  service  ; 
so  small,  crank,  and  unmanageable,  that  a  well-manned 
merchantman  was  at  any  lime  a  match  for  her. 

i  This  epigram  is  by  Paul  the  Silentiary,  and  may  be  found 
in  the  Analecta  of  Brunck,  vol.  iii,  p.  73.  As  the  reading 
there  is  somewhat  ditferent  from  what  I  have  followed  in 
this  translation,  I  shall  give  it  as  I  had  it  in  my  memory  at 
the  time,  and  as  it  is  in  Heinsius,  who,  I  believe,  first  pro- 
duced the  epigram.    See  his  Poemata. 

'HiJu/i£V£o'.  0iAi7^a  ro  Aaioos"  t]6v  5e  avrtov 

Kat  TToAu  Kix^i^'>vca  ao(3ci<i  tvlioOTpxiX^v  aiy^Av^ 

*ll}iiTepa  K£(pa\i}v  6qpon  epttaaiicvti. 
Mvpo^evnv  6^  t^tAfjcra*  ra  6'  wj  ipoacpm  arro  JTjjyTis, 

AaKpva  [ityvvficviov  ituttl  Kara  crofinruiv 


The  muse  and  I  together  sung» 

With  Boreas  to  make  out  tho  trio 
But,  bless  the  little  fairy  isle ! 

How  sweetly  after  all  our  ills, 
We  saw  the  sunny  morning  smilo 
Serenely  o'er  its  fragrant  hills" 
And  felt  the  pure,  delicious  flow 
Of  airs,  that  round  this  Eden  blow 
Freshly  as  ev'n  the  gales  that  come 
O'er  our  own  healthy  hills  at  home. 

Could  you  but  view  the  scenery  fair, 

That  now  beneath  my  window  lies. 
You'd  think,  that  nature  lavisli'd  there 

Her  purest  wave,  her  softest  skies, 
To  make  a  heaven  for  love  to  sigh  in. 
For  bards  to  live  and  saints  to  die  in. 
Close  to  my  wooded  bank  below, 

In  glassy  calm  the  waters  sleep, 
And  to  the  sunbeam  proudly  show 

The  coral  rocks  they  love  to  steep. 
The  fainting  breeze  of  morning  fails  ; 

The  drowsy  boat  moves  slowly  past. 
And  I  can  almost  touch  its  sails 

As  loose  tiiey  flap  around  the  mast. 
The  noontide  sun  a  splendor  pours 
That  lights  up  all  these  leafy  shores  ; 
Wiiilo  his  own  heav'n,  its  clouds  and  beams, 

So  pictured  in  the  waters  lie, 
That  each  small  bark,  in  passing,  seems 

To  float  along  a  burning  sky. 

Oh  for  the  pinnace  lent  to  thee,^ 

Blest  dreamer,  who,  in  vision  bright, 
Didst  sail  o'er  heaven's  solar  sea 

And  touch  at  all  its  isles  of  light. 

Sweet  Venus,  what  a  clime  he  found 

Within  thy  orb's  ambrosial  round  I* — 

There  spring  the  breezes,  rich  and  warm, 

That  sigh  around  thy  vesper  car; 

EiiTE  6'  av£tpop€V(<i,  riuog  oucrwa  SaKpvnXcificii; 
Aeidia  {.ti]  pz  Xi7T(7S*  iart  yap  bpKairarai. 

2  The  water  is  so  clear  around  the  island,  that  the  rocks 
are  seen  beneath  to  a  very  great  depth  ;  and,  as  we  entered 
the  harbor,  they  appeared  to  us  so  near  the  surface  that  it 
seemed  impossible  we  should  not  strike  on  them.  There  is 
no  necessity,  of  course,  for  heaving  the  lead  ;  and  the  negro 
pilot,  looking  down  at  the  rocks  from  the  bow  of  the  ship, 
takes  her  through  this  difficult  navigation  with  a  skill  and 
confidence  which  seem  to  astonish  some  of  the  oldest  sailors. 

3  In  Kircher's  "  Ecstatic  Journey  to  Heaven,"  Cosmiel,  the 
genius  of  the  world,  gives  Theodid^ictus  a  boat  of  asbestos, 
with  which  he  embarks  into  the  regions  of  the  sun.  "  Viiles 
(says  Cosmiel)  hanc  asbeslinam  naviculam  commoditati  tuK 
pricparatam."—/(t Hcrar.  L  Dial.  i.  cap.  5.  This  work  of 
Kircher  abounds  with  strange  fancies. 

*  When  the  Genius  of  the  world  and  his  fellow-traveller 
arrive  at  tne  planet  Venus,  they  find  an  island  of  loveliness, 
full  of  odors  and  intelligences,  where  angels  preside,  who 
shed  the  cosmetic  influence  of  this  planet  over  the  earth; 


1G8                                             MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

f 

And  angels  dwell,  so  pure  of  form 

'Tis  true,  it  talks  of  danger  nigh. 

Tliat  each  appears  a  living  star.' 

Of  slumb'ring  with  the  dead  to-morrow 

These  are  the  sprites,  celestial  queen ! 

In  the  cold  deep. 

Thou  sondest  niglitly  to  the  bed 

Where  pleasure's  throb  or  tears  of  sorrow 

Of  her  I  love|m-ith  touch  unseen 

Tliy  planet  s  bright'ning  tints  to  shed  ; 

No  more  shall  wake  the  heart  or  eye. 

But  all  must  sleep. 

To  lend  that  eye  a  light  still  clearer, 

To  give  that  cheek  one  rose-blush  more, 

Well ! — there  are  some,  thou  stormy  bed, 

And  bid  that  blushing  lip  be  dearer, 

To  whom  thy  sleep  would  be  a  treasure ; 

Which  had  been  all  too  dear  before. 

Oh  !  most  to  him. 
Whose  lip  hath  drain'd  life's  cup  of  pleasure. 

But,  whither  means  the  muse  to  roam  ? 

Nor  left  one  honey  drop  to  shed 

'Tis  time  to  call  the  wand'rer  home. 

Round  sorrow's  brim. 

Who  could  have  thought  the  nymph  would  perch  her 

Up  in  the  clouds  with  Fatlier  Kircher  ? 

Yes — he  can  smile  serene  at  death  : 

So,  health  and  love  to  all  your  mansion  ! 

Kind  heaven,  do  tliou  but  chase  the  weeping 

Long  may  the  bowl  that  pleasures  bloom  in, 

Of  friends  who  love  him  ; 

The  flow  of  heart,  the  soul's  expansion. 

Tell  them  tliat  he  lies  calmly  sleeping 

Mirth  and  song,  your  board  illumine. 

Where  soitovv's  sting  or  envy's  Ucath 

At  all  your  feasts,  remember  too. 

No  more  shall  move  him. 

When  cups  are  sparkling  to  the  brim, 

That  here  is  one  who  drinks  to  you. 

And,  oh  !  as  warmly  drink  to  him. 

' 

ODES    TO    NEA; 

WRITTEN  AT  BERMUDA. 

LINES, 

WRITTEN    IN    A    STORM    AT    SEA. 

That  sky  of  clouds  is  not  the  sky 

1 

NEA  TTjpat-cfi.— Edripid.  Jtfcdea,  v.  967. 

To  light  a  lover  to  the  pillow 

Nay,  tempt  me  not  to  love  again, 

Of  her  he  loves — 

There  was  a  time  when  love  was  sweet ; 

The  swell  of  yonder  foaming  billow 

Dear  Nea!  had  I  known  thee  then, 

Resembles  not  tlie  happy  sigh 

Our  souls  had  not  been  slow  to  meet, 

That  rapture  moves 

But,  oh,  this  weary  heart  hath  run, 
So  many  a  time,  tiie  rounds  of  pain, 

Yet  do  I  feel  more  tranquil  far 

Not  ev'n  for  thee,  thuu  lovely  one, 

Amid  the  gloomy  wilds  of  ocean, 

Would  I  eudnre  such  pangs  a^ain. 

In  this  dark  hour. 

Than  when,  in  passion's  young  emotion. 

If  there  be  climes,  where  never  yet 

I've  stolen,  beneath  the  evening  star, 

The  print  of  beauty's  foot  was  set, 

To  Julia's  bower. 

Where  man  may  pass  his  loveless  uig-hts, 
Unfever'd  by  her  false  delights, 

Oh  !  there's  a  holy  calm  profound 

Thither  my  wonnded  soul  would  fly, 

In  awe  like  this,  that  ne'er  was  given 

Where  rosy  ciieek  or  radiant  eye 

To  pleasure's  thrill ; 

Should  bring  no  more  their  bliss,  or  pain, 

'Tis  as  a  solemn  voice  from  heaven. 

Nor  fetter  me  to  earth  again. 

And  the  soul,  listening  to  the  sound, 

Dear  absent  fjirl !  whose  eyes  of  light, 

Lies  mute  and  still. 

Thougli  little  prized  when  all  my  own. 

such  being,  according  to  astrologers,  the  "vis  influxiva"  of 

*'  An  nqnis  globi  Veneris  baptisinusinstitai  poasit  V  to  which 

Venus.    When  tbey  tire  in  this  part  of  ihe  heavens,  a  casuis- 

the Genius  answers.  "Cert;iinly.'* 

tical  question  occurs  toThcodidactus,  and  he  asks,  ''Whether 

1  This  idea  is  Father  Kircher's.    "Tot  animatos  soles 

baptism  may  be  performed  with  the  waters  of  Venus  1" — 

Aixisses."—Jtinerar.  I.  Dial.  i.  cap.  5. 

POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA.                                109 

Now  float  before  mc,  soft  and  brif^lit 

Remember,  o'er  its  circling  flood 

As  when  they  fiist  enamoring  shone, — 

In  what  a  dangerous  dream  we  stood — 

What  lioui"s  and  days  have  I  seen  glide, 

The  silent  sea  before  us. 

Willie  fix'd,  enchanted,  by  thy  side, 

Around  us,  all  the  gloom  of  grove, 

Uumhidful  of  the  fleeting  day, 

That  ever  lent  its  shade  to  \ove^ 

I've  let  life's  dream  dissolve  away. 

No  eye  but  heaven's  o'er  us  ! 

O  bloom  of  youth  profusely  slied  ! 

O  moments  I  simply,  vainly  sped,  ^ 

I  saw  you  blush,  you  felt  me  tremble, 

Yet  sweetly  too — for  Love  perfumed 

In  vain  would  formal  art  dissemble 

The  flame  whicli  thus  my  life  consumed ; 

All  we  then  look'd  and  thought ; 

And  brilliant  was  the  chain  of  flowers. 

'Twas  more  than  tongue  could  dare  reveal, 

In  which  he  led  my  victim-hours. 

'Twas  ev'ry  thing  that  young  hearts  feel, 

By  Love  and  Nature  taught. 

Say,  Nea,  say,  couldst  thou,  like  her, 

Wlien  warm  to  feel  and  quick  to  err, 

I  stoop'd  to  cull,  with  faltering  hand, 

Of  loving  fond,  of  roving  fonder, 

A  shell  that,  on  the  golden  sand 

This  tlioughtless  soul  might  wish  to  wander, — 

Before  us  faintly  gleam'd  ; 

Couldst  thou,  like  her,  the  wish  reclaim, 

I  trembling  raised  it,  and  when  ynik 

Endearing  still,  reproaching  never. 

Had  kiss'd  the  shell,  I  kiss'd  it  too — 

Till  ev'n  this  heart  should  burn  with  shame, 

How  sweet,  how  wrong  it  seom'dl 

And  be  thy  own  more  fix'd  than  ever  1 

No,  no — on  earth  there's  only  one 

Oh,  trust  me,  'twas  a  place,  an  hour, 

Could  bind  such  faithless  folly  fast ; 

The  worst  that  e'er  the  tempter's  power 

And  sure  on  earth  but  one  alone 

Could  tangle  me  or  you  in  ; 

Could  make  such  vhtue  false  at  last ! 

Sweet  Nea,  let  us  roam  no  more 

Along  that  wild  and  lonely  shore, 

Nea,  the  heart  which  she  forsook, 

Such  walks  may  be  our  ruin.                        ^ 

For  thee  were  but  a  worthless  shrine — 

Go,  lovely  girl,  that  angel  look 

Must  thrill  a  soul  more  pure  than  mine. 
Oh  !  thou  shall  be  all  else  to  me, 

That  heart  can  feel  or  tongue  can  fei|fa  ; 

I'll  praise,  admire,  and  worship  thee, 
But  must  not,  dare  not,  love  again. 

You  read  it  in  these  spell-bound  eyes, 
And  there  alone  should  love  be  read ; 

You  hear  me  say  it  all  in  sighs. 

And  thus  alone  should  love  be  said. 
Then  dread  no  more  ;  I  will  not  speak  ; 

Although  my  heart  to  anguish  thrill, 

I'll  spare  the  burning  of  your  cheek. 

Tale  iter  omne  cave. 

And  look  it  all  in  silence  still. 

Propert.  lib.  iv.eleg.  8. 

Heard  you  the  wish  I  dared  to  name. 

I  PRAY  you,  let  us  roam  no  more 

To  murmur  on  that  luckless  night, 

Along  that  wild  and  louely  shore. 

AVhen  passion  broke  the  bonds  of  shame-. 

Where  late  we  thoughtless  stray'd  ; 

And  love  grew  madness  in  your  sight  ? 

'Twas  not  for  us,  whom  heaven  intends 

To  be  no  more  than  simple  friends, 

Divinely  through  the  graceful  dance. 

Such  lonely  walks  were  made. 

You  seem'd  to  float  in  silent  song. 

Bending  to  earth  that  sunny  glance. 

That  little  Bay,  where  turning  in 

As  if  to  light  your  steps  along. 

From  ocean's  rude  and  angry  din, 

As  lovers  steal  to  bliss. 

Oh !  how  could  others  dare  to  touch 

The  billows  kiss  the  shore,  and  then 

That  hallow'd  form  with  hand  so  free, 

Flow  back  into  the  deep  again. 

When  but  to  look  was  bliss  too  much. 

As  though  they  did  not  kiss. 

Too  rare  for  all  but  Love  and  me  ! 

170                                              MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

With  smiling  eyes,  that  little  thought 

I  felt, — so  strongly  fancy's  power 

How  filial  were  tlio  beams  they  tlirew, 

Came  o'er  me  in  that  witching  hour, — 

My  trembling  hands  you  lightly  caught, 

As  if  the  whole  bright  scenery  there 

And  round  me,  lUie  a  spiiit,  flew. 

Were  lighted  by  a  Grecian  sky. 

And  I  then  breathed  the  blissful  air 

Heedless  of  all,  but  you  alone, — 

That  late  had  thrill'd  to  Sappho's  sigh. 

And  you,  at  least,  should  not  condemn. 

If,  when  such  eyes  before  me  shone. 

Thus,  waltBg,  dream'd  I, — and  when  Sleep 

My  soul  forgot  all  eyes  but  them, — 

Came  o'er  my  sense,  the  dream  went  on ; 

Nor,  through  her  curtain  dim  and  deep. 

I  dared  to  whisper  passion's  vow, — 

Hath  ever  lovelier  vison  shone. 

For  love  had  ev'n  of  thought  bereft  me, — 

I  thought  that,  all  enrapt,  I  stray'd 

Nay,  half-way  bent  to  kiss  tliat  brow. 

Through  that  serene,  luxurious  shade,' 

But,  with  a  bound,  you  blushing  left  me. 

Where  Epicurus  taught  the  Loves 

To  polish  virtue's  native  brightness, — 

Forget,  forget  that  night's  offence. 

As  pearls,  we're  told,  that  fondling  doves 

Forgive  it,  if,  alas  !  you  can  ; 

Have  play'd  with,  wear  a  smoother  whit/iness.' 

'Twas  love,  'twas  passion — ^soul  and  sense — 

'Twas  one  of  those  delicious  nights 

'Twas  all  that's  best  and  worst  in  man. 

So  common  in  the  crimes  o'f  Greece, 

When  day  withdraws  bui  half  its  lights, 

That  moment,  did  th'  assembled  eyes 

And  all  is  moonshine,  balm,  and  [r-,ice. 

Of  heaven  and  earth  my  madness  view, 

And  thou  wcrt  there,  ray  own  beloved, 

I  should  have  seen,  through  earth  and  skies, 

And  by  thy  side  I  fondly  roved 

But  you  alone — but  only  you. 

Through  many  a  temple's  reverend  gloom. 

And  many  a  bower's  seductive  bloom. 

Did  not  a  frown  from  you  reprove. 

Where  Beauty  learn'd  what  Wisdom  taught, 

Myriads  of  eyes  to  me  were  none  ; 

And  sages  sigh'd  and  lovers  thought ; 

Enough  for  me  to  win  your  love. 

Where  schoolmen  conn'd  no  ma.\ims  stem, 

And  die  upon  the  spot  when  won. 

But  all  was  form'd  to  sooth  or  move. 

To  make  the  dullest  love  to  learn. 

To  make  the  coldest  learn  to  love. 
And  now  the  fairy  pathway  secm'd 

To  lead  us  through  enchanted  ground. 

Where  all  that  bard  has  ever  dream'd 

A  DREAM  OF  ANTIQUITY. 

Of  love  or  lu.\ury  bloom'd  around. 
Oh  !  'twas  a  bright,  bewild'riug  sccne-^ 

I  jrsT  had  tum'd  the  classic  page, 

Along  the  alley's  deep'ning  green 

And  traced  that  happy  period  over. 

Soft  lamps,  that  hung  like  burning  flowers, 

When  blest  alike  were  youth  and  age. 

And  scented  and  illumed  the  bowers. 

And  love  inspired  the  wisest  sage. 

Seem'd,  as  to  him,  who  darkling  roves 

And  wisdom  graced  the  tenderest  lover. 

Amid  the  lone  Hcrcynian  groves. 

Appear  those  countless  birds  of  light. 

Before  I  laid  me  down  to  sl?ep, 

That  sparkle  in  the  leaves  at  night. 

Awhile  I  from  the  lattice  g..xed 

And  from  their  wings  diffuse  a  ray 

Upon  that  still  and  moonlight  deep. 

Along  the  traveller's  weary  way." 

With  isles  like  floating  gardens  raised 

'Tw-as  light  of  that  mysterious  kind. 

For  Aiicl  there  his  sports  to  keep  ; 

Through  %vliich  the  soul  perchance  may  roam. 

While,  gliding  'twi.\t  their  leafy  shores. 

AVlien  it  has  left  this  world  behind, 

The  lone  night-fisher  plied  his  oars. 

And  gone  to  seek  its  heavenly  home. 

1  G.issemli  tliinks  thai  the  gardens,  which  Pausanias  men- 

3 This  method  of  polishing  pearls,  by  leaving  them  awhile 

tions  in  his  tirst  book,  were   those  of  Epicurus;  and  Stuarl 

to  be  played  with  by  doves,  is  mentioned  by  the  fancilul  Car- 

says,  in  his  Antiquities  of  Athens,  "  Near  this  convent  (the 

danus,  de  Rerum  Varietnt.  lib.  vii.  cap.  34. 

convent , of  Hagios  Asoniatos)  is  the  place  called  at  present 

3  In  Hercynio  Gemianise  saltu  inusitata  genera  alitum  ac 

Kepoi.  or  the  Gardens;  and  Ainpclos  Kepos,  or  the  Vine- 

ccpimus, quarum  plume,  ignium  uiodo,  colluceant  noctibus. 

yard  Garden:  these  were  probably  the  gardens  which  Pau- 

—Plin. lib.  I.  cap.  47. 

sanias  visited."    Vol.  j.  chap.  2. 

1 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICAi 


171 


And,  Nea,  thou  wert  by  my  side.. 

Througli  all  this  heav'nward  path  my  guide. 

But,  lo,  as  wand'rin^  thus  we  ranged 
That  upward  patli,  the  \nsion  changed  ; 
And  now,  metliouglit,  we  stole  along 

Tlirough  halls  of  more  voluptuous  glory 
Than  ever  lived  in  Teiau  song, 

Or  wanton'd  in  Milesian  ston,-.' 
Aud  nymphs  were  there,  whose  very  eyes 
Seem'd  softeuM  o'er  with  breath  of  siglis  ; 
Whose  ev'ry  ringlet,  as  it  wreath'd, 
A  mute  appeal  to  passion  breathed. 
Some  flew,  with  amber  cups,  around. 

Pouring  tlie  flowery  wines  of  Crete  ;* 
And,  as  they  pass'd  with  youthful  bound, 

The  onyx  shone  beneath  their  feet.^ 
While  others,  waving  arms  of  snow 

Entwined  by  snakes  of  bumish'd  gold,* 
And  showing  chaiTns,  as  loath  to  show, 

Through  many  a  thin  Tarentian  fold,* 
Glided  among  the  festal  throng 
Bearing  rich  urns  of  flowers  along. 
AVhere  roses  lay,  in  languor  breathing, 
And  the  young  bee-grape,^  round  them  wreathing, 
Hung  on  their  blushes  warm  and  meek, 
Like  curls  upon  a  rosy  cheek. 

Oh,  Nea  I  why  did  morning  break 

The  spell  that  thus  divinely  bound  me? 

W^hy  did  I  wake?  how  could  I  wake 

With  thee  my  own  aud  heaven  aromid  me  ! 


Well — peace  to  thy  heart,  though  another's  it  be, 
And  healtii  to  that  cheek,  though  it  bloom  not  for 
me! 

^  The  Milesiacs,  or  Milesian  fables,  had  their  origin  in  Mi- 
letus, a  luxurious  town  of  Ionia.  Aristides  was  the  most 
celebrated  author  of  these  licentious  fictions-  See  Plutarch, 
(in  Crasso,)  who  calls  them  oKoXaara  0i0\ta. 

3  "Some  of  the  Cretan  wines,  which  Athenaius  calls  oifof 
avdocfiiag,  from  their  fragrancy  resembling  that  of  the 
finest  flowers." — Barry  on  ff'ines,  chap.  vii. 

a  It  appears  that  in  very  splendid  mansions,  the  floor  or 
privement  was  frequently  of  onyx.  Thus  Martial :  "Calca- 
lusque  luo  sub  pede  lucet  onyx."    Epig.  50,  lib.  xii. 

*  Bracelels  of  this  shape  were  a  favorite  ornament  among 
the  women  of  antiquity.  Ol  cniK'ipjzioi  o0£(s  koi  ai  xpwfa' 
jTtJat  Oai6oi  KOt  Aptarayopas  nat  AaMoj  t^apfjnua. — Phifns- 
trat.  Epist.  xl.  Lucian,  too,  tells  us  of  the  ftpa\ioiat  6pa- 
Koi'T^i.  Sec  his  Aniores,  where  he  describes  the  dressing- 
room  of  a  Grecian  lady,  and  we  find  the  "  silver  vase."  the 
rouge,  the  toolh-pnwder,  and  all  the  "mystic  order"  of  a 
modern  toilcl. 

6  Tapavrmiitov,  iia(pavEi  ev6vfta,  tyvojxaTftcvov  euro  Tfjs 
Tapavrtviov  xpr^otby^  xai  Tpv^jjg. — Pollux. 

fi  Apiana,  mentioned  by  Pliny,  lib.  xiv.,  and  "  now  called 


To-morrow  I  sail  for  those  cinnamon  groves,^ 
Where  niglitly  the  ghost  of  the  Garribee  roves, 
And,  far  from  the  light  of  those  eyes,  I  may  yet 
Their  allurements  forgive  and  their  splendor  forget. 

Farewell  to  Bermuda,^  and  long  may  the  bloom 
Of  the  lemon  and  myrtle  its  valleys  perftmie  ; 
May  spring  to  eternity  hallow  the  shade, 
Where  Ariel  lias  warbled  and  Waller^  has  strayed. 
And  thou — wheu,   at  dawn,  thou  shalt  happen  to 

roam 
Through  the    limo-cover'd   alley  that  leads  to  thy 

home, 
Wliere  oft,  when  the  dance  and  the  revel  were  done. 
And  the  stars  were  beginning  to  fade  in  the  sun, 
I  have  led  thee  along,  and  have  told  by  the  way 
What  my  heart  all  the  night  had  been  biu-ning  to 

say — 
Oh !  think  of  the  past — give  a  sigh  to  those  times, 
And  a  blessing  for  me  to  that  alley  of  hmes. 


If  I  were  yonder  wave,  my  dear. 
And  thou  the  isle  it  clasps  around, 

I  would  not  let  a  foot  come  near 
My  land  of  bliss,  my  fair)^  ground. 

If  I  were  yonder  conch  of  gold, 

And  thou  the  pearl  within  it  placed, 

I  would  not  let  an  eye  behold 

The  sacred  gems  my  amis  embraced. 

If  I  were  yonder  orange-tree. 

And  thou  the  blossom  blooming  there, 

I  would  not  yield  a  breath  of  thee 
To  Bceut  the  most  imploring  air. 

the  Muscatel,  (a  muscarum  telis,")  says  Pancirollus,  book  i., 
sect.  1,  chap.  17. 

■^  I  had,  at  this  time,  some  idea  of  paying  a  visit  to  the 
West  Indies. 

8  The  inhabitants  pronounce  the  name  as  if  it  were  writ- 
ten Berniooda.  See  the  commentators  on  the  words  "still- 
vex'd  Bcrmoothes,"  in  the  Tempest. — I  wonder  it  did  not 
occur  lo  some  of  those  all-reading  gentlemen  lliat,  possibly, 
the  discoverer  of  this  "  island  of  hogs  and  devils"  might  have 
been  no  less  a  personage  than  the  gre^l  John  Berntudez, 
who,  about  the  same  period  (the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth 
century^  was  sent  Patriarch  of  the  Latin  church  to  Ethiopia, 
and  lias  left  us  most  wonderful  stories  of  the  Amazons  and 
the  Griffins  which  he  encountered. —  Travels  of  the  Jesuits, 
vol.  i.  lam  afraid,  however,  it  would  ml.o  the  Patriarch 
rather  too  much  out  of  his  way. 

s  Johnson  does  not  think  that  Waller  was  ever  at  Boririuda ; 
but  the  "  Account  of  the  European  Settlements  in  America" 
affirms  it  confidently,  (vol.ii.)  1  nienii.m  this  work,  however, 
less  for  its  authority  than  for  the  pleasure  I  feci  in  quoting 
an.  unacknowledged  production  of  the  great  Edmund  Burke. 


172                             •               MOORE'S  WORKS. 

Oil !  bend  not  o'er  the  water's  brink, 

How  sweet  to  behold  him,  when  bonie  on  the  gale. 

Give  not  the  wave  tliat  odorous  sigh, 

And  brightening  the  bosom  of  morn. 

Nor  let  its  burning  mirror  drink 

He  flings,  like  the  priest  of  Diana,  a  veil 

The  soft  reflection  of  tliiue  eye. 

•     O'er  the  brow  of  each  virginal  thorn. 

Yet  think  not  the  veil  he  so  chillingly  casts 

That  gIos.«y  hair,  that  glowing  cheek, 

Is  the  veil  of  a  vestal  severe ; 

So  pictured  in  the  waters  seem, 

No,  no,  thou  wilt  see,  what  a  moment  it  lasts. 

Tliat  I  could  gladly  plunge  to  seek 

Should  the  Snow  Spu-it  ever  come  hero 

Tliy  image  in  the  glassy  stream. 

But  fly  to  his  region — lay  open  thy  zone. 

Blest  fate  !  at  once  my  chilly  grave 

And  he'll  weep  all  his  brilliancy  dim. 

And  nuptial  bed  that  stream  might  be  ; 

To  think  that  a  bosom,  as  white  as  his  own. 

I'll  wed  thee  in  its  mimic  wave. 

Should  not  melt  in  tlie  daybeam  like  him. 

And  die  upon  the  shade  of  thee. 

Oh  I  lovely  the  print  of  those  delicate  feet 

O'er  his  luminous  path  will  appear — 

Behold  the  leafy  mangrove,  bending 

Fly,  fly,  my  beloved  1  this  island  is  sweet, 

O'er  the  waters  blue  and  bright, 

But  the  Snow  Spu-it  canuot  come  here. 

Lilce  Nea's  silky  lashes,  lending 

Shadow  to  her  eyes  of  light 
Oh,  my  beloved  !  where'er  I  turn. 

Some  trace  of  thee  enchants  mine  eyes  ; 

EvravQa  6e  KaOwpjjiiaTal  Ijntv,  Kat  h,  Tt  fttv  ovojta  ttj  vijtjb), 
^3VK  oid'V  x^i""7  <5'  ^^  ^pvs  Y^  tjiov  Qvopa^otTO. — Philos- 

In  every  star  thy  glances  bum ; 

TRAT.  Icon.  17,  lib.  ii. 

Thy  blush  on  every  flow'rct  lies. 

I  STOLE  along  the  flowery  bank, 

Nor  find  I  in  creation  aught 

While  many  a  bending  seagrape'  drank 

Of  bright,  or  beautiful,  or  rare, 

The  sprinkle  of  the  feathery  oar 

Sweet  to  the  sense,  or  pure  to  thought, 

That  wing'd  me  round  this  fairy  shore. 

But  thou  art  found  reflected  there. 

'Twas  noon  ;  and  every  orange  bud 

Hung  languid  o'er  the  crj'stal  flood. 
Faint  as  the  lids  of  maiden's  eyes             "• 

When  love-thoughts  in  her  bosom  rise. 

TBB 

Oh,  for  a  naiad's  sparry  bower, 

SNOW  SPIRIT. 

To  shade  me  in  that  glowing  hour ! 

No,  ne'er  did  the  wave  in  its  element  steep 

A  little  dove,  of  milky  hue, 

An  island  of  lovelier  charms  • 

Before  me  from  a  plantain  flew. 

It  blooms  in  the  giant  embrace  of  the  deep. 

And,  light  along  the  water's  brim, 

Like  Hebe  in  Hercules'  arms. 

I  steer'd  my  gentle  bark  by  him  ; 

The  blush  of  your  bowers  is  light  to  the  eye, 

For  fancy  told  me,  Love  had  sent 

And  their  melody  balm  to  the  ear ; 

This  gentle  bird  with  kind  intent 

But  the  fiery  planet  of  day  is  too  nigh. 

To  lead  my  steps,  where  I  should  meet — 

And  the  Snow  Spirit  never  comes  here. 

I  knew  not  what,  but  something  sweet. 

The  down  from  his  wing  is  as  white  as  the  pearl 

And^bless  the  little  pilot  dove ! 

That  shines  through  thy  lips  when  they  part. 

He  had  indeed  been  sent  by  Love, 

And  it  falls  on  the  green  earth  as  melting,  my  girl, 

To  guide  me  to  a  scene  so  dear 

As  a  murmur  of  thine  on  the  heart. 

As  fate  allows  but  seldom  here  ; 

Oh  1  fly  to  tlie  clime,  where  he  pillows  the  death, 

One  of  tliose  rare  and  brilliant  hours, 

As  he  cradles  the  birth  of  the  year  ; 

That,  like  the  aloe's"  lingering  flowers. 

Bright  are  your  bowers  a?id  balmy  their  breath. 

May  blossom  to  the  eye  of  man 

But  the  Snow  Spirit  canuot  come  here. 

But  once  in  all  his  weary  span. 

>  Tlie  seaside  or  mangrove  grape,  a  native  of  llie  West 

but  it  is  quite  true  enough  for  poetry    Plato,  I  think,  allows 

Indies- 

a  pnct  to  be  "  three  removes  from  truth;"  r/jiraros  otto  Ttji 

3  '1  he  Agave.    This,  I  am  aware,  is  an  crroneoas  notuyi, 

a^ijQitas- 

POEMS  RELATING  TO  AiMERICA.                                173 

1 

Just  wliore  the  margin's  op'ning  shade 

Nor  thouglit  that  time's  succeeding  lapse 

A  vista  from  tlie  waters  made, 

Should  see  it  grace  a  lovelier  maid. 

My  bird  reposed  liis  silver  plume 

Upon  a  rich  banana's  bioom. 

Look,  dearest,  what  a  sweet  design  ! 

Oil  vision  brijrht !  oh  spirit  fair ! 

Tlie  more  we  gaze,  it  charms  tlio  more  ; 

What  spell,  what  magic  raised  her  there? 

Come — closer  bring  that  cheek  lo  mine. 

'Twas  Nea  1  slumb'ring  calm  and  mild, 

And  trace  with  ine  its  beauties  o'er. 

And  bloomy  as  the  dimpled  child, 

Whose  spirit  in  elysium  keeps 

Thou  seest,  it  is  a  simple  youth 

Its  playful  sabbath,  while  he  sleeps. 

By  some  enamor'd  nymph  embraced — 

Look,  as  she  leans,  and  say  in  sootli, 

The  broad  banana's  green  embrace 

Is  not  that  hand  most  fondly  placed? 

Hung  shadou'y  round  each  tranquil  grace  ; 

One  little  beam  alone  could  win 

Upon  his  curled  head  behind 

The  leaves  to  let  it  wander  in, 

It  seems  in  careless  play  to  lie,' 

And,  stealing  over  all  her  charms, 

Yet  presses  gently,  half  inclined 

From  lip  lo  cheek,  from  neck  to  arms. 

To  bring  the  truant's  lip  more  nigh 

New  lustre  to  each  beauty  lent, — 

Itself  all  trembling  as  it  went ! 

Oh  happy  maid  !  too  happy  boy  1 

Tlie  one  so  fond  and  little  loath. 

Dark  lay  her  eyelid's  jetty  fringe 

The  other  yielding  slow  to  joy — 

Upon  that  cheek  whose  roseate  tinge 

Oh  rare,  indeed,  but  blissful  both. 

Mix'd  with  its  shade,  like  evening's  light 

Just  touching  on  the  verge  of  nigiit. 

Imagine,  love,  tliat  I  am  he, 

Her  eyes,  though  thus  in  slumber  hid. 

And  just  as  wann  as  he  is  chilljng ; 

Seem'd  glowing  through  tlie  ivory  lid. 

Imagine,  too,  that  thou  art  she. 

And,  as  I  thought,  a  lustre  threw 

But  quite  as  coy  as  she  is  willing  : 

Upon  her  lip's  reflecting  dew, — ■ 

Such  as  a  night-lamp,  left  to  shine 

So  may  we  try  the  graceful  way 

Alone  on  some  secluded  shrine. 

In  wliich  their  gentle  arms  are  twined. 

May  shed  upon  the  votive  wreath, 

And  tluis,  like  her,  my  hand  I  lay 

Whicn  pious  hands  have  hung  beneath. 

Upon  thy  wreathed  locks  behind  : 

Was  ever  vision  half  so  sweet ! 

And  thus  I  feel  theo  breatliing  sweet, 

Think,  thiidv  how  quick  my  heart-pulse  beat, 

As  slow  to  mine  thy  head  I  move  ; 

As  o'er  the  rustling  bank  I  stole  ; — 

Ajid  thus  our  lips  together  meet. 

Oh  !  ye,  that  know  the  lover's  soul. 

.ind  thus, — and  thus, — I  kiss  tliee,  love. 

It  is  for  you  alone  to  guess, 

That  moment's  tremblmg  happinesj 

Xi/Jai-orw  tLKaatv,  hri  aTToWvttzvov  cvtppaivsi. 

Aristot.  RheLitr.  lib.  iii.  cap.  4. 
There's  not  a  look,  a  word  of  thine. 

My  soul  hath  e'er  forgot ; 

A  STUDY  FROM  THE  ANTIQUE. 

Thou  ne'er  hast  bid  a  ringlet  shine. 

Nor  given  thy  locks  one  graceful  twine 

Behold,  my  love,  the  curious  gem 

Which  I  remember  not. 

Within  this  simple  ring  of  gold  ; 

'Tis  hallow'd  by  the  touch  of  them 

There  never  yet  a  mnnnur  fell 

Who  lived  in  classic  hours  of  old 

From  tliat  beguiling  tongue. 

Whicli  did  not,  witli  a  ling'ring  spell, 

Some  fair  Athenian  girl,  perhaps. 

Upon  my  cliarmed  senses  dwell. 

Upon  her  hand  this  gem  display'd. 

Like  songs  from  Eden  sung. 

>  Somewhat  liKc  the  symplefma  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  at 

tinuni,  torn.  ii.  tab.  43,  -14.    There  are  few  snlijects  on  whicli 

Florence,  in  whicli  Ihe  position  of  Psyche's  li;ind  is  finely  and 

poetry  could  be  more  interestingly  employeil  than  in  illus- 

delicately expressive  of  affection.    See  the  Museum  Floren- 

trating  some  of  these  ancient  statues  and  gems. 

174 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


All !  tliat  I  could,  at  once,  forget 

All,  all  that  iiaunts  me  so — 
And  yet,  thou  witching  girl, — and  yet, 
To  die  were  sweeter  than  to  let 
The  loved  remembrance  go. 

No  ;  if  this  slighted  heart  must  see 

Its  faithful  pulse  decay, 
Oh  let  it  die,  rememb'ring  thee, 
And,  like  the  burnt  aroma,  be 

Consumed  in  sweets  away. 


JOSEPH  ATKINSON,  ESQ. 

FROM    BERMUDA.^ 

"  TuE  daylight  is  gone — but,  before  we  depart, 
"  One  cup  sliall  go  round  to  the  friend  of  my  heart, 
"  The  kindest,  the  dearest — oh  !  judge  by  tlie  tear 
*'  I  now  shed  while  I  name  him,  liow  kind  and  how 
dear." 

'Twas  thus  in  the  shade  of  the  Calabash -Tree, 
With  a  few,  who  could  feel  and  remember  like  me, 
The  cliarm  that,  to  sweeten  my  goblet,  I  threw 
Was  a  sigh  to  the  pas'  and  a  blessing  on  you. 

1  Pinkerton  has  said  that  "  a  good  history  and  description 
of  the  Bermudas  might  nfford  a  [(leasing  addition  to  the  geo- 
graphical library  ;"  lm(  there  certainly  are  not  materials  for 
such  a  work.  The  island,  since  the  time  of  its  discoverj', 
has  experienced  so  ver>-  few  vicissitudes,  the  people  have 
been  so  indolent,  and  iheir  trade  so  limited,  that  there  is  but 
little  which  the  historian  could  amplify  into  importance;  and, 
with  respect  to  the  natural  productions  of  the  country,  the 
few  which  the  'iihaMtants  can  be  induced  to  cultivate  arc  so 
common  in  the  West  Indies,  that  they  have  been  dei^cribed 
by  every  naturalis*  who  has  written  any  account  of  those 
islands. 

It  is  often  asserted  by  :he  trans-Atlantic  politicians  that  this 
little  colony  deserves  more  attention  from  the  m other -countrj' 
than  it  receives,  and  it  certainly  possesses  advantages  of  sit- 
uation, to  which  we  should  not  be  long  insensible  if  it  were 
once  in  the  hands  of  an  enemy.  I  was  told  by  a  celebrated 
friend  of  Washington,  at  New  York,  that  Ihi-y  li:id  formed  a 
plan  fur  Its  capture  towards  the  conclusion  of  the  American 
War;  "with  the  intention  (as  lie  expressed  himselQ  of  ma- 
king ita  nestof  hornets  for  the  annoyance  of  British  trade  in 
that  part  of  the  world."  And  there  is  no  doubt  it  lies  socon- 
venienilyin  the  track  to  the  West  Indies,  that  an  enemy  might 
with  ca<e  convert  it  into  a  very  harassing  impediment. 
The  plan  of  Bishop  Berkeley  fur  a  college  at  Bcrnmda, where 
American  savages  might  be  converted  and  educated,  though 
concurred  in  by  the  guvernrnent  of  the  day,  was  .1  wild  and 
useless  speculaiion.  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  was  governor  <if  the 
bland  some  years  since,  proposed,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  estab- 


Oh  !  say,  is  it  thus,  in  the  mirth-bringing  hour, 
When    friends    are    assembled,    when    wit,    in    full 

flower, 
Shoots  forth  from  the  lip,  under  Bacchus's  dew, 
In  blossoms  of  thought  ever  springing  and  new — 
Do  you  sometimes  remember,  and  hallow  the  brim 
Of  your  cup  with  a  sigh,  as  you  crown  it  to  liini 
Who  is  lonely  and  sad  in  these  valleys  so  fair. 
And    would   pine    iu    elysium,  if  friends  were  not 

there ! 

Last  night,  when  we  came  from  the  Calabash- 
Tree, 
When  my  limbs  were  at  rest  and  myiDU-it  was  free, 
The  glow  of  the  grape  and  the  dreams  ^f  the  day 
Set  the  magical  springs  of  my  fancy  in  play, 
And  oh, — such  a  vision  has  haunted  me  then 
I  would  slumber  for  ages  to  witness  again. 
The  many  I  like  and  the  few  I  adore, 
The  friends  who  were  dear  and  beloved  before, 
But  never  till  now  so  beloved  and  dear, 
At  the  CLiU  of  my  fancy,  surrounded  me  here ; 
And  soon, — oh,  at  once,  did  the  light  of  their  smiLt 
To  a  paradise  brighten  this  region  of  isles ; 
More  lucid  the  wave,  as  they  look'd  on  it,  flow'd, 
And  brighter  the  rose,  as  tiiey  gather'd  it,  glow'd. 
Not  the  valleys  Ilerasan,  (though  water'd  by  rills 
Of  the  pearliest  flow,  from  those  pastoral  hills," 
Where  the  Song  of  the  Shepherd,  primeval  and  wild. 
Was  taught  to  the  nymphs  by  tlicir  mystical  child,) 
Could  boast  sucii  a  lustre  o'er  land  and  o'er  wave 
As  the  magic  of  love  to  this  paradise  gave. 

lishment  of  a  marine  academy  for  the  instruction  of  those 
children  of  West  Indians,  who  might  be  intended  for  any 
nautical  employment.  This  was  a  more  rational  idea,  and 
fur  something  of  this  nature  the  island  is  admirably  calcula- 
ted. But  the  plan  should  be  much  more  extensive,  and  em- 
brace a  general  system  of  education;  which  would  relieve 
the  colonists  from  the  alternative  to  which  they  are  reduced 
at  present,  of  either  sending  their  sons  to  England  for  in- 
struction, or  intrusting  them  to  colleges  in  the  states  of 
America,  where  ideas,  by  no  means  favorable  to  Great  Brit- 
ain, are  very  sedulously  inculcated. 

TUe  women  of  Bermuda,  though  not  generally  handsome, 
have  an  alTectionate  languor  in  their  look  and  manner,  which 
is  always  interesting.  What  the  French  in)ply  by  their  epi- 
thet nimante  seems  very  much  the  character  of  the  young 
Bcrmudian  girls — that  predisposition  to  loving,  which,  with- 
out being  awakened  by  any  particular  object,  ditfuses  itself 
through  the  general  manner  in  a  tone  of  tenderness  tlint 
never  fails  to  fascinate.  The  men  of  ihe  island,  I  confess, 
are  not  very  civilized :  and  the  old  jdiilosopher,  who  ima- 
gined that,  after  this  life,  men  would  be  changed  into  mules, 
and  women  into  turtle-doves,  woulil  find  the  metamorphosis 
in  some  degree  anticipated  at  Beriimda. 

2  Mountains  of  Sicily,  upon  which  Daphnis,  the  first  in- 
ventor of  bucolic  poetry,  was  nnr'p'l  by  the  nymphs.  Si^c  the 
lively  description  of  these  mounijiui  i.j  i'iodorus  -Siculu'^, 
lib-  iv.  'lI,ou(a  yap  apri  Kara  t/jc  XiKiXiai  ear.i,  a  t,ici  K'iS- 
Xci,  If.  r.  A. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


175 


Oh  mag-ic  of  love  !  un embellished  by  you, 
Hath  the  garden  a  blush  or  the  landscape  a  hue? 
Or  shhies  there  a  vista  in  nature  or  art, 
Lilve  that  which  Love  opes  thro'  the  eye  to  the  heart  ? 

Alas,  that  a  vision  so  happy  should  fade*! 
That,  when  morning  around  me  in  brilliancy  playM, 
The  rose  and  the  stream  I  had  thouglit  of  at  night 
Should  still  be  before  me,  unfadingly  bright ; 
A\1iile  the  friends,  who  had  seeraM  to  hang  over  the 

stream. 
And  to  gather  the  roses,  had  fled  with  my  dream. 

But  look,  where,  all  ready,  in  sailing  array, 
The  bark  that's  to  carry  these  pages  away,* 
Impatiently  flutters  her  wing  to  the  wind. 
And  will  soon  leave  these  islets  of  Ariel  behind. 
What  billows,  what  gales  is  she  fated  to  prove, 
Kre  siie  sleep  in  the  lee  of  the  land  that  I  love ! 
Yet  pleasant  the  swell  of  the  billows  would  be, 
And  the  roar  of  those  gales  would  be  music  to  me. 
Not  the  tranqnillest  air  that  the  winds  ever  blew. 
Not  the  sunniest  tears  of  the  summer-eve  dew, 
Were  as  sweet  as  the  stonii,  or  as  bright  as  the  foam 
Of  the  surge,  that  would  hurry  your  wanderer  home. 


THE 

STEERSMAN'S  SONG, 

WRITTEN   ABOARD   THE    BOSTON    FRIGATE   28tH   APRIL.* 

When  freshly  blows  the  northern  gale, 

And  mider  courses  snug  we  fly  ; 
Or  when  li^ht  breezes  swell  the  sail. 

And  royab  >*oudly  sweep  the  sky ; 
'Longside  the  wneel,  unwearied  still 

I  stand,  and,  as  my  watchful  eye 
Doth  mark  the  needle's  faithful  thrill, 

I  think  of  her  I  love,  and  crj'. 

Port,  my  boy  !  port. 

When  calms  delay,  or  breezes  blow 
Right  from  the  point  we  wish  to  steer ; 

When  by  tho  wind  close-haul'd  we  go, 
And  strive  in  vain  the  port  to  near ; 

I  think  'tis  thus  the  fates  defer 
My  bliss  with  one  that's  far  away, 

I  A  ship,  ready  to  sail  for  England. 

^  I  left  BermiJiia  in  the  Boston  about  the  middle  of  April, 
in  company  with  the  Cambrian  and  Leander,  aboard  the  lat- 
ter of  which  was  the  Admiral,  Sir  Andrew  Rlitchell,  who 
divides  his  year  between  Halifax  and  Bermuda,  and  is  the 
verj-  soul  of  society  and  good-fellowship  to  both.  We  sepa- 
rated in  a  few  days,  and  the  Boston,  alter  a  short  craise, 
proceeded  to  New  York. 


And  while  remembrance  springs  to  her, 
I  watch  the  sails  and  sighing  say, 

Thus,  my  boy  !  thus. 

But  sec,  the  wind  draws  kindly  aft, 

All  hands  are  up  the  yards  to  square, 
And  now  the  floating  stu'u-sails  waft 

Our  stately  ship  through  waves  and  air. 
Oh  !  then  I  think  that  yet  for  me 

Some  breeze  of  fortune  tiuis  may  spring. 
Some  breeze  to  waft  me,  love,  to  thee — 

And  m  that  hope  I  smiling  sing. 

Steady,  boy  !  so 


THE  FIRE-FLY.' 

At  morning,  when  the  earth  and  sky 
Are  glowing  wilh  the  light  of  spring, 

We  see  thee  not,  thou  humble  fly ! 
Nor  tliink  upon  thy  gleaming  whig. 

But  when  the  skies  have  lost  their  huOj 
And  sunny  lights  no  longer  play, 

Oh  then  we  see  and  bless  thee  too 
For  sparkling  o'er  the  dreary  way. 

Thus  let  me  hope,  when  lost  to  mo 
The  lights  that  now  my  life  illume, 

Some  milder  joys  may  come,  like  thee, 
To  cheer,  if  not  to  warm,  the  gloom ! 


THE  LORD  VISCOUNT  FORBES. 

FROM   THE    CITY   OF   WASUINGTON. 

If  former  times  had  never  left  a  trace 
Of  human  frailty  in  their  onward  race, 
Nor  o'er  theu  pathway  written,  as  they  ran. 
One  dark  memorial  of  the  crimes  of  man  ; 
If  every  age,  m  new  unconscious  prime, 
Rose  like  a  pheuix,  from  the  fires  of  time, 

3  The  lively  and  varjing  ilUimination,  with  which  these 
fire-flies  light  up  the  woods  at  night,  gives  quite  an  idea  uf 
enchantment.  "Puis  ces  niouches  se  d6veloppant  de  I'ob- 
scurit6  tie  ces  arhres  et  s'approchant  do  nous,  nous  Ics  vny- 
ions  sur  les  orangers  voisins,  qu'ife  metioient  tout  en  fen, 
nous  rendant  la  vue  de  leurs  beaux  fruits  dnres  que  la  nuit 
avoit  ravie,"  &.c.  &c.— See  L'Histoire  dcs  jinlUles^  art.  % 
chap-  4,  liv.  i. 


17G 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  win^  its  way  unguided  and  alone, 
The  future  smiling  and  the  past  unknown  ; 
Then  ardent  man  would  to  himself  be  new, 
Earth  at  his  foot  and  heaven  within  his  view : 
Well  might  the  novice  hope,  the  sanguine  scheme 
Of  full  perfection  prompt  his  daring  dream, 
Ere  cold  experience,  with  lier  veteran  lore. 
Could  tell  him,  fools  had  dreamt  as  much  before. 
But,  tracing  as  we  do,  through  age  and  clime, 
Tlie  plans  of  virtue  midst  the  deeds  of  crime, 
The  thinking  follies  and  the  reasoning  rage 
Of  man,  at  once  the  idiot  and  the  sage ; 
When  still  we  see,  through  every  varying  frame 
Of  arts  and  polity,  his  course  the  same. 
And  know  tliat  ancient  fools  but  died,  to  make 
A  space  on  earth  for  modern  fools  to  take  ; 
'Tis  strange,  how  quickly  we  the  past  forget ; 
That  Wisdom's  self  should  not  bo  tutor'd  yet, 
Nor  tire  of  watching  for  the  monstrous  birth 
Of  pure  perfection  midst  the  sons  of  earth  ! 

Oh  !  notljing  but  that  soul  which  God  has  given, 
Could  lead  us  thus  to  look  on  earth  for  heaven ; 
O'er  dross  without  to  shed  the  light  within, 
And  dream  of  virtue  while  we  see  but  sin. 

Even  here,  beside  the  proud  Polowmac's  stream, 
Might  sages  still  pursue  the  flattVing  tlieme 
Of  days  to  come,  when  man  shall  conquer  fate, 
Rise  o'er  the  level  of  his  mortal  state, 
Belie  the  monuments  of  frailty  past, 
And  plant  perfection  in  this  world  at  last! 
"  Here,"    might  they  say,  "  shall  power's   divided 

reign 
"  Evince  that  patriots  have  not  bled  in  vain. 
"  Here  godlike  liberty's  herculean  youth, 
"  Cradled  in  peace,  and  nintured  up  bj'  truth 
"  To  full  maturity  of  nerve  and  mind, 
"  Shall  crush  the  giants  that  bestride  mankind.* 
"  Here  shall  religion's  pure  and  balmy  diaught 
**  In  form  no  more  from  cups  of  state  be  quatFd, 
"  But  flow  for  all,  through  nation,  rank,  and  sect 
"  Free  as  tliat  heaven  its  truuquil  waves  reflect. 
*'  Around  the  columns  of  tiie  public  shrine 
••  Shall  o'i'owinff  arts  their  gradual  wreath  intwine, 

too  ^-  ^  > 

"  Nor  breathe  corruption  from  tlie  flow'ring  braid, 
"  Nor  mine  that  fabric  which  they  bloom  to  shade. 

1  Thus  Morse.  "  Here  the  sciences  anil  the  arts  of  civil- 
ized nfe  are  to  receive  their  highest  inii'ritvcnienta;  here 
civil  find  reIi*!ii)iH  liberty  :ire  to  tlourish,  unchecked  hy  the 
cruel  h;tnd  of  civil  or  ecclesiasljcal  tyranny:  here  genius, 
aided  liy  all  the  nnprovenienls  of  former  a<;es,  is  to  be  exert- 
ed in  humanizing  mankind,  inexpiindingandenrichinc  their 
minds  with  religious  anil  philosophical  knowledge,"  £cc.&c. 

—I',  sr.n. 

-  '■  \Vli;ii  will  he  Ihc  old  age  of  this  government,  if  it  is 
tliu^i  early  decrepit!"    Such  was  the  remark  of  Fauchet,  the 


"  No  longer  here  shall  justice  bound  her  view, 
"Or  wrong  the  many,  while  she  rights  the  few  ; 
"  But  take  her  range  through  all  the  social  frame, 
"  Pure  and  pervading  as  that  vital  flame 
"  Which  warms  at  once  our  best  and  meanest  part, 
"  And  thrills  a  hair  while  it  expands  a  heart !" 

Oh  golden  dream  !  what  soul  that  loves  to  scan 
The  bright  disk  rather  than  the  dark  of  man. 
That  owns  the  good,  while  smarting  with  the  ill. 
And  loves  the  world  with  all  its  frailty  still, — 
What  ardent  bosom  does  not  spring  to  meet 
The  generous  hope,  with  all  that  heavenly  heat, 
Whicir makes  the  soul  imwilling  to  resign 
Tiie  thoughts  of  growing,  even  on  earth,  divine  ! 
Yes,  dearest  friend,  I  see  thee  glow  to  think 
Tlie  chain  of  ages  yet  may  boast  a  link 
Of  purer  texture  than  the  world  has  known, 
And  fit  to  bmd  us  to  a  Godhead's  throne. 

But,  is  it  thus?  doth  even  the  glorious  dream 
Borrow  from  truth  that  dim,  uncertain  gleam. 
Which  tempts  us  still  to  give  such  fancies  scope, 
As  shock  not  reason,  while  they  nourish  liopo? 
No,  no,  believe  mc,  'tis  not  so — ev'n  now, 
While  yet  upon  Columbia's  rising  brow 
The  showy  smile  of  young  presumption  plays. 
Her  bloom  is  poison'd  and  her  heart  decays. 
Even  now,  in  dawn  of  life,  her  sickly  breath 
Burns  with  the  taint  of  empires  near  their  death  ; 
And,  like  the  nymphs  of  her  own  withering  clime. 
She's  old  in  youth,  she's  blasted  in  her  prime.^ 

Already  has  the  child  of  Gallia's  school, 
The  foul  Pliilosopliy  that  sins  by  rule, 
With  all  her  train  of  reasoning,  damning  arts. 
Begot  by  brilliant  heads  on  worthless  hearts, 
Like  things  that  quicken  after  Nilus'  flood, 
The  venom'd  birth  of  sunshine  and  of  mud, — 
Already  has  she  pour'd  her  poison  here 
O'er  ever)'  charm  that  makes  existence  dear; 
Already  blighted,  with  her  black'ning  trace, 
The  op'ning  bloom  of  ever}'  social  grace, 
And  all  those  courtesies,  tliat  love  to  shoot 
Round  virtue's  stem,  the  flow'rcts  of  her  fruit. 

And  were  these  errors  but  the  wanton  tide 
Of  yoimg  luxiu^iance  or  michasteu'd  pride  ; 

French  minister  at  rhihulelphia,  in  that  famous  dispatch  to 
his  government,  which  was  intercepted  by  one  of  ourcruis- 
crs  in  the  year  1794.  This  carinas  ineniurial  maybe  found 
in  Porcupine's  Works,  vol.  i.  |i.  279.  It  remains  a  striking 
monument  of  rcpuldican  intrigue  on  one  side,  and  repul)lican 
protligacy  on  the  other ;  and  1  would  recommend  Ihe  perusal 
of  it  to  every  Jionest  politician,  who  may  labor  under  a  [im- 
mcnt's  delusion  with  respect  to  the  p«ii:y  of  Ai/jcrican 
putriutism. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


177 


The  fervid  follies  and  the  faults  of  such 

^Vs  wrongly  f^f  ^  because  they  feel  too  much ; 

Then  might  experience  make  the  fever  less, 

Nay,  graft  a  virtue  on  each  warm  excess. 

But  no ;  'tis  heartless,  speculative  ill, 

All  youth's  transgression  with  all  age's  chill ; 

The  apathy  of  wrong,  the  bosom's  ice, 

A  slow  and  cold  stagnation  into  vice. 

Long  has  the  love  of  gold,  that  meanest  rage, 
And  latest  folly  of  man's  sinking  age, 
AV'hich,  rarely  venturing  iix  the  van  of  life, 
While  nobler  passions  wage  fheir  heated  strife, 
Comes  skulking  last,  with  selfishness  and  fear, 
And  dies,  collecting  lumber  in  the  rear,— 
Long  has  it  palsied  everj'  grasping  hand 
And  greedy  spirit  through  this  bartering  land ; 
Tuni'd  life  to  traffic,  set  the  demon  gold 
So  loose  nbroad  tliat  virtue's  self  is  sold, 
And  conscience,  truth,  and  honesty  are  made 
To  rise  and  fall,  like  other  wares  of  trade.* 

/  Already  in  this  free,  this  virtuous  state, 
Which,  Frenchmen  tell  us,  was  ordaiu'd  by  fate 
To  siiow  the  world,  what  high  perfection  springs 
From  rabble  senaloi-s,  and  merchant  kings, — 
Even  here  already  patriots  learn  to  steal 
Tlieir  private  perquisites  from  public  weal, 
And,  guardians  of  the  country's  sacred  fire, 
Like  Afric's  priests,  let  oat  the  flame  for  hire. 
Those  vaunted  demagogues,  who  nobly  rose 
From  England's  debtors  to  bo  England's  foes,* 
Wiio  could  their  monarch  in  their  puree  forget, 
And  break  allegiance,  but  to  cancel  debt,^ 
Have    proved,    at    length,    the    mineral's  tempting 

hue, 
Which  makes  a  patriot,  can  unmake  him  too.* 
Oh  I  Freedom,  Freedom,  how  I  hate  thy  cant! 
Not  Eastern  bombast,  not  the  savage  rant 
Of  purpled  madmen,  were  they  number'd  all 
From  Roman  Nero  down  to  Russian  Paul, 


1  "  Nous  voyons  que,  dans  les  pays  ou  Ton  n'est  aficct6 
que  de  I'esprit  do  commerce,  on  Irafique  de  toutes  les  actions 
huina,ines  et  de  toutes  les  vertus  morales." — Montesquieu, 
de  r Esprit  dcs  Lois,  liv.  xx.  chap.  2. 

2  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  suspected  of  a  wish  toju^lify  those 
arbitrary  steps  of  the  English  governoient  which  the  cnlnnies 
found  il  so  necessary  to  resist ;  my  only  object  here  is  to  ex- 
pfise  tlie  selfish  motive  of  some  of  the  leading  American 
deuiagof^ues. 

3  Tlie  most  persevering  enemy  to  the  interests  of  this 
country,  amongst  the  politicians  of  the  western  world,  has 
been  a  Virginian  merchant,  who,  finding  it  easier  to  settle 
his  conscience  than  his  debts,  was  one  of  the  first  to  raise  the 
standani  against  Great  Britain,  and  has  ever  since  endeav- 
ored to  revenge  upon  the  whole  country  the  obligations 
which  he  lies  under  to  a  ft-w  of  its  merclianls. 

*  See  Porcupine's  account  of  the  Pennsylvania  Insurrec- 


13 


Could  grate  upon  my  ear  so  mean,  so  base, 
As  the  rank  jargon  of  that  factious  race, 
Who,  poor  of  heart  and  prodigal  of  words, 
Form'd  to  be  slaves,  yet  struggling  to  be  lords, 
Strut  forth,  as  patriots,  from  their  negro-marts, 
And  shout  for  rights,  with  rapine  in  their  hearts. 

Who  can,  with  patience,  for  a  moment  see 
The  medley  mass  of  pride  and  misery, 
Of  whips  and  cliarters,  manacles  and  rights, 
Of  slaving  blacks  and  democratic  whites,^ 
And  all  the  piebald  polity  that  reigns 
In  free  confusion  o'er  Columbia's  plains? 
To  think  that  man,  thou  just  and  gentle  God ! 
Should  stand  before  thee  with  a  tyrant's  rod 
O'er  creatures  like  himself,  with  souls  from  thee, 
Yet  dare  to  boast  of  perfect  liberty ; 
Away,  away — I'd  rather  hold  my  neck 
By  doubtful  tenure  from  a  sultan's  beck. 
In  climes  where  liberty  has  scarce  been  named. 
Nor  any  right,  but  that  of  ruling,  claim'd. 
Than  thus  to  live,  where  bastard  Freedom  waves 
Her  fustian  flag  in  mockery  over  slaves  ; 
Where — motley  laws  admitting  no  degree 
Betwixt  the  vilely  slaved  and  madly  free — 
Alike  the  bondage  and  the  license  suit, 
The  brute  made  ruler  and  the  man  made  brute. 

But,  while  I  thus,  my  friend,  in  flowcrless  song. 
So  feebly  paint,  what  yet  I  feel  so  strong, 
The  ills,  the  vices  of  the  land,  where  first 
Those  rebel  fiends,  that  rack  the  world,  were  nursed, 
Where  treason's  arm  by  royalty  was  nen'ed. 
And  Frenchmen  leani'd  to  crush  the  throne  they 

served — 
Thou,  calmly  lull'd  in  dreams  of  classic  thought. 
By  bards  ilhunincd  and  by  sages  taught, 
Pant'st  to  be  all,  upon  this  mortal  scene, 
That  bard  hath  fancied  or  that  sage  hath  been. 
Why  should  I  wake  thee  ?  why  severely  chase 
The  lovely  forms  of  virtue  and  of  gi-ace, 

tion  in  Vr94.  In  short,  see  Porcu]>ine's  works  throughout, 
for  ample  coiToboration  of  every  sentiment  which  I  have 
ventured  to  express.  In  saying  this,  I  refer  less  to  the  com- 
ments of  that  writer  than  to  the  occurrences  which  he  has 
related  and  the  documents  which  he  lias  preserved.  Opinion 
may  be  suspected  of  bias,  but  facts  speak  for  themselves. 

s  In  Virginia  the  effects  of  this  system  begin  to  be  felt 
rather  seriously.  While  the  master  raves  of  liberty,  the 
slave  cannot  but  catch  the  contagion,  and  accordingly  there 
seldom  elapses  a  month  without  some  alarm  of  insurrection 
amongst  the  negroes.  The  accession  of  Louisiana,  it  is 
feared,  will  increase  this  embarrassment;  as  the  numerous 
emigrations,  which  are  expected  to  take  place,  frnm  the 
southern  slates  to  tliis  newly-acquired  territorj-.  will  consid- 
erably diminish  the  white  population,  and  thus  strengthen 
the  prriportlon  of  negroes,  to  a  degree  which  mustuliimatcl) 
be  ruinous. 


178 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


That  dwell  before  thee,  like  the  pictures  spread 
By  Spnrtan  matrons  round  the  genial  bed, 
Moulding  thy  fancy,  and  with  gradual  art 
Bright'ning  the  young  conceptions  of  thy  heart 

Forgive  me,  Forbes — and  sliould  the  song  destroy 
One  generous  hope,  one  tlirob  of  social  joy, 
One  high  pidsation  of  the  zeal  for  man, 
Which  few  can  feel,  and  bless  that  few  who  can, — 
Oh !  turn  to  him,  beneath  whose  kindred  eyes 
Thy  talents  open  and  thy  virtues  rise. 
Forget  where  nature  has  been  dark  or  dim, 
And  proudly  study  all  lier  liglrts  in  him. 
Yes,  yes,  in  him  the  erring  world  forget. 
And  feel  that  man  may  reach  perfection  yet 


THOMAS  HUME,  ESQ.,  M.  D. 

FROM  THE  CITY  OF  WASHINGTON. 

Alf?>i)70/iai  6ir]yimaTa  (trw?  aTritrra.  KOivtiva  <t)v  irewovSa 
ouK  fx^i'.  Xenophunt.  Ephes.  Uphesiac.  lib.  v. 

'Tis  evening  now  ;  beneath  the  western  star 
Soft  sighs  the  lover  through  his  sweet  cigar, 
And  fills  the  ears  of  some  consenting  she 
With  puffs  and  vows,  with  smoke  and  constancy. 
The  patriot,  fresh  from  Freedom's  councils  come, 
Now  pleased  retires  to  lash  his  slaves  at  home ; 
Or  woo,  perhaps,  some  black  Aspasia's  charms, 
And  dream  of  freedom  in  his  bondsmaid's  arms.' 

1  The  "  binck  Aspasia"  of  the  present  *******%*  of 
the  United  Slates, inter  Avernales  hand  ifinoiissinKi  nymphas^ 
has  given  rise  to  much  pleasantry  among  the  anti-dcniocrat 
wits  in  America. 

3  "  On  llie  original  location  of  the  ground  now  allotted  for 
the  seat  of  the  Federal  City,  (says  Mr.  Weld.)  the  identical 
spot  on  which  the  capitol  now  stands  was  called  Rome. 
Tliis  anecdote  is  related  by  many  as  a  certain  prognostic  of 
the  future  magnificence  of  this  city,  which  is  to  be,  as  il 
were,  a  second  Rome." —  Weld's  Travels,  letter  iv. 

a  A  little  E^tream  runs  lhrnuf:h  the  city,  which,  with  in 
tolerable  aflectation,  they  have  styled  the  Tiber.  It  was 
originally  called  Goose-Creek. 

*  "To  be  under  the  necessity  of  going  through  a  deep  wood 
for  one  or  two  miles,  perhaps,  in  order  to  see  a  ne.\t-door 
neighbor,  and  in  the  same  city,  is  a  curious  and,  I  believe,  a 
novel  circunislance."— WfW.  letter  iv. 

The  Federal  City  (ifll  niu-^t  be  called  a  cit^')  has  not  been 
much  increased  since  Mr.  Weld  visited  it.  Most  of  the  pub- 
lic buildings,  which  were  then  in  some  degree  of  forward- 
ness, have  been  since  utterly  suspended.  The  hotel  is  al- 
ready a  ruin ;  a  great  part  of  its  roof  has  fallen  in,  and  the 
rooms  are  left  to  be  occupied  gratuitously  by  the  nii^^erable 
Scotch  and  Irish  emigrants.  The  President's  house,  a  vorj- 
noble  structure,  is  by  no  means  suited  to  the  philosoi)hical 


In  fancy  now,  beneath  tlie  twilight  gloom, 
Come,  let  me  lead  thee  o'er  this  "  second  Roroo  1"* 
Where  tribunes  rule,  where  dusky  Davi  bow. 
And  what  was  Goose-Creek  once  is  Tiber  oo*.v :' — 
Tliis  embryo  capital,  where  Fancy  sees 
Squares  in  morasses,  obelisks  in  trees  ; 
Which  second-sighted  seers,  ev"n  now,  adorn 
With  slirines  unbuilt  and  heroes  yet  unborn, 

Though  naught  but  woods*  and  J n  they  see, 

Where  streets  ehoidd  run  and  sages  ought  to  be. 

And  look,  how  calmly  in  yon  radiant  wave, 
Tne  dying  sun  prepares  his  golden  grave. 
Oh  mighty  river!  oh  ye  banks  of  shade  I 
Ye  matchless  scenes,  in  nature's  morning  made, 
While  still,  in  all  th'  exuberance  of  prime, 
Siio  pour'd  lier  wonders,  lavishly  sublime. 
Nor  yet  had  Icant'd  to  stoop,  with  humbler  care, 
From  grand  to  soft,  from  wonderfid  to  fair ; — 
Say,  were  your  towering  hills,  your  boundless  floods, 
Your  rich  savannas  and  majestic  woods. 
Where  bards  should  meditate  and  heroes  rove, 
And  woman  ciiami,  and  man  deserve  her  love, — 
Oh  say,  was  world  so  bright,  but  bom  to  grace 
Its  own  half-organized,  half-minded  race^ 
Of  weak  barbarians,  swarming  o'er  its  breast. 
Like  vermin  gender'd  on  the  lion's  crest  ? 
Were  none  but  brutes  to  call  that  soil  their  home, 
Where  none  but  demigods  should  dare  to  roam  ? 
Or  worse,  thou  wondrous  world!  oh  I  doubly  worse, 
Did  heaven  design  thy  lordly  land  to  nurse 
The  motley  dregs  of  ever*'  distant  clime, 
Each  blast  of  anarchy  and  taint  of  crime 
Which  Europe  shakes  from  her  perturbed  sphere, 
In  full  malignity  to  rankle  here? 

humility  of  its  present  possessor,  who  inhabits  but  a  corner 
of  the  niansir)n  himself,  and  abandons  the  rest  to  a  state  of 
uncleanly  desolation,  which  those  who  are  not  philosophers 
cannot  look  at  without  regret.  This  grand  edifice  is  encir- 
cled by  a  very  nidc  paling,  through  which  a  common  rustic 
stile  introduces  the  visiters  of  the  firstman  in  America.  With 
respect  to  all  that  is  within  the  house,  I  shall  imitate  the  pru- 
dent forbearance  of  Herodotus,  aiul  say,  to  6c  cv  a:TopfinrM. 

The  private  buildings  exhibit  the  same  characteristic  dis- 
play of  arrogant  speculation  and  premature  ruin  ;  and  the 
few  ranges  of  houses  which  were  begun  some  years  ago  liave 
remained  so  long  waste  and  unfinished,  that  tliey  are  now 
for  the  most  part  dilapidated. 

6  The  picture  which  BulTon  and  De  Pauw  have  drawn  of 
the  American  Indian,  though  very  humiliating,  is,  as  far  as  I 
can  judge,  nuich  more  correct  than  the  flattering  representa- 
tions which  Mr.  Jefferson  has  giVen  us.  See  the  Notes  on 
Virginia,  where  this  gentleman  endeavors  to  disprove  in  gen- 
eral the  opinion  maintained  so  strongly  by  some  philosophers, 
that  nature  (as  Mr.  Jefferson  expresses  it)  bc-littles  her  pro- 
ductions in  the  western  world.  M.  de  Pauw  atiriluUcs  the 
imperfection  of  animal  life  in  America  to  the  ravages  of  a 
very  recent  deluge,  from  whose  effects  upon  its  soil  and  at- 
mosphere it  has  nut  yet  sufficiently  recovered. — Rccherches 
sur  les  ^Imiricains,  part  i.  lom.  i.  p.  ]02. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


179 


But  hold, — observe  von  little  mount  of  pines, 
Where  tlie  breeze  murmurs  and  the  fire-fly  shines. 
There  lot  thy  fancy  raise,  in  bold  relief 
Tlie  sculptured  imago  of  that  veteran  chief 
Who  lost  the  rebel's  in  the  hero's  name. 
And  climb'd  o'er  prostrate  loyalty  to  fame  ; 
Beneath  whoso  sword  Columbia's  patriot  train 
Cast  oil' their  monarch,  that  their  mob  might  reign. 

How  shall  wo  rank  thee  upon  glory's  page? 
Thou  more  than  soldier  and  just  less  than  sage  ! 
Of  peace  too  fond  to  act  the  conqueror's  part, 
Too  long  in  camps  to  learn  a  statesman's  art. 
Nature  design'd  thee  for  a  hero's  mould, 
But,  ere  she  cast  thee,  let  the  stuff  grow  cold. 

Wliile    loftier   souls  command,  nay,  make  their 
fate. 
Thy  fate  made  Uiee  and  forced  thee  to  be  great 
Yet  Fortune,  who  so  oft,  so  blindly  sheds 
Her  brightest  halo  round  the  weakest  heads. 
Found  thee  und.izzled,  tranquil  as  before, 
Proud  to  be  useful,  scorning  to  be  more ; 
Less  moved  by  glory's  than  by  duty's  claim, 
Renown  the  meed,  but  self-appla>ise  the  aim ! 
All  that  thou  wert  reflects  less  fame  on  thee, 
Far  less,  than  all  thou  didst /orSear  to  be. 
Nor  yet  the  patriot  of  one  land  alone, — 
For  thine's  a  name  all  nations  claim  their  own ; 
And  every  shore,  where  breathed  the  good  and  brave, 
Echo'd  the  plaudits  thy  own  country  gave. 

Now  look,  my  friend,  where  faint  the  moonlight 
falls       • 
On  yonder  dome,  and,  in  those  princely  halls, — 
If  thou  canst  hate,  as  sure  that  soul  must  hate. 
Which  loves  the  virtuous  and  reveres  the  great, — 
If  thou  canst  loathe  and  execrate  with  me 
The  poisonous  di-ug  of  French  philosophy, 
That  nauseous  slaver  of  these  frantic  times, 
With  which  false  liberty  dilutes  her  crimes, — 
If  thou  hast  got,  within  thy  free-born  breast, 
One  pulse  that  beats  more  proudly  than  the  rest, 
Willi  honest  scorn  for  that  inglorious  soul. 
Which  creeps  and  winds  beneath  a  mob's  control. 
Which  courts  the  rabble's  smile,  the  rabble's  nod, 
And  makes,  like  Egypt,  every  beast  its  god, 

1  On  a  small  hill  near  the  capitol  there  is  to  be  an  cqties- 
Irian  statue  of  General  Washington. 

*  III  the  ferment  which  the  French  revolution  excited 
among  the  tlemocrals  of  .\merica,  and  the  licentious  sympa- 
thy with  which  they  shared  in  the  wildest  excesses  of  jaco- 
binism, we  may  Iind  one  source  of  that  vulgarity  of  vice, 
th.it  hostility  to  all  the  graces  of  life,  which  disUnguishes 
the  pre>ent  demagogues  of  the  United  States,  and  has  he- 
come  indeed  too  generally  the  characteristic  of  their  coan- 
tr^'mcn     But  there  l5  another  cause  of  the  corruption  of 


There,  in  those  walls — but,  bunting  tongue,  forbear  ! 
Rank    must    be    reverenced,  even    the  rank  that's 

there : 
So  here  I  pause — and  now,  dear  Hume,  we  part : 
But  oft  again,  in  frauk  exchange  of  heart. 
Thus  let  us  meet,  and  mingle  converse  dear 
By  Thames  at  home,  or  by  Potowmac  here. 
O'er  lake  and  marsh,  througlt  fevers  and  through 

fogs. 
Midst  bears  and  yankees,  democrats  and  frogs. 
Thy  foot  shall  follow  me,  thy  heart  and  eyes 
With  me  shall  wonder,  and  with  me  despise.' 
While  I,  as  oft,  in  fancy's  dream  shall  rove, 
With  thee  conversing,  through  that  land  I  love, 
^Vhcre,  like  the  air  that  fans  her  fields  of  green. 
Her  freedom  spreads,  unfever'd  and  serene  ; 
And  sovereign  man  can  condescend  to  see 
The  throne  and  laws  more  sovereign  still  than  he. 


LINES 

WRITTEN    OS    LEAVING    nilLADELPIllA. 

TtivSc  Triv  TToAty  0iAojj 

EiJrajc*  tira^ia  yap. 

SopuocL.  (Edip.  Colon,  v.  7G8. 

Alone  by  the  Schuylkill  a  wanderer  roved. 
And  bright  were  its  flowery  banks  to  his  eye  ; 

But  far,  very  far  were  the  friends  that  he  loved. 
And  he  gazed  on  its  flowery  banks  with  a  sigh. 

Oh  Nature,  though  ble«sed  and  bright  are  thy  rays. 
O'er  the  brow  of  creation  enchantingly  thrown. 

Yet  faint  are  they  all  to  the  lustre  that  plays 

In  a  smile  from  the  heart  that  is  fondly  our  own. 

Nor  long  did  the  sold  of  the  stranger  remain 

Uubless'd  by  the  smile  he  had  languish'd  to  meet ; 
Though    scarce    did    ho   hope  it    woiUd  sooth    him 
again. 
Till  the  tlireshold  of  home  had  been  press'd  by  his 
feet. 

But  tho  lays  of  his  boyhood  had  stol'n  to  their  ear. 
And  they  loved  what  they  knew  of  so  humble  a 
name : 


private  morals,  which,  encounaped  as  it  is  hy  the  government, 
and  identilied  with  the  interests  of  the  community,  seems  to 
threaten  the  dec^iy  of  all  honest  principle  in  .-Vnierica.  I  al- 
lude to  those  fraudulent  violations  of  neutrality  to  which 
they  are  indebted  for  the  most  lucrative  part  of  their  com- 
merce, and  by  which  they  have  so  long  infrinced  anil  coun- 
teracted the  maritime  rights  and  advantages  of  this  cuuntry. 
This  unwarranlahle  trade  is  necessarily  abetted  by  such  a 
system  of  collusion,  imposture,  and  perjury,  as  cannot  fail 
to  spread  rapid  contamination  around  it. 


180 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  tbey  told  him,  with  flattery  welcome  and  dear, 
Tliat   they  found  in  his  heart  something  better 
than  fame. 

Nor   did   woman — oh   woman  !    wliose   form   and 
whose  soul 
Are  tlie  spell  and  the  light  of  each  patli  we  pur- 
sue ; 
Whether   sunn'd    in    the    tropics    or  chiU'd   at  the 
pole, 
If  woman  be  there,  there  Ls  happiness  too; — 

Nor  did  she  her  enamorlnnr  maffic  deny, — 

That  magic  his  heart  had  relinquish'd  so  long, — 

Like  eyes  he  had  loved  was  hrr  eloquent  eye. 
Like  them  did  it  soften  and  weep  at  his  song. 

Oh,  hless'd  be  the  tear,  and  in  memory  oft 

May  its  sparkle  be  shed  o'er  the  wanderer's  dream  ; 

Thrice  hless'd  be  that  eye,  and  may  passion  as  soft. 
As  free  from  a  pang,  ever  mellow  its  beam ! 

The  stranger  is  gone — but  he  will  not  forget, 

AVhen  at  home  he  shall  talk  of  the  toils  he  has 
known, 

To  tell,  with  a  sigh,  what  endearments  he  met, 
As  he  stray'd  by  the  wave  of  the  Schuylkill  alone. 


LINES 

WRITTBK    AT 

THE  COHOS,  OR  FALLS  OF  THE  MOHAWK  RIVER.» 

Gi^  era  in  loco  ove  s'  udia  I  rimbombo 

Deir  acqua .  Dant«. 

From  rise  of  morn  till  set  of  sun 
Tve  seen  tlie  niic;hty  Mohawk  run  ; 
And  as  I  mark'd  the  woods  of  pine 
Alonff  his  mirror  darkly  sliine, 
Like  tall  and  gloomy  foniis  that  pass 
Before  the  wizard's  midnight  glass  ; 
And  as  I  vicw'd  the  hnrrying  pace 
With  which  ho  ran  his  turhid  race, 

1  There  is  a  drear}'  and  savn?c  chnrncter  in  the  country 
iininoilialely  »bout  these  Fall**,  which  is  much  more  in  har- 
uinny  with  the  wihlness  of  such  a  scene  th;in  thecultivatod 
Innd'?  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ni;i5:;ira.  Pec  the  drawing  of 
them  in  Mr.  Weld's  bonlc.  Accnrdin^  to  him,  the  perpen- 
(heiilar  heithl  of  the  Cohos  Fall  is  fifty  feet;  but  the  Mar- 
i]uis  de  Chastellux  makes  it  seventy-six. 

The  fine  rainbow,  which  is  contimmlly  forming  and  dls- 


Rushing,  alike  untired  and  wild, 

Through  shades  that  frown'd  and  flowers  that 

smiled, 
Flying  by  every  green  recess 
That  wooM  him  to  its  calm  caresa, 
Yet,  sometimes  turning  with  the  wind, 
As  if  to  leave  one  look  behind, — 
Oft  have  I  thought,  and  thinking  sigli'd, 
How  lilvo  to  thee,  thou  restless  tide, 
May  be  the  lot,  the  life  of  him 
AVho  roams  along  thy  water's  brim ; 
Through  what  alternate  wastes  of  wo 
And  flowers  of  joy  my  path  may  go  5 
How  many  a  shelter'd,  calm  retreat 
May  woo  the  while  my  weary  feet, 
While  still  pursuing,  si  ill  unbless'd, 
I  wander  on,  nor  dare  .^  rest ; 
But,  urgent  as  the  doom  that  calls 
Thy  water  to  its  destined  falls, 
I  feel  the  world's  bewild'ring  forco 
Hurry  my  heart's  devoted  course 
From  lapse  to  lapse,  till  life  be  done. 
And  the  spent  ciurent  ceaso  to  run 

One  only  prayer  I  dare  to  make, 
As  onward  thus  my  course  I  teke  : — 
Oh,  be  my  falls  as  bright  as  thine  1 
May  heaven's  relenting  rainbow  shine 
Upon  tlie  mist  that  circles  me. 
As  soft  as  now  it  hangs  o'er  thee ! 


SONG 


THE  EVIL  SPmiT  OF  THE  WO0DS.9 

Qua  via  diflicilis,  qu^que  est  via  nulla. 

Ovid.  J\Tctam.  lib.  iii.  v.  227. 

Now  the  vapor,  hot  and  damp, 
Shed  by  day's  expiring  lamp, 
Through  tlie  misty  ether  spreads 
Every  ill  the  white  man  di'eads  ; 
Fiery  fever's  thirsty  thrill. 
Fitful  ague's  shivering  chill ! 

solvinp.  as  the  spray  rises  into  the  light  of  the  sun,  is  per- 
haps the  most  interesting  beauty  which  these  wonderful 
cataracts  exhibit. 

*  The  idea  of  this  poem  occurred  to  me  in  passing  through 
the  very  dreary  wilderness  hct^veen  Batavia.  a  new  settle- 
ment in  the  midst  of  Iho  woods,  and  the  little  vill.icei'rRutl^tto 
upon  Lake  Eric.  This  is  the  most  fntifruiiig  pirt  n*"  the 
route,  in  travelling  through  the  Genesee  countr>-  to  Niagam. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


J  81 


Hark !  I  hear  tlie  traveller's  song, 
As  he  winds  the  woods  along  ; — 
Christian,  'tis  the  song  of  fear  ; 
Wolves  are  round  thee,  night  is  near, 
And  the  wild  thou  dar'st  to  roam — 
Think,  'twas  once  the  Indian's  home  I* 

Hither,  ^'prites,  who  love  to  harm, 
Wheresoe'er  you  work  your  charm, 
By  the  creeks,  or  by  the  brakes, 
Where  the  pale  witch  feeds  her  snakes, 
And  the  cayman"  loves  to  creep. 
Torpid,  to  his  wintry  sleep: 
Where  the  bird  of  carrion  flits. 
And  the  shudd'ring  murderer  sits,' 
Lone  beneath  a  roof  of  blood  ; 
While  upon  his  poison'd  food, 
From  the  corpse  of  him  he  slew 
Drops  the  chill  and  goiy  dew. 

Hither  bend  ye,  turn  ye  hither, 
Eyes  that  blast  and  win^  that  wither ! 
Cross  the  wand'ring  Christian's  way, 
Lead  him,  ere  the  glimpse  of  day, 
Many  a  mile  of  madd'niiig  error, 
Through  the  maze  of  night  and  terror, 
Till  the  morn  behold  him  lying 
On  the  damp  earth,  pale  and  dying. 
Mock  him,  when  his  eager  eight 
Seeks  the  cordial  cottage-light  ; 
Gleam  then,  like  the  lightning-bug, 
Tempt  him  to  the  den  that's  dug 
For  the  foul  and  famish'd  brood 
Of  the  she-wolf,  gaunt  for  blood ; 
Or,  unto  the  dangerous  pass 
O'er  the  deep  and  dark  morass. 
Where  the  trembling  Indian  brings 
Belts  of  porcelain,  pipes,  and  rings, 
Tributes,  to  be  hmig  in  air, 
To  the  Fiend  presiding  there  !* 

Then,  when  night's  long  labor  past, 
Wilder'd,  faint,  he  falls  at  last, 


»  "The  Five  Confederated  Nations  (of  Indians)  were  sei 
lied  along  the  banks  olthe  Susquehannah  nnd  Ihc  adjacent 
country,  until  the  year  1779,  when  General  Sullivan,  with  an 
army  of  4000  men.  drove  them  from  Iheir  country  to  Niagara, 
where,  heiiig  obliged  to  live  on  salted  provisions,  lo  which 
they  were  unaccustomed,  great  numbers  of  them  died.  Two 
hundred  of  theui,  it  is  said,  were  buried  in  one  grave,  where 
they  had  encamped." — Morsels  American  Geography. 

3  The  alligator,  who  is  supposed  to  lie  in  a  torpid  state  all 
the  winter,  in  the  bank  of  some  creek  or  pond,  having  pre- 
viously swallowed  a  larfie  number  of  pine-knots,  whith  are 
his  only  sustemince  during  the  time. 

«  This  was  the  mode  of  punishment  fur  murder  (as  Cliarle- 
voix  tells  us;  among  tiie  Hurons.     "  They  laid  the  dead  body 


Sinking  where  the  causeway's  edge 
Mouldere  in  the  slimy  stage. 
There  let  every  uoxitus  thing 
Trail  its  filth  and  fix  its  sting  ; 
Let  the  bull-toad  taint  him  over, 
Round  him  let  moschetoes  liover, 
In  his  ears  and  eyeballs  tingling, 
With  his  blood  their  poison  mingling, 
Till,  beneath  the  solar  fires, 
Rankling  all,  the  wretch  expires  ! 


THE  HONORABLE  W.  R.  STENCER 

FROM  BUFFALO,  UPON  LAKE  ERIE. 


Nec  venit  ad  duros  musa  vocata  Getas. 
Ovid,  cx  Panto,  lib.  i 


ep-  5 


Thou  oft  hast  told  me  of  the  happy  hours 

Enjoy 'd  by  thee  in  fair  Ifalia's  bowers. 

Where,  ling'ring  yet,  the  ghost  of  ancient  wit 

Midst  modern  monks  profanely  dares  to  flit, 

And  pagan  spirits,  by  the  pope  unlaid. 

Haunt  everj^  stream  and  sing  through  everj'  shade. 

There  still  the  bard  who  (if  his  numbers  be 

His  tongue's  light  echo)  must  have  talk'd  like  thee, — 

The  courtly  bard,  from  whom  thy  mind  has  caught 

Those  playful,  sunshine  holidays  of  thought, 

In  wliich  the  spirit  haskingly  reclines. 

Bright  without  effort,  resting  while  it  shines, — 

There  still  he  roves,  and  laughing  loves  to  scA 

How  modem  priests  with  ancient  rakes  agree  ; 

How,  'neath  the  cowl,  the  festal  garland  shines, 

And  Love  still  finds  a  niche  in  Christian  shrines 

There  still,  too,  roam  those  other  souls  of  song. 
With  whom  thy  spirit  hath  communed  so  long, 
That,  quick  as  light,  their  rarest  gems  of  thought. 
By  Memory's  magic  to  thy  lip  are  brought. 


upon  poles  at  the  trip  of  a  en  bin,  and  the  murderer  was  obliged 
to  remain  several  days  together,  and  to  receive  all  that  drop- 
ped from  the  carcass,  not  only  on  himself  but  on  his  food." 

*  "  Wetind  also  collars  of  purcelain,  tobacco,  ears  of  maize, 
skins.  &c.,  by  the  side  of  difficult  and  dangerous  ways,  on 
rocks,  or  by  the  side  of  the  falls :  and  these  are  so  many  of- 
ferings made  to  the  spirits  which  preside  in  these  places." — 
See  Charlevoix's  Letter  on  the  Trailitions  and  the  Religion  of 
ViR  Savages  of  Canada. 

Father  Hennepin  too  mentions  this  ceremony;  he  also 
says,  *' We  took  notice  of  one  barbarian,  who  made  a  kmd 
of  sacrifice  upon  an  oak  at  the  Cascade  of  St.  .Antony  of  Pa- 
dua, upon  the  river  Mississippi. '—See  HcnnepiH''s  Voyage 
into  J^ortfi  America. 


182 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But  hero,  alas  !  by  Erie's  stormy  lake, 
Ab,  far  from  such  bright  haunts  my  course  I  take, 
No  proud  remembrance  o'er  th^  fancy  plays, 
No  classic  dream,  no  star  of  oth«r  days 
Hath  left  that  visionaiy  light  behind. 
That  ling  ring  radiance  of  immortal  mind, 
Which  gilds  and  hallows  even  the  rudest  scene, 
The  humblest  shed,  where  genius  once  has  been  I 

All  that  creation's  vaiying  mass  assumes 
Of  grand  or  lovely,  here  aspires  and  blooms  ; 
Bold  rise  the  mountains,  ricli  the  gardens  glow. 
Bright  lakes  expand,  and  conquering'  rivers  flow  ; 
But  mind,  immortal  mind,  without  whose  ray, 
This  world's  a  wilderness  and  man  but  clay, 
Mind,  mind  alone,  in  barren,  still  repose, 
Nor  blooms,  nor  rises,  nor  expands,  nor  tlows. 
Take  Christians,  IMohawks,  democrats,  and  all 
From  tiie  rude  wigwam  to  the  congress-haH, 
From  man  the  savage,  whether  slaved  or  free, 
To  man  the  civilized,  less  tame  than  he, — 
'Tis  one  dull  chaos,  oue  unfertile  striio 
Betwixt  half-polish'd  and  half-barb;irous  life  ; 
Where  every  ill  the  ancient  world  could  brew 
Is  mix'd  with  everj'  grossness  of  the  new  ; 
Where  all  corrupts,  though  little  can  entice. 
And  naught  is  known  of  luxmy,  but  its  vice  I 

Is  this  the  region  then,  is  this  the  clime 
For  soaring  fancies  ?  for  those  dieams  sublime. 
Which  all  their  miracles  of  light  reveal 
To  heads  that  meditate  and  hearts  that  feel? 
Alas  !  not  so — the  Muse  of  Nature  lights 
Her  glories  round  ;  she  scales  the  mountain  heights. 
And  r^uis  tlie  forests  ;  every  wondrous  spot 
Burns  with  her  step,  yet  man  regards  it  not. 
She  whispei"s  round,  her  words  are  in  tlie  air, 
But  lost,  unheard,  they  linger  freezing  there,'' 
Williout  oue  breatli  of  soul,  divinely  strong, 
One  ray  of  mind  to  thaw  them  into  song. 

Yet,  yet  forgive  me,  oh  ye  sacred  few, 
\Vliom  late  by  Delaware's  green  banks  I  knew  ; 
W'lioni.  known  and  loved  tlirough  many  a  social  eve, 
'Twus  bliss  to  live  with,  and  'twas  pain  to  leave.^ 

>  This  epithet  was  sug^'ested  by  Charlevoix's  sinking  de- 
scripiiim  of  the  confluence  of  the  Mis-^rnirl  with  the  Missis- 
sippi. "I  helicve  this  is  the  finest  confluence  in  the  world. 
Tile  two  rivers  are  nnich  of  tlie  same  l)rc!ulth,  each  abowt 
hwlf  a  league;  but  the  !\lissouri  is  by  f.ir  the  most  rapid,  and 
seems  to  enter  the  Mississippi  like  a  conqueror,  through 
which  it  carries  its  white  waves  to  the  opposite  shore,  with- 
ttiit  mixing  them  :  afterwards  it  gives  its  color  to  the  Missis- 
sippi, which  it  never  loses  aguin,  but  carries  quite  down  to 
the  sea." — IiPtter  xxvli. 

a  Alluding  to  the  fanciful  notion  of  "  words  congealed  in 
northern  air." 

3  In  the  society  of  Mr.  Dennie  and  his  friends,  at  Phlla- 


Not  with  more  joy  the  lonely  exile  scann'd 
The  writing  traced  npon  the  desert's  sand. 
Where  his  lone  heart  but  little  hoped  to  find 
One  trace  of  life,  one  stamp  of  human  kind, 
Than  did  I  hail  the  pm*e,  th'  enlighten'd  zeal, 
The  strength  to  reason  and  the  warmth  to  fct], 
The  manly  polish  and  the  illumined  taste, 
Which, — 'mid  the  melancholy,  heartless  waste 
I\Iy  foot  has  traversed, — oh  you  sacred  few  ! 
I  found  by  Delaware's  green  banks  with  you. 

Long  may  you  loathe  the  Gallic  dross  that  runs 
Through  your  fair  country'  and  corrupts  its  sons  ; 
Long  love  the  arts,  the  glories  which  adoni 
Those  fields  of  freedom,  where  your  sires  were  born 
Oil  I  if  America  can  yet  be  great, 
If  neither  chain'd  by  choice,  nor  doom'd  by  fate 
To  the  mob-mania  which  imbrutcs  her  now, 
She  yet  can  raise  the  crown'd,  yet  civic  brow 
Of  single  majesty, — can  add  the  grace 
Of  Rank's  rich  capital  to  Freedom's  base, 
Nor  fear  the  mighty  sliaft  will  feebler  prove 
For  the  fair  ornament  tliat  flowers  above  ;— 
If  yet  released  from  all  that  pedant  throng. 
So  vain  of  error  and  so  pledged  to  wrong. 
Who  hourly  teach  her,  like  themselves,  to  Iiide 
Weakness  in  vaunt,  and  barrenness  in  pride. 
She  yet  can  rise,  can  wreath  the  Attic  charms 
Of  soft  refinement  round  tlie  pomp  of  arms. 
And  see  her  poets  flash  the  fijcs  of  song, 
To  light  her  warriors*  thunderbolts  along  ; — 
It  is  to  you,  to  souls  that  favoring  heaven 
Has  made  like  yours,  the  glorious  task  is  given: — 
Oil !  but  for  such,  Columbia's  days  were  done  ; 
Ranlt  witliout  ripeness,  quickcn'd  without  sun. 
Crude  at  the  surface,  rotten  at  the  core. 
Her  fruits  would  fall,  before  her  spring  were  o'er. 

Believe  me,  Spencer,  while  I  wing'd  the  hours 
Where  Schuylkill  winds  his  way  through  banks  of 

flowers. 
Though  few  the  days,  the  happy  evenings  few, 
So  warm  with  heart,  so  rich  with  mind  they  flew, 
That  my  charm'd  soul  forgot  its  wish  to  roam. 
And  rested  there,  as  iu  a  dream  of  home. 

delphia,  I  passed  the  few  agreeable  lunmenls  which  my  tonr 
through  the  States  afforded  me.  Mr.  Dennie  has  succeeded 
in  diffusing  through  this  cultivated  little  circle  that  love  for 
good  literature  and  sound  politics,  whieh  he  ft^els  so  zeal- 
ously himself,  and  which  is  so  very  rarely  the  thanctcrisiic 
of  his  countr>tnen.  They  will  not.  I  trust,  accuse  me  of  il- 
hberaliiy  for  the  picture  which  I  have  given  of  the  ignorance 
and  corruption  that  surround  them.  If  I  did  not  liatf,  as  I 
ought,  the  rabble  to  which  they  are  oppose<I,  I  could  noi 
value,  as  I  do,  the  spirit  with  which  Ihey  defy  it;  and  in 
learning  from  them  what  Americans  ean  he.  I  but  see  with 
the  more  indigaation  what  Americens  aye. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


183 


And  looks  I  met,  like  looks  I'd  loved  before, 
And  voices  too,  which,  as  tliey  trembled  o'er 
The  chord  of  memor)',  found  full  many  a  lone 
Of  kindness  there  in  concord  with  their  own 
Yet!,— wo  had  nights  of  that  communion  free, 
That  flow  of  heart,  which  I  have  known  with  thee 
So  oft,  so  warmly  ;  nights  of  mirth  and  mind, 
Of  whims  that  taught,  and  follies  that  refined. 
When  shall  we  both  renew  them  ?  when,  restored 
To  the  gay  feast  and  intellectual  board. 
Shall  I  once  more  enjoy  with  thee  and  thine 
Those  whims  that  teach,  tliose  follies  that  refine? 
Even  now,  as  wand'ring  upon  Erie's  shore, 
I  hear  Niagara's  distant  cataract  roar, 
I  sigh  for  home, — alas  !  these  weary  feet 
Have  many  a  mile  to  journey,  ere  we  meet 

a  nATPIS,  'ilS  EOT  KAPTA  NTN  MNEIAN  EXJl. 

Euripides. 


BALLAD  STANZAS. 

I  KNEW  by  the  smoke,  that  so  gracefully  curl'd 
Above  the  green  elms,  that  a  cottage  was  near, 

And  I  said,  "  If  there's  peace  to  be  found  in  the 
world, 
"  A  heart  that  was  humble  might  hope  for  it  here  !" 

It  was  noon,  and  on  flowers  that  languish'd  around 
In  silence  reposed  the  voluptuous  beo  ; 

Every  leaf  was  at  rest,  and  I  heard  not  a  sound 
But  the   woodpecker  tapping  the  hollow  beech- 
tree. 

And,  *'  Here  in  this  lono  little  wood,"  I  exclaim'd, 
*'  With  a  maid  who  was  lovely  to  soul  and  to  eye, 

1  I  wrote  these  words  to  ai-  air  which  our  boatmen  sung  to 
us  frequently.  The  wind  wa»M  unfavorable  that  they  were 
obliged  to  row  all  the  way,  and  we  were  five  days  in  descend- 
ing the  river  from  Kingston  to  Montreal,  exposed  to  an  in- 
tense sun  during  the  day,  and  at  night  forced  to  take  shelter 
from  the  dews  in  any  miserable  hut  upon  the  banks  that 
would  receive  us.  But  the  magnificent  scenery  of  the  St. 
Lawrence  repays  all  such  difficulties. 

Our  voyaffeursiiHi}  good  voices,  and  snng  perfectly  in  tnne 
together.  The  original  words  of  the  air,  to  which  J  adapted 
these  stanzas,  appeared  to  be  a  long,  incoherent  sloiy,  of 
which  I  could  understand  but  little,  from  the  barbarous  pro- 
nunciation of  the  Canadians.    It  begins 

Dans  mon  cheniin  j'ai  rencontre 
Deu\  cavaliers  ires-blen  months  ; 

And  the  refrain  to  every  verse  was, 

A  I'omhre  d'un  bois  je  m'en  vais  jouer, 
A  Toinbre  d'un  bois  je  m'en  vais  danger. 

I  ventured  to  harmonize  this  air,  and  have  published  it. 
Without  that  charm  which  association  gives  (o  every  little 


"  Wlio  would  blush  when  I  praised  her,  and  weep  if 
I  blamed, 
"  How  blest  could  I  live,  and  how  calm  could  I 
die! 

"  By  the  shade  of  yon  sumach,  whose  red  berry  dips 
'*  In  the  gush  of  the  fountain,  how  sweet  to  re- 
cline, 
"  And  to  know  that  I  sigh'd  upon  innocent  lips, 
**  Which  had  never  been  eigh'd  on  by  any  but 
mine  !" 


A  CANADIAN   BOAT   SONG. 

WRITTEN  ON 

THE  RIVER  ST.  LAWRENCE.^ 
Et  remigem  cantiis  hortatur. 

QuiNTILtAM 

Faintlv  as  tolls  the  evening  chune 
Our  voices  keep  tune  and  our  oars  keep  time. 
Soon  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim, 
We'll  sing  at  St.  Ann's  our  parting  hymn.'* 
Kow,  brothers,  row,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight's  past 

AVliy  should  we  yet  our  sail  unfurl  ? 
There  is  not  a  breatli  the  blue  wave  to  curl ; 
But,  when  the  wind  blows  off  the  shore, 
Oh  I  sweetly  we'll  rest  our  weary  oar. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  nms  fast, 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight's  past. 

Utawas'  tide  I  this  trembling  moon 
Shall  see  i^  float  over  thy  surges  soon. 

memorial  of  scenes  or  feelings  that  are  past,  the  melody  may, 
perhaps,  be  thouaht  common  and  trifling;  but  I  remember 
when  we  have  entered,  at  sunset,  upon  one  of  those  beautiful 
lakes  into  which  the  St.  Lawrence  so  grandly  and  unexpect- 
edly opens,  I  have  heard  this  simple  air  with  a  pleasure  which 
the  finest  compositions  of  the  finest  masters  have  never  given 
me  ;  and  now  there  is  not  a  note  of  it  which  dons  not  recall 
to  my  memory  the  dip  of  our  oars  in  the  St.  Lawrence,  the 
fliuhtof  our  boat  down  the  Rapids,  and  all  those  new  and 
fanciful  impressions  to  which  my  heart  was  alive  during  the 
whole  of  this  very  interesting  voyage. 

The  above  stanzas  are  supposed  to  be  sung  by  those  vaya- 
gcurs  who  go  to  the  Grand  Portage  by  the  Utawas  River. 
For  an  account  of  this  wonderful  undertJiking,  --ec  Sir  Alex- 
ander Mackenzie's  General  History  of  the  Fur  Trade,  pre- 
fi.xed  to  his  Journal. 

a  "At  the  Rnpid  of  St.  Ann  they  are  obliged  to  take  out 
part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  their  lading.  Ii  is  from  this  spot 
the  Canadians  consider  they  take  their  depnrturc.  as  it  pos- 
sesses the  last  church  on  the  island,  which  is  dedicated  to 
the  tutelar  saint  of  voyagers."— Jl/acAffl:tf,  Gcwrat  History 
of  the  Pur  Trade. 


]84 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Saint  of  this  ^eeu  isle !  hear  our  praj'cis, 
Oh,  (jrant  us  cool  heavens  and  favorinif  airs. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  Rapids  are  near  aud  the  daylight's  past 


TO  THE 

LADY   CHARLOTTE   RAWDON. 

FROM  TQE  BANKS  OF  THE  8T.  LAWRENCE. 

Not  many  months  have  now  been  dream'd  away 
Since  yonder  sun,  beneath  whose  evening  ray 
Our  boat  glides  swiftly  past  tliese  wooded  shores, 
Saw  me  where  Trent  his  mazy  current  pours, 
And  Donington's  old  oaks,  to  every  breeze, 
Whisper  the  tale  of  bygone  centuries  ; — 
Those  oaks,  to  me  as  sacred  as  the  groves. 
Beneath  whose  shade  tlie  pious  Persian  roves, 
Aud  hears  the  spmt-voice  of  sire,  or  chief, 
Or  loved  mistress,  sigh  in  every  leaf.' 
There,  oft,  dear  Lady,  while  thy  lip  hath  sung 
My  own  unpolisli'd  lays,  how  proud  I've  hmig 
On  every  tunefiU  accent !  proud  to  feel 
That  notes  like  mine  should  have  the  fate  to  steal 
As  o'er  thy  hallowing  lip  they  sigh'd  along, 
Sucli  breath  of  passion  and  such  soul  of  song. 
Yes, — I  liave  wonder'd,  like  some  peasant  boy 
Who  sings,  on  Sabbath-eve,  his  strains  of  joy, 
And  when  he  hears  the  wild,  untutor'd  note 
Back  to  his  eai-  on  softening  echoes  float, 
Believes  it  still  some  answering  spirit's  tone, 
Aud  tliiidis  it  all  too  sweet  to  be  his  own ! 

I  dreamt  not  then  tliat,  ere  the  rolling  year 
Had  fill'd  its  circle,  I  sliould  wander  hero 
In  musing  awe  ;  should  tread  this  wondrous  world, 
See  all  its  store  of  inland  waters  hurl'd 
In  one  vast  volume  down  Niagara's  steep, 
Or  calm  behold  them,  m  transparent  sleep, 

1  "  ,\vendo  essi  per  costume  di  avere  in  vencmzione  gli 
alberi  gmniii  et  anlichi,  quasi  clie  siano  spesso  rlccllaccoU 
di  aniiiie  beale." — Piciro  dclla  Volte,  part,  second.,  leltera 
16  da  i  giarctini  di  Sciraz. 

a  Anburcy.  in  his  Travels,  has  noticed  this  shooting  illu- 
mination which  porpoises  difluse  at  night  through  the  river 
St.  Lawrence.— Voi.  i.  p.  29. 

*  The  gla-ss-snake  is  brittle  and  transparent. 

4  "The  departed  spirit  goes  inti)  the  t'ouiitry  of  Sonls, 
where,  according  to  some,  it  is  traiistiirmed  into  a  dove."— 
Charlevoix,  vpon  the  TraditioTts  and  the  Religion  of  the  Sava- 
get  of  Canada.  See  the  curious  fable  of  the  American  Or- 
pheus in  Lafitau,  tnm.  i.  p.  402. 

6  "  The  mountains  appeared  to  be  sprinkled  with  white 


Where  the  blue  hills  of  old  Toronto  shed 
Their  evening  shadows  o'er  Ontario's  bed  ; 
Should  trace  the  grand  Cudaraqui,  and  glide 
Down  the  wliite  rapids  of  his  lordly  tide 
Through  massy  woods,  mid  islets  flowering  fair 
And  blooming  glades,  where  the  first  siiifiU  pair 
For  consolation  might  have  weeping  trod. 
When  banish'd  from  the  garden  of  their  God. 
Oh,  Lady  !  these  are  miracles,  which  man, 
Caged  in  the  bounds  of  Europe's  pigtny  span, 
Can  scarcely  dream  of, — which  his  eye  must  see 
To  know  how  wonderful  this  world  can  be ! 

But  lo, — the  last  tints  of  the  west  decline, 
And  niglit  falls  dewy  o'er  these  banks  of  pine. 
Among  the  reeds,  in  which  our  idle  boat 
Is  rock'd  to  rest,  the  wind's  complaining  note 
Dies  like  a  half-breathed  whispering  of  flutes  ; 
Along  the  wave  the  gleaming  porpoise  shoots. 
And  I  cau  trace  him,  like  a  watery  star,^ 
Down  the  steep  current,  till  he  fades  afar 
Amid  the  foaining  breakers'  silvery  liglit. 
Where  yon  rough  rapids  sparkle  through  the  night, 
Here,  as  along  this  sliadowy  bank  I  stray, 
And  the  smooth  glass-snake,'  gliding  o'er  my  way. 
Shows  the  dim  moonlight  through  his  scaly  form. 
Fancy,  with  all  the  scene's  enchantinent  warm, 
Hears  in  the  murmur  of  the  nightly  breeze 
Some  Indian  Spirit  warble  words  like  these : — 

From  the  land  beyond  the  sea, 
Wliither  happy  spirits  flee  ; 
Where,  transform'd  to  sacred  dov^,* 
Many  a  blessed  Indian  roves 
Through  the  air  on  wing,  as  white 
As  those  wondrous  stones  of  light,* 
Which  the  eye  of  morning  counts 
On  the  Apallachian  mounts, — 
Hitlier  oft  my  flight  I  take 
Over  Huron's  lucid  lake. 
Where  the  wave,  as  clear  as  dew. 
Sleeps  beneath  the  light  canoe, 
Which,  reflected,  floating  there. 
Looks  as  if  it  hung  in  air.* 

stones,  which  glistened  in  the  sun,  and  were  called  bj'  the 
Indians  manctoe  aseniah,  or  spirit-stones." — Mackenzie's 
Journat. 

"  These  lines  were  stiggested  by  Carver's  description  of  one 
of  the  American  lakes.  "  When  it  was  calm,"  he  says,  "and 
the  sun  shone  bright,  I  could  sit  in  my  canoe,  where  the  depth 
was  upwards  of  six  fathotns,and  plainly  see  huge  piles  of  stone 
at  the  bottom,  of  ditierenl  shapes,  some  of  which  appeared  as 
if  tlicy  had  been  hewn  ;  the  water  was  at  this  time  as  pure  and 
transparent  as  air,  and  my  canoe  seemed  as  if  it  hung  suspend- 
ed in  that  element.  It  was  impossible  to  look  atlenli\'ely 
througli  this  limpid  medium,  at  the  rocks  below,  without  lind- 
ing,  before  many  minutes  were  elapsed,  your  head  swim 
and  your  eyes  no  longer  able  to  behold  the  dazzling  scene." 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


185 


Then,  when  I  have  stray'd  awhile 

Througli  the  Manatauhn  isle/ 
Breathing  all  its  holy  bloom, 
Swift  I  mount  me  on  the  plume 
Of  my  Wakon-Bird,^  and  fly 
Where,  beneatli  a  burning  sky, 
0"er  the  bed  of  Erie's  lake 
Slumbers  many  a  water-snake, 
Wrapt  within  the  web  of  leaves, 
Wliich  the  water-lily  weaves.* 
Next  I  chase  the  flow'ret-king 
Througii  his  rosy  reahn  of  spring  ; 
See  him  now,  while  diamond  hues 
Soft  liis  neck  and  wings  suffuse, 
In  the  leafy  chalice  sink, 
Thirsting  for  his  balmy  drink  ; 
Now  behold  him  all  on  fire. 
Lovely  in  his  looks  of  ire, 
Breaking  every  infant  stem, 
Scatt'ring  eveiy  velvet  gem, 
Where  his  little  tyrant  lip 
Had  not  found  enough  to  sip. 

Then  my  playful  hand  I  steep 
Where  the  gold-thread'  Foves  to  creep. 
Cull  from  thence  a  tangled  wreath, 
Words  of  magic  round  it  breathe, 
And  the  sunny  chaplet  spread 
O'er  the  sleeping  fly -bird's  head,* 
Till,  with  dreams  of  honey  blest, 
Haunted,  in  his  downy  nest, 
By  the  garden's  fairest  spells, 
Dewy  buds  and  fragrant  bells. 
Fancy  all  his  soul  embowers 
In  the  fly -bird's  heaven  of  flowers. 

Oft,  when  hoar  and  silvery  flakes 
Melt  along  the  ruffled  lakes, 
When  the  gray  moose  sheds  his  horns, 
When  the  track,  at  evening,  warns 

^  Aprea  avoir  traverse  plusieurs  isles  peu  considerables, 
nous  en  trnuvames  le  quatrienie  jour  une  fameuse  nnnini6e 
I'Isle  de  Manitoualin. — foya^es  dii  Baron  de  Lvkontan,lnni. 
i.  let.  15.  Manalaulin  srignifies  a  Place  of  Spirits,  and  this 
island  in  Lake  Huron  is  held  sacred  by  the  Indians. 

3  *'The  Wakon-Bird,  which  probably  is  of  the  same  spe- 
cies with  the  Bird  of  Paradise,  receives  its  name  from  the 
ideas  the  Indians  have  of  its  superior  excellence;  the  Wa- 
kon-Bird being,  in  their  language,  the  Bird  of  the  Great 
Spirit." — Morse. 

3  The  islands  of  Lake  Erie  are  surrounded  to  a  considera- 
ble distance  by  the  large  pond-lily,  whose  leaves  spreiid 
thickly  over  the  surface  of  the  lake,  and  form  a  kind  of  bed 
for  the  water-snakes  in  summer. 

***The  ^nld  thread  is  of  the  vine  kind,  and  grows  in 
Ewanps  The  roots  spread  themselves  just  under  the  sur- 
fiice  of  the  morasses,  and  are  easily  drawn  out  by  handfuls. 
They  rcs/'mblc  a  large  entangled  skein  of  silk,  and  are  of  a 
bright  V'-'Iow." — Mor$e. 


Weary  hunters  of  the  way 
To  tiie  wigwam's  cheering  ray, 
Then,  aloft  through  freezing  air, 
Witli  tlie  snow-bird"  soft  and  fab* 
As  the  fleece  that  heaven  flings 
O'er  his  little  pearly  wings, 
Light  above  the  rocks  I  play, 
Where  Niagara's  starry  spray, 
Frozen  on  the  cliff,  appears 
Like  a  giant's  starting  tears. 
There,  amid  the  island-sedge, 
Just  upon  the  cataract's  edge. 
Where  the  foot  of  living  man 
Never  trod  since  time  began, 
Lone  I  sit,  at  close  of  day. 
While,  beneath  the  golden  ray. 
Icy  columns  gleam  below, 
Feather'd  round  with  falling  snow. 
And  an  arch  of  glory  springs, 
Sparkling  as  the  chain  of  rings 
Round  the  neck  of  virgins  hung, — 
Virgins,'  who  have  w"ander'd  young 
O'er  the  waters  of  the  west 
To  the  land  where  spirits  rest ! 

Thus  have  I  charm'd,  with  visionary  lay, 
The  lonely  moments  of  the  night  away  ; 
And  now,  fresh  daylight  o'er  the  water  beams  ! 
Once  more  embark'd  upon  the  glitt'ring  streains, 
Oiu"  boat  flies  light  along  the  leafy  sliore, 
Shooting  the  falls,  without  a  dip  of  oar 
Or  breath  of  zepiiyr,  like  the  mystic  bark 
The  poet  saw,  in  dreams  divinely  dark, 
Borne,  without  sails,  along  the  dusky  flood,^ 
While  on  its  deck  a  pilot  angel  stood, 
And,  with  his  wings  of  living  light  unfurl'd, 
Coasted  the  dim  shores  of  another  world ! 

Yet,  oh !  believe  me,  mid  this  mingled  ntaze 
Of  nature's  beauties,  where  the  fancy  strays 

*  "L'oisean  mouche,  gros  conime  un  hanncton,  est  de 
toutes  couleurs,  vives  et  changcantes  :  il  tire  sa  subsistence 
des  fleurs  comme  les  abeilles :  son  nid  est  fait  d'un  cotton 
tres-fin  suspendu  a  une  branche  d'arbrc.*' — Voynges  aux 
Indcs  Occidentales,  par  M.  Bossu,  secondc  ptrt,  letl.  xx. 

6  Emberiza  hyemalis. — See  Imlay's  Kentucky,  p.  280. 

"J  Lafilau  supposes  that  there  was  an  order  nf  vestals  es- 
tablished among  the  Iroquois  Indians. — Molars  dcs  Sauvaget 
Amtricains,  ^-c,  torn.  i.  p.  173. 

8  Vedi  che  sdegna  gli  argomenli  umani; 
Si  chc  remo  non  vuol,  ne  allro  velo, 
Che  r  ale  sue  Ira  liti  si  lontani. 

Vedi  come  1'  ha  dritte  verso  'I  cielo 
Traitando  1'  acre  con  1'  eteriie  penne ; 
Che  non  si  niulan,  come  nmriat  pelo. 

Dante,  Purgator.,  cant.  11. 


186 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


From  cliann  to  cliarm,  where  every  floweret's  hue 
HatJi  something  strange,  and  every  leaf  is  new, — 
I  never  feci  a  joy  so  pure  and  still, 
So  inly  felt,  as  when  some  brook  or  hill, 
Or  veteran  oak,  like  those  remember'd  well, 
Some  mountain  echo,  or  some  wiId-flower"s  smell, 
(For,  who  can  say  by  what  small  fairy  ties, 
The  mcm'ry  clings  to  pleasure  as  it  flies?) 
Reminds  my  heart  of  many  a  silvan  dream 
I  once  indulged  by  Trent's  inspiring  stream  ; 
Of  all  my  sunny  morns  and  moonlight  nights 
On  Donnington's  green  lawns  and  breezy  heights. 

Whether  I  trace  the  tranquil  moments  o*er 
When- 1  have  seen  thee  cull  the  fruits  of  lore, 
With  him,  the  polish'd  warrior,  by  thy  side, 
A  sister's  idol  and  a  nation's  pride  ! 
When  thou  hast  read  of  heroes,  Irophied  high 
In  ancient  fame,  and  I  have  seen  thine  eye 
Turn  to  the  living  hero,  while  it  read, 
Foi  pure  and  bright'ning  comments  on  tlio  dead  ; — ■ 
Or  whether  memory  to  my  mind  recalls 
The  lestal  grandeur  of  those  lordly  halts, 
A\'^heu  guests  have  met  around  the  sparkling  board, 
And  welcome  warm'd  the  cup  that  luxury  pour'd  ; 
When  the  bright  future  star  of  England's  tlirone, 
With  magic  smile,  hath  o'er  the  banquet  shone, 
Winning  respect,  nor  claiming  what  he  won, 
But  tempering  greatness,  like  an  evening  sun 
Whose  light  the  eye  can  tranquilly  admire. 
Radiant,  but  mild,  all  softness,  yet  all  fire  ; — 
Wiiatcver  hue  my  recollections  take, 
Even  the  regret,  the  verj'  pain  they  wake 
Is  mix'd  with  happiness  ; — but,  ah  !  no  more — 
Lady  !  adieu — my  heart  has  linger'd  o'er 
Those  vanish'd  times,  till  all  that  round  me  lies. 
Streams,  banks,  and  bowers  have  faded  on  my  eyes  ! 


IMPROMPTU, 

AFTra  A  VISIT  TO    MRS    ,  OF  MONTREAL. 

*TwAS  but  for  a  moment — and  yet  in  that  time 
She  crowded  th'  impressions  of  many  an  hour: 

Her  eye  had  a  glow,  like  the  sun  of  her  clime. 
Which  waked  every  feeling  at  once  into  flower. 


1  This  is  one  of  iho  lVIa2il:iloii  Islands,  nnil,  singularly 
enoujih,  is  the  property  of  Pir  Isiiac  Cnlhn.  The  nbove  lines 
were  suggested  by  a  superstition  very  coiiininn  nmong  sailors, 
who  call  Ihi^  ghost-ship,  I  think,  "  tlie  flying  Dutchman." 

We  were  thirteen  days  on  our  passage  frnni  Ciueboc  to 
Halifax,  and  X  had  been  so  spoiled  by  tlie  truly  splendid  hos- 


Oh  !  could  we  have  borrow'd  from  Fime  but  a  day, 
To  renew  such  impressions  again  and  again, 

The  thin^  we  should  look  and  imagine  and  say 
Would  be  worth   all  the  lifo  wo  had  wasted  tlW 
then. 

Wliat  we  had  not  the  leisure  or  language  to  speak, 
We  should  find  some  more  spiritual  mode  of  re 
vealing. 
And,   between  us,  should  feel  just  as  much  in  » 
week 
As  others  would  take  a  millennium  in  feeling. 


WRITTEN 

ON  PASSING  DEADMAN'S  ISLAND, 

IN  THE 

GULF  OF  ST.  LAWRENCE, 
LATE  IN  THE  KVENING,  SEPTEMBERj  1804. 

See  you,  beneath  yon  cloud  so  dark, 
Fast  gliding  along  a  gloomy  bark  ? 
Iler  sails  are  full, — though  the  wind  is  still. 
And  there  blows  not  a  breath  her  sails  to  fill ! 

Say  what  doth  that  vessel  of  darkness  bear? 
The  silent  calm  of  the  grave  is  there, 
Save  now  and  again  a  dcath-kncll  rung, 
And  the  flap  of  the  sails  with  night-fog  hung. 

Tliere  lieth  a  wreck  on  the  dismal  shore 
Of  cold  and  pitiless  Labrador  ; 
Where,  under  the  moon,  upon  mounts  of  frost. 
Full  many  a  mariner's  bones  are  toss'd. 

Yon  shadowy  bark  hath  been  to  that  wreck, 
And  the  dim  blue  firo,  that  liglits  her  deck, 
Doth  play  on  as  pale  and  livid  a  crew 
As  ever  yet  drank  the  churchyard  dew. 

To  Deadman's  Isle,  in  the  eye  of  the  blast. 
To  Deadman's  Isle,  she  speeds  her  fast ; 
By  skeleton  shapes  her  sails  are  furl'd. 
And  the  hand  that  steers  is  not  of  tliis  world  I 


pitality  of  my  friends  of  the  Phaeton  and  Roslnn,  that  1  was 
but  ill  prepared  for  the  miseries  of  a  Canadian  vessel.  The 
weather,  however,  was  pleasant,  and  the  scenery  along  the 
river  delightful.  Our  pa^^sage  through  the  Gut  of  Canso, 
with  a  bright  sky  and  a  fair  wind,  was  particularly  striking 
and  romantic. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


187 


0!i !  burry  thee  on — oh  !  hurry  thee  on, 
Thou  terrible  bark,  ere  the  night  be  crone, 
Nor  let  morning  iook  on  so  foul  a  sight 
As  would  blanch  forever  her  rosy  light ! 


THE  BOSTON  FRIGATE.' 

OK 

LEAVING  HALIFAX  FOR  ENGLAND 
OCTOBER,    1804. 

NooTOv  TTpotpaais  yXvKCpov. 

Pindar.  Pyth.  4. 

With  triumph  this  morning,  oh  Boston  !  I  hail 
The  stir  of  thy  deck  and  the  spread  of  thy  sail. 
For  they  tell  me  I  soon  shall  be  wafted,  in  thee, 
To  the  flourishing  isle  of  the  brave  and  the  free,     ■ 
And  that  chill  Nova-Scotia's  unpromising  strand^ 
Is  the  last  I  shall  tread  of  American  land. 
Well— peace   to  the  land  I  may  her  sons  know,  at 

length, 
That  in  high-minded  honor  lies  liberty's  strength. 
That  though  man  be  as  free  as  the  fetterless  wind. 
As  the  wantonest  air  tiiat  the  north  can  unbind, 
Yet,  if  health  do  not  temper  and  sweeten  the  blast, 
If  no  han'est  of  mind'ever  sprung  where  it  pass'd, 
Then   unblest    is    such    freedom,    and    baleful    its 

might, — 
Free  only  to  ruin,  and  strong  but  to  blight ! 

Farewell  to  the  few  I  have  left  with  regret ; 
May  tliey  sometimes  recall,  what  I  cannot  forget, 
The  delight  of  those  evenings. — too  brief  a  delight  I 
When  in  converse  and  song  we  have  stolen  on  the 

night ; 
When  they've  ask'd  mo  the  mannei*s,  the  mind,  or 

the  mien 
Of  some  bard  I  had  known  or  some  chief  I  had  seen. 
Whose  glor)-,  though  distant,  they  long  had  adored, 
Whose  name  had  oft  hallow'd  tho  wine-cup  they 

pour'd ; 

1  Coinninnded  by  Ciipt;iin  J.  E.  Douglas,  with  whom  I  re- 
turned to  England,  and  to  wliom  I  am  indetitcd  for  many, 
many  kindnesses.  In  irulh.I  should  but  ofFend  the  delicacy 
of  my  friend  Douglas,  and,  at  the  snnc  lime,  do  hijustirr  to 
my  own  feelings  of  gratitude,  did  I  aiiempt  lo  hay  huw  much 
I  owe  to  him. 

*  Sir  John  Wentworth,  the  Governor  of  Nova  Scotia,  very 
kindr>'  allowed  me  to  accompany  him  on  his  visit  lothe  Cr)l- 
lege,  which  ihcy  have  lately  established  at  Windsor,  about 


And  stil!  as,  with  sympathy  humble  but  Iruo, 

I  have  told  of  each  briglit  son  of  fame  all  I  knew, 

They  have   listen'd,   and  sigli'd  that  the  powerful 

stream 
Of  America's  empire  should  pass,  like  a  dream, 
Without  leaving  one  relic  of  genius,  to  say- 
How  sublime  was  the  tide  whicii  had  vauish'd  away ! 
Farewell  to  the  few — though  we  never  may  meet 
On  this  planet  again,  it  is  soothing  and  sweet 
To  think  that,  whenever  my  song  or  my  name 
Shall  recur  to  their  ear,  they'll  recall  me  the  same 
I  have  been  to  them  now,  young,  unthoughtful,  and 

blest, 
Ere  hope  had  deceived  me  or  sorrow  depresa'd. 

But,  Douglas !  while  thus  I  recall  to  my  mind 
The  elect  of  the  land  we  shall  soon  leave  behind, 
I  can  read  in  the  weather-wise  glance  of  thine  eye, 
As  it  follows  tho  rack  flitting  over  the  sky, 
TJiat  the  faint  coming  breeze  will  be  fair  for  our 

flight, 
And  shall  steal  us  away,  ere  the  falling  of  night. 
Dear  Douglas  I  thou  knowest,  with  thee  by  my  side, 
With  thy  friendship  to  sooth   me,    thy  courage  to 

guide, 
There  is  not  a  bleak  isle  in  those  summerless  seas, 
Where  tJie  day  comes  in  darkness,  or  shines  but  to 

freeze. 
Not  a  tract  of  the  line,  not  a  barbarous  shore, 
Thnt  I  could  not  with  patience,  with  pleasure  ex- 
plore 1 
Oh  think  then  how  gladly  I  follow  thee  now, 
Wlien  Hope  smooths  the  billowy  path  of  oiu*  prow, 
And    each    prosperous   sigh   of  the   west -springing 

wind 
Takes  me  nearer  the  home  where  my  heart  is  in- 
shrined  ; 
Where  the  smile  of  a  father  shall  meet  me  again. 
And  the  tears  of  a  mother  turn  bliss  into  pain  ; 
Where  the  kind  voice  of  sistera  sliall  steal  to  my 

heart. 
And  ask  it,  in  sighs,  how  wc  ever  could  part? — 

But  see  I — the  bent  top-sails  arc  ready  to  .swell — 
To   the    boat — I    am   with    thee — Cohniibla,    fare- 
well ! 

forty  miles  from  HalifaT,  and  I  wa?  indeed  most  pleasantly 
surprised  by  the  beauty  and  fertility  of  the  countrj-  which 
opened  njion  us  after  the  bleak  and  rocky  wilderness  by 
which  Halifax  is  surroundrd.— I  was  told  that,  in  travelling 
onwiirds,  we  should  find  the  soil  and  the  sco;iery  improve, 
and  it  gave  me  much  pleasure  to  know  that  the  wurthy 
Gorernor  has  by  no  means  such  on  "iiiamaliile  regnum''  aa 
I  was,  at  first  sight,  inclined  lo  believe. 


188 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


CORKUPTION,  AND  INTOLERANCE! 


TWO    POEMS: 


ADDRESSED  TO  AN  ENCUSIIMAN  BY  AN  IRIBIISIAN. 


PREFACE. 

The  Practice  which  has  been  lately  introduced 
into  litcriitufe,  ol  writing  very  long  notes  upon  very 
indilfercnt  verses,  appears  to  me  rather  a  happy  in- 
vention ;  as  it  supplies  us  with  a  mode  of  turning 
dull  poetry  to  account ;  and  as  horses  too  heavy  for 
the  saddle  may  yet  serve  well  enough  to  draw  lum- 
ber, so  Poems  of  this  kind  make  excellent  beasts  of 
burden,  and  will  bear  notes,  though  they  may  not 
bear  reading.*  Besides,  the  comments  in  such  cases 
are  so  little  under  the  necessity  of  paying  any  servile 
deference  to  the  text,  that  they  may  even  adopt 
that  Socratic  dogma,  "  Quod  supra  nos  nihil  ad 
nos." 

In  the  first  of  the  two  following  Poems,  I  have 
ventured  to  speak  of  the  Revolution  of  1G68  in  lan- 
guage which  has  sometimes  been  employed  by  Tory 
writers,  and  which  is  therefore  neither  vei-y  new  nor 
popular.  But  however  an  Enghshmau  might  be  re- 
proached with  ingratitude,  for  depreciating  the  merits 
and  results  of  a  measure  which  ho  is  taught  to  re- 
gard as  the  source  of  his  liberties — however  nngrato- 
ftd  it  miglit  appear  in  Alderman  B — rch  to  question 
for  a  moment  the  purity  of  that  glorious  era  to 
which  he  is  indebted  for  the  seasoning  of  so  many 
orations — yet  an  Irishman,  who  has  none  of  these 
obligations  to  acknowledge  ;  to  whose  country  tlie 
Revolution  brought  nothing  but  injury  and  insult, 
and  who  recollects  that  the  book  of  Molyneux  was 
burned,  by  order  of  William's  Wliig  Parliament,  for 
daring  to  extend  to  unfortunate  Ireland  those  princi- 
ples on  which  the  Revolution  was  professedly  founded 
— an  Irishman  may  be  allowed  to  criticise  freely  the 
measures  of  that  period,  without  exposing  him.scif 
cither  to  the  imputation  of  ingratitude,  or  to  the  sus- 
picion of  being  influenced  by  any  Popish  remains  of 
Jacobitism.  No  nation,  it  is  true,  was  ever  blessed 
with  a  more  golden  opportunity  of  establishing  and 


securing  its  liberties  forever  than  the  conjuncture  of 
Eighty-eight  presented  to  the  people  of  Great 
Britain.  But  the  disgraceful  reigns  of  Charles  and 
James  had  weakened  and  degraded  the  national 
character.  The  bold  notions  of  popular  right,  whiuh 
had  arisen  out  of  the  struggles  between  Charles  the 
First  and  his  Parliament,  were  gradually  sup- 
planted by  those  slavish  doctrines  for  which  Lord 
H — kesb — ry  eulogizes  the  chmchmen  of  that  period  ; 
and  as  the  Reformation  had  happened  too  soon  for  the 
purity  of  religion,  so  the  Revolution  came  too  late 
for  the  spirit  of  liberty.  Its  advantages,  accordingly, 
were  for  the  most  part  specioiis  and  transitory,  while 
tire  evils  which  it  entailed  aro  still  felt  and  still  in- 
creasing. By  rendering  unnecessary  the  frequent 
exercise  of  Prerogative, — that  unwieldy  power 
which  cannot  move  a  step  without  alarm, — it  di- 
minislied  the  only  interference  of  the  Crown,  which 
is  singly  and  independently  exposed  before  tiie  peo- 
ple, and  whose  abuses  therefore  are  obvious  to  their 
senses  and  capacities.  Like  tl:o  myrtle  over  a  cele- 
brated statue  in  Miner\'a's  temple  at  Athens,  it  skil- 
fully veiled  from  the  public  eye  the  only  obtrusive 
feature  of  royalty.  At  the  same  time,  however,  that 
the  Revolution  abridged  this  unpopular  attribute,  it 
amply  compensated  by  the  substitution  of  a  new 
power,  as  much  more  potent  in  its  effect  as  it  is  more 
secret  in  its  operations.  In  the  disposal  of  au  im- 
mense revenue  and  the  extensive  patronage  annexed 
to  it,  the  first  foundations  of  this  power  of  the  Crown 
were  laid  ;  the  innovation  of  a  standing  army  at 
once  increased  and  strengthened  it,  and  the  few  slight 
barriers  which  the  Act  of  Settlement  opposed  to  its 
progress  have  all  been  gradually  removed  during  the 
whiggish  reigns  that  succeeded;  till  at  !cngth  this 
spirit  of  influence  has  become  the  vital  principle  of 
tlie  state, — an  agency,  subtle  and  unseen,  which 
pei-vades  every  part  of  the  Constitution,  lurks  under 
all  its  forms  and  regulates  all  its  movements,  and. 


CORRUPTION,  A  POETIC  EPISTLE. 


189 


!ike  the  invisible  sylph  or  grace  which  presides  over 
the  motions  of  beauty, 

"  Illain,  quicquid  agit,  quoquo  vestigia  flectit, 
Coiiiponit  luniu)  subsequiturque." 

The  cause  of  Liberty  and  the  Revolution  are  so 
habitually  associated  in  the  minds  of  Englishmen, 
tiiat  probably  in  objecting  to  the  lalter  I  may  be 
thought  hostile  or  indifferent  to  the  fonner.  But 
assuredly  nothing  could  be  more  unjust  than  such 
a  suspicion.  The  very  object,  indeed,  which  my 
humble  animadversions  would  attain  is,  that  in  tho 
crisis  to  which  I  tliink  England  is  now  hastening, 
and  between  which  and  foreign  subjugation  she 
may  soon  be  compelled  to  choose,  the  errors  and 
omissions  of  1688  should  be  remedied;  and,  as  it 
was  then  her  fate  to  experience  a  Revolution  with- 
out Reform,  so  she  may  now  endeavor  to  accomplish 
a  Reform  without  Revolution. 

In  speaking  of  the  parties  which  have  so  long 
agitated  England,  it  will  bo  obsen'ed  that  I  lean  as 
little  to  the  Whigs  as  to  their  adversaries.  Both  fac- 
tions have  been  equally  cruel  to  Ireland,  and  per- 
haps equally  insincere  in  their  efforts  for  the  liber- 
lit-s  of  England.  Tliere  is  one  name,  indeed,  con- 
nected with  whiggism  of  which  I  can  never  think 
but  with  veneration  and  tenderness.  As  justly,  how- 
ever, miglit  the  light  of  the  sun  be  claimed  by  any 
particular  nation,  as  the  sanction  of  that  name  be 
monopolized  by  any  party  whatsoever.  Mr.  Fox  be- 
longed to  mankind,  and  they  have  lost  in  him  their 
ablest  friend. 

With  respect  to  the  few  lines  upon  Intolerance, 
which  I  have  subjoined,  they  are  but  the  imperfect 
beginning  of  a  long  series  of  Essays,  with  which  I 
here  menace  my  readers,  upon  the  same  important 
subject.  I  sliall  look  to  no  higher  merit  in  tho  task, 
than  that  of  giving  a  new  form  to  claims  and  re- 
monstrances, which  have  often  been  much  more 
eloquently  urged,  and  which  would  long  ere  now 
have  produced  their  effect,  but  that  the  minds  of 
some  of  our  statesmen,  like  the  pupil  of  the  human 
eye,  contract  themselves  the  more,  the  stronger 
light  there  is  shed  upon  them. 

1  AngU  suos  ac  sua  omnin  inipense  mirantur;  creteras  iia- 
tioncs  despectui  habent. — Barclay,  (as  quoted  in  one  of  Dry- 
den's  prefaces.) 

3  England  began  ver>'  early  to  feel  the  etfects  of  cruelty 
towards  her  dependencies.  "  The  severity  of  her  government 
(says  Macpherson)  contributed  more  to  deprive  her  of  the 
continental  dominions  of  the  family  of  Planlagenet  than  the 
arms  of  France." — See  his  History,  vol.  i. 

3  "  By  the  total  reduction  of  the  kingdom  of  Ireland  in  1691, 
(says  Burke,)  the  ruin  of  the  native  Irish,  and  in  a  great 
measure,  too,  of  the  first  races  of  the  English,  was  completely 
accomplished.  The  new  English  interest  was  settled  with 
as  solid  a  stability  as  any  thing  in  human  affairs  can  look  for. 
All  the  penal  la^\a  of  thai  unparalleled  code  of  oppression, 


CORRUPTION, 

AN  EPISTLE. 

Vivv  S'  &.7Tai'0'  ujoTTCp  £j  ayopa^  CKTCrpoTat  ravra-  avT£tiT7}X' 
rai  6c  at'Tt  rourciji',  i^0'  iuf  anoXGtXE  Kat  vrvocrjutv  i;  'EAAii?. 
Tavra  6*  tan  Ti;  t^nXo^,  fa  rif  £i  Ajj^c  ti- j-eAwc  ay  6/ioAo^ij- 
axiyyvtOjtTi  rotj  tXiyxoftivoti-  fucog,  av  rovTOig  rtg  tiriri^a- 
ToXXa  Jtavra,  ban  £K  tov  iu>po6oKeiv  i)pTr^rai. 

Demosth.  Philipp.  iii. 

Boast  on,  my  friend — though  stripp'd  of  all  beside, 
Thy  struggling  nation  still  retains  her  pride  •} 
That  pride,  which  once  in  genuine  glory  woke 
When  Marlborough   fought,  and  brilliant  St.  John 

spoke ; 
That  pride  which  still,  by  time  and  shame  unstung, 
Outlives    even  AVh-tei-cke's  sword  and   H-wk-s- 

b'ry's  tongue  ! 
Boast  on,  my  friend,  while  in  this  humbled  isle" 
Where  Honor  mourns  and  Freedom  fears  to  smile, 
Where  the  bright  light  of  England's  fame  is  known 
But  by  the  shadow  o'er  our  fortunes  thrown  ; 
Where,  doom'd  ourselves  to  naught  hut  wrongs  and 

slights,' 
We  hear  you  boast  of  Britain's  glorious  rights, 
As  wretched  slaves,  thai  under  hatches  lijf-, 
Hear  those  on  deck  extol  the  sun  and  sk/  ! 
Boast    on,    while    wandering    through    my    native 

haunts, 
I  coldly  listen  to  thy  patriot  vaunts  ; 
And  feel,  though  close  our  wedded  countries  t^vine, 
More  sorrow  for  my  own  than  pride  from  thine. 

Yet  pause  a  moment — and  if  truths  severe 
Can  find  an  inlet  to  that  courtly  ear. 
Which  hears  no  news  but  W — rd's  gazetted  lies, 
And  loves  no  politics  in  rhyme  but  Fye's, — 
If  aught  can  please  thee  but  the  good  old  saws 
Of  "  Church  and  State,"  and  '*  William's  matchless 

laws," 
And    '  Acts  and  Rights  of  glorious  Eighty-eight,'' — 
Things,  which  though  now  a  century  out  of  date, 
Still  scn'e  to  ballast,  with  convenient  words, 
A  few  crank  arguments  for  speeching  lords/ — 

which  were  made  after  the  last  event,  were  manifestly  the 
eiTocls  of  national  haired  and  scorn  towards  a  conquered 
people,  whom  the  victors  delighted  to  trample  upon,  and 
were  not  at  all  afraid  to  provoke."  Yet  this  is  the  era  tu 
which  the  wise  Common  Council  of  Dublin  refer  us  for  "  in- 
valuable blessings,*'  &c. 

*  It  never  seems  to  occur  to  those  orators  and  addrrssei^ 
who  round  oti"  so  many  sentences  and  paraprnph^  with  the 
Bill  of  Eights,  the  Act  of  Settlement,  &c.,  that  most  of  the 
provisions  which  these  Arts  contained  for  the  preservation 
of  parliamentary  indepentlence  have  been  long  laid  aside  as 
romantic  and  troublesome.  I  never  meet,  I  confess,  with  a  pol- 
itician who  quotes  seriously  the  Declaration  of  Rights,  Jkc, 
to  prove  the  actual  existence  of  EngUsh  liberty,  that  I  do  not 


190 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Turn,  while  I  tell  how  England's  freedom  found. 
Where    most    she    look'd    for    life,    her    deadliest 

wound  ; 
How  brave  she  struggled,  wliile  her  foe  was  seen, 
How  faint  since  Influence  lent  that  foe  a  screen  ; 
How  strong  o'er  James  and  Popery  she  prevaii'd, 
How  weakly  fell,  when  Whigs  and  gold  assail'd.' 

While   kings  were  poor,  and  all  those  schemes 

unknown 
Which  draui  the  people,  to  enrich  the  throne  ; 
I'>o  yet  a  yielding  Commons  had  supplied 
Those    chains   of   gold    by  which    themselves    are 

tied; 
Then  proud  Prerogative,  untaught  to  creep 
With  bribery's  silent  foot  on  Freedom's  sleep, 
Frankly  avow'd  liis  bold  enslaving  plan, 
And  claim'd  a  right  from  God  to  trample  man  ! 
But  Luther's  scliism  had  too  mucli  roused  mankind 
For  Hampden's  truths  to  linger  long  behind  ; 
Nor  then,  when  king-like  popes  had  fallen  so  low, 
Could  pope-like  kings-  escape  the  levelling  blow. 
Tliat  ponderous  sceptre,  (in  wiiose  place  we  bow 
To  the  light  talisman  of  influence  now,) 
Too  gross,  too  visible  to  work  tlie  spell 
Which  modern  power  performs,  in  fragments  fell : 

think  of  thai  marquis  whom  IVIontesquieu  mentions,"  who 
set  Jibciut  iDukinir  fur  mines  in  the  Pyrenees,  on  the  strength* 
nfiuilhorities  which  he  htul  read  in  some  ancient  authors. 
The  pnor  m:irquis  toiled  and  searched  in  vain.  He  quoted 
UU  nuthorities  to  the  last,  but  found  no  mines  after  ail. 

'  The  chief,  perhaps  the  only  advantage  which  has  result- 
ed from  the  system  of  influence,  is  that  tranquil  course  of  uu- 
iiiierrupted  action  which  it  has  given  to  the  administration 
of  pnvemment.  If  kings  must  be  paramount  in  the  state, 
(and  tlieir  ministers  for  the  time  being  always  think  so,)  the 
country  is  indebted  to  the  RevoUuion  for  enabling  them  to 
■Vcome  so  quietly,  and  for  removing  skilfully  the  danger  of 
those  shocks  and  collisions  which  the  alarming  eflbrts  of 
prerogative  never  failed  to  produce. 

Instead  of  vain  and  disturbingefforts  to  establish  that  spec- 
ulative balance  of  the  constitution,  which,  perhaps,  has 
never  existed  but  in  the  pages  of  Montesquieu  and  De  Lolme, 
a  preponderance  is  now  silently  yielded  to  one  of  the  three 
estates,  which  carries  the  other  two  almost  insensibly,  but 
still  eflccluaUy,  along  with  it;  and  even  though  the  path 
may  lend  eventually  to  destruction,  yet  its  specious  and 
gilded  smoothness  almost  atones  for  the  danger;  and,  like 
Milton's  bridge  over  Chaos,  it  may  be  said  to  lead, 

"  Smooth,  easy,  inotfensive,  down  lo ." 

2  Tlie  drivelling  correspondence  between  James  I.  and  his 
"dog  Steenic,"  (Ihe  Duke  of  Buckingham.)  which  we  find 
nmong  the  Ilardwicke  Papers,  sulhcicnily  shows,  if  we 
wanted  any  such  illustration,  into  what  doting,  idiotic  brains 
the  plan  of  arl'itrary  power  may  enter. 

y  Tacitus  has  expressed  his  opinion,  in  a  passage  very  fre- 
quently quoted,  that  such  a  tlistribution  of  power  as  the 
llieory  of  the  British  constitution  exhibits  is  merely  a  subject 
of  bright  speculation,  "a  system  more  easily  praised  than 
practised,  and  which,  even  could  it  happen  to  exist,  would 
certainly  not  prove  permanent ;"  and,  in  truth,  a  review  of 
a  Liv.  XXI.  clisp.  8. 


In  fragments  lay,  till,  patch'd  and  painted  oVr 
With  fleur-de-lys,  it  shone  and  scourged  once  more. 

'Twas  then,  my  fincud,  thy  kneeling  nation  quafTd 
Long,  long  and  deep,  the  churcliman's  opiate  draugiit 
Of  passive,  prone  obedience — then  took  flight 
All  sense  of  man's  true  dignity  and  riglit ; 
And  Britons  slept  so  sluggish  in  their  chain, 
That  Freedom's  watch-voice  call'd  almost  in  vain. 
Oh  England  1  England  I  what  a  chance  was  Ihine, 
When  the  last  tyrant  of  tliat  ill-starr'd  lino 
Fled  from  his  sullied  crown,  and  left  thee  free 
To  found  thy  own  eternal  liberty  ! 
How  nobly  high,  in  that  propitious  hour, 
I\Iiglit  patriot  hands  havo  raised  the  tr-ole  tower^ 
Of  British  freedom,  on  a  rock  divine 
Which  neither    force    could    stonn    noi       eachery 

mine  ! 
But,  no — the  luminous,  the  lofty  plan, 
Like  mighty  Babel,  seem'd  too  bold  for  man  ; 
The  curse  of  jarring  tongues  again  was  given 
To  tliwart  a  work  which  raised  men  nearer  Iieaven. 
While  Tories  marr'd  what  Whigs  had  scarce  be- 
gun, 
While  Wliigs   laidid  what  Whigs  themselves    had 
doi»;,* 

England's  annals  would  dispose  us  to  agree  with  the  great 
historian's  remark.  For  we  tind  that  at  no  period  whatever 
has  this  balance  of  the  three  estates  existed  ;  that  the  nobles 
predominated  till  the  policy  of  Henry  VII.  and  his  successor 
reduced  tlieir  weight  by  breaking  up  the  leudal  system  of 
property  ;  that  the  power  of  the  Crown  became  then  supreme 
and  absolute,  till  the  bold  encroachments  of  ihc  Commons 
subvened  the  tlibric  altogether;  that  the  alternate  ascenden- 
cy of  prerogative  and  privilege  distracted  the  perioil  which 
followed  the  Kestoration  ;  and  that,  lastly,  the  Acts  of  ICfS, 
by  laying  the  foundation  of  an  unbounded  court-influence, 
have  secured  a  preponderance  to  the  Throne,  which  every 
succeeding  year  increases.  So  that  ilie  vaunted  Briiish  con- 
stitution has  never  perhaps  existed  but  in  mere  tlieory. 

*  The  monarchs  of  Great  Britain  can  nex'er  be  snfiiciently 
grateful  for  that  acconmindating  spirit  which  led  the  Revo- 
luiiomiry  Whigs  to  give  away  the  crown,  without  imposing 
any  of  those  restraints  or  stipulations  which  other  men  might 
have  taken  advantage  of  so  favorable  a  nmment  to  entorce, 
and  in  the  framing  of  which  they  liad  so  good  a  model  to 
fuljiiw  as  the  limitations  proposed  by  ilie  Lords  Kssex  and 
Halifax,  in  the  debate  upon  the  E.'jclusion  Bill.  They  not 
only  conilescended.  however,  to  accept  of  places,  but  took  care 
that  these  dignities  should  be  no  impediment  lo  their  "  voice 
potential"  in  atTairs  of  legislation  ;  and  although  an  Act  was 
lifter  many  years  sulTered  to  pass,  which  by  one  of  its  articles 
disqualified  placemen  from  serving  as  members  of  the  House 
of  (!^onnnons,  it  was  yet  not  allowed  to  iniertere  with  the  in- 
fluence of  the  reigning  monarch,  nor  with  that  of  hissnccesj^cr 
Anne.  The  purif>ing  clause,  indeed,  was  not  to  lake  cifect 
till  after  the  decease  of  the  latter  sovereign,  and  she  very  con- 
siderately repealed  it  altogether.  So  that,  as  representation 
has  continued  ever  since,  if  the  kins  were  simple  enough  to 
send  to  foreign  courts  ambassador  ^  \\  ■.>•'>  wvtc  most  of  them  in 
the  p-iy  of  those  courts,  he  w<mld  be  justas  honestly  and  faith- 
fully represented  sis  are  his  peopb-.  It  w<futd  II-  endless  lo 
enumerate  all  the  favors  wliith  werecnnft  rred  ujiun  ^Villiam 


CORRUPTION,  A  POETIC  EPISTLE. 


191 


The  hour  was  lost,  and  William,  with  a  smile, 
Saw  Freedom  weeping  o'er  the  uuiiiiish'd  pile  1 

Hence  all  the  ills  you  suffer,— hence  remain 
Such  galling  fragments  of  that  feudal  chain,' 
Wliose  links,  around  you  by  the  Nonnan  flung, 
Though    loosed    and    broke    so    often,    still    have 

clung. 
Hence  sly  Prerogative,  like  Jove  of  old, 
Has  tiirn"d  his  thunder  into  showers  of  gold, 

by  those  •■  aposfile  Whigs."  They  complimented  him  with 
the  first  suspension  of  the  Habeas  Corpus  .\ct  which  h!id 
been  hazarded  since  the  conflrniation  of  that  privilege ;  nnd 
this  example  of  our  Deliverer's  reign  has  not  been  lost  upon 
any  of  his  successors.  They  promoted  the  estalilishnient  of 
a  standing  .army,  and  circulated  in  its  defence  the  celebrated 
"Balancing  Leuer."  in  which  it  is  insinvlated  that  EugLand, 
even  then,  in  her  boasted  hour  of  regeneration,  was  arrived 
iit  such  a  pitch  of  taction  and  corruption,  that  nothing  could 
keep  her  in  order  but  a  Whig  ministry  and  a  standing  artiiy. 
They  refused,  as  long  as  they  could,  to  shorten  the  duration 
of  parliaments  ;  and  though,  in  the  Declaration  of  Rights,  the 
necessity  of  such  a  refortn  was  acknowledged,  they  were 
able,  by  arts  not  unknown  to  modern  ministers,  to  brand 
those  as  traitors  and  republicans  who  urged  it.»  But  the 
grand  and  distinguishing  trait  of  their  measures  was  the 
power  they  bestowed  on  the  Crown  of  almost  annihilating 
the  freedom  of  elections,— of  turning  from  its  course,  and  for- 
ever defiling  that  great  stream  of  Kepresenlation,  which  had, 
even  in  the  most  agitated  periods,  reflected  some  features  of 
the  people,  but  which,  from  thenceforth,  became  the  Pacto- 
lus,  the  "aurifer  amnis."  of  the  court,  and  served  as  a  mir- 
ror of  the  national  will  and  popular  feeling  no  longer.  We 
need  but  consult  the  writings  of  that  time,  to  understand  the 
astonishment  then  excited  by  measures,  which  the  practice 
of  a  century  has  rendered  not  only  familiar  but  necessary. 
See  a  pamphlet  called  "The  Danger  of  mercenary  Parlia- 
ments." Ili98;  State  Tracts,  Will.  111.  vol.  ii.;  see  also 
"  Some  Paradoxes  presented  as  a  New  Year's  Gift."  (State 
Poems,  vol.  ill.) 

1  The  last  great  wound  given  to  the  feudal  system  was 
the  Act  of  the  12th  of  Charles  II,.  which  abolished  the  ten- 
ure of  knight's  service  in  capite,  and  which  Blackstone  com- 
pares, for  its  salutary  influence  upon  properly,  to  the  boast- 
ed provisions  of  Magna  Charta  itself.  Yet  even  in  this  Act 
we  see  the  eflects  of  that  counteracting  spirit  which  has 
contrived  to  weaken  every  eft'orl  of  the  English  nation  to- 
w.ards  liberty.  The  exclusion  of  copyholders  from  their  share 
of  elective  rights  was  permitted  to  remain  as  a  brand  of  IV-n- 
dal  servitude,  and  as  an  obstacle  to  the  rise  of  that  strong 
counterbalance  which  an  equal  representation  of  property 
would  oppose  to  the  weight  of  the  Crown.  If  the  managers 
of  the  Revolution  had  been  sincere  in  their  wishes  for  re- 
form, they  would  not  only  have  taken  this  fetter  olT  the 
ri"hts  of  election,  but  would  have  renewed  the  mode  adopt- 
ed in  Cromwell's  time,  of  increasing  the  number  of  knights 
of  the  shire,  to  the  exclusion  of  tho^e  rotten  Insignificant  bor- 
oo"hs.  which  have  tainttd  the  whole  mass  of  the  constitu- 
tion. Lord  Clarendon  calls  this  uicasnre  of  Crninwell's  "  an 
alteration  fit  to  be  more  warrantable  made,  and  in  a  better 
lime."  It  (termed  part  of  Mr.  Pitt's  plan  in  1783;  but  Pitt's 
plan  of  relbrm  was  a  kind  of  announced  dramatic  piece,  about 
as  likely  to  be  ever  acted  as  Mr.  Sheridan's  "  Foresters." 

a  Sep  a  parr.phlct  publishea  in  1693,  upon  the  King's  refusing  lo  sign  Ihe 
Triennial  Bill,  caMeO  "  A  Discourse  between  a  Veoman  of  Kent  nnd  a 
Knight  of  a  Sbire."-"  Hereupon  (Bays  (he  Veoman)  llie  gentleman  grew 
*ogzy,  and  said  that  I  talked  like  a  base  commoiis-weallli  man." 


AVIiose  silent  courtship  wins  securer  joys,' 
Taints  by  degrees,  and  ruins  without  noise. 
While  parliaments,  no  more  those  sacred  things 
Which  make  and  rule  the  destiny  of  kings, 
Lilve  loaded  dice  by  ministers  are  thrown, 
And  each  new  set  of  sharpers  cog  their  own. 
Hence  the  rich  oil,  that  from  the  Treasury  steals. 
Drips  smooth  o'er  all  the  Constitution's  wheels, 
Giving  the  old  machine  such  pliant  play,' 
That  Com-t  and  Commons  jog  one  joltless  way, 

2  fore  enim  tutum  iter  et  patens 

Conversi)  in  pretiuin  Deo. 
Aurum  per  medios  ire  satellites,  &.c. 


IIoitAT. 

It  would  be  a  task  not  uninstruclive  to  trace  the  history 
of  Prerogative  from  the  dale  of  its  strength  umlcr  the  Tudor 
princes,  when  Henry  VII.  and  his  successors  "taught  the 
people  (as  Nathaniel  Bacon  sayst)  to  dance  to  the  tune  of 
Allegiance,"  to  the  period  of  the  Revolution,  when  the 
Throne,  in  its  attacks  upon  liberty,  began  to  exchange  the 
noisy  explosions  of  Prerogative  for  the  silent  and  etTec- 
tual  air-gun  of  Influence.  In  following  its  course,  too.  since 
that  memorable  era.  we  shall  find  that,  while  the  royal 
power  has  been  abridged  in  branches  where  it  might  be 
made  conducive  to  the  interests  of  the  people,  it  has  I;cen 
left  in  full  and  unshackled  vigor  against  almost  every  point 
where  the  integrity  of  the  constitution  is  vulnerable.  For 
instance,  the  power  of  chartering  boroughs,  to  whose  capri- 
cious abuse  in  the  hands  of  the  Stuarts  we  are  indebted  for 
most  of  Ihe  present  anomalies  of  representation,  might,  if 
sulTered  to  remain,  have  in  some  degree  atoned  for  its  mis- 
chief, by  restoring  the  old  unchartered  boroughs  to  their 
rights,  and  widening  more  equally  the  basis  of  the  legis- 
lature. But,  by  the  .Vet  of  Union  with  Scotland,  this  part 
of  the  prerogative  was  removed,  lest  Freedom  should  have 
a  chance  of  being  healed,  even  by  the  rust  of  the  spear  which 
had  formerly  wounded  her.  The  dangerous  power,  how- 
ever, of  creating  peers,  which  has  been  sool'teu  exercised /or 
the  government  against  the  constitution,  is  still  left  in  free 
and  unqualified  activity  ;  notwithstanding  the  example  of 
that  celebrated  Bill  for  the  limitation  of  this  ever-budding 
branch  of  prerogative,  which  was  proposed  in  the  reign  of 
George  I.,  under  the  peculiar  sanction  and  recommcndatioL 
of  the  Crown,  but  which  the  Whigs  thought  right  to  rejec; 
with  all  that  characteristic  delicacy,  which,  in  general,  pre 
vents  them,  when  enjoying  the  sweets  of  office  themselves 
from  taking  any  uncourtly  advantage  of  the  Throne.  It  will 
be  recollected,  however,  that  the  creation  of  the  twelve 
peers  by  the  Tories  in  .\nne's  reign  {a  measure  which  Swift, 
like  a  true  party  man,  defends)  gave  these  upright  Whigs 
all  possible  alarm  for  their  liberties. 

With  regard  to  the  generous  fit  about  his  prerogative 
which  seized  so  unroyally  the  good  king  George  I.,  hislori 
ans  have  hinted  that  the  paroxysm  originated  Ur  more  in 
hatred  to  his  son  than  in  love  to  the  constitution.''.  This,  of 
course,  however,  is  a  calumny :  no  loyal  person,  acquainted 
with  the  annals  of  the  three  Georges,  could  possibly  suspect 
any  one  of  those  gracious  monarchs  cither  of  ill-will  to  his 
heir,  or  indifierence  for  the  constitution. 

3  "  They  drove  so  fast,  (says  Welwood  of  the  ministers  of 
Charles  I.,)  that  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  wheels  and  char 
iol  broke."  (Memoirs,  p.  33.)— But  this  fatal  accident,  if 
we  may  judge  from  experience,  is  to  be  imputed  far  less  to  the 
folly  and  impetuosity  of  the  drivers,  than  to  the  want  of  that 

b  Historic,  and  Politic.  Discourse,  &c.,  pan  ii.  p.  114. 
c  Ccxe  says  that  ihiii  B.Jl  was  projected  by  Sunderland. 


192 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


While  Wisdom  trembles  for  the  crazy  car, 

So  ;TiU,  so  roUen,  carrying  fools  so  far ; 

And  the  duped  people,  hourly  doom'd  to  pay 

The  sums  that  bribe  their  liberties  away,' — 

Like  a  young  eagle,  who  has  lent  his  pinme 

To  fledjre  the  shaft  by  which  he  meets  his  doom, 

See  their  own  feathers  pluck'd,  to  wing  the  dart 

Which  rank  corruption  destines  for  their  heart ! 

But  soft!  methiuks  I  hear  thee  proudly  say 

'*  What!  shall  I  listen  to  the  impious  lay, 

"  That  dares,  with  Torj'  license,  to  profane 

"  The  bright  bequests  of  William's  giorious  reign? 

"  Shall  tiie  great  wisdom  of  our  patriot  sires, 

"  Whom  H — wks — b — y  quotes  and  savory  B — reh 

admires, 
''  Be  slander'd  thus?    Shall  honest  St — le  agree 
"  Willi  virtuous  R — se  to  call  us  pure  and  free, 
"  Yet  fail  to  prove  it?     Shall  our  patent  pair 
"  Of  wise  state-poets  waste  their  words  in  air, 
"  And    P — e    unheeded    breathe    his    prosperous 

strain, 
"  And  C — nu — ng  take  the  pcoi^lc's  srvse  in  vain?'" 

supplying  oil  from  the  Treasury  which  has  been  found  so 
necess;iry  to  make  a  government  Uke  that  of  Ent,'l;invl  nm 
smoothly.  Mad  Charles  been  as  well  provided  with  this 
article  as  his  successors  have  been  since  the  happy  Revolu- 
tion, his  Commons  vi*ouki  never  have  merited  from  him  the 
liarsh  appellation  of"  seditious  vipers,"  but  would  hrtve  been 
(as  they  now  are,  and  I  trust  always  will  be)  "  dutiful  Com- 
mons," "loyal  Commons,"  Stc,  &c.,  and  would  have  piven 
him  ship-money,  or  any  other  sort  of  money  he  might  have 
fancied. 

1  Among  those  auxiliaries  which  the  Revolution  of  1C83 
marshalled  on  the  side  of  the  Throne,  the  bugbear  of  Popery 
has  not  been  the  least  convenient  and  serviceable.  Those 
unskilful  tyrants,  Charles  and  James,  instead  of  profiting  by 
that  useful  subserviency  which  has  always  distinguished  the 
ministers  of  nur  religious  establishment,  were  so  infatuated 
as  to  plan  the  ruin  of  this  best  bulwark  of  their  power,  and, 
moreover,  connected  their  designs  upon  the  Church  soundis- 
guisedly  with  their  attacks  upon  the  Constitution,  that  they 
identified  in  the  minds  of  the  people  the  interests  of  their 
religi-m  and  their  liberties.  During  those  times,  therefore, 
"  No  Popery"  was  the  watchword  of  freedom,  and  served  to 
keep  the  public  spirit  awake  against  the  invasions  of  bigotry 
and  prerogative.  The  Revolution,  however,  by  removing 
this  object  of  jealousy,  has  produced  a  reliance  on  the  ortho- 
doxy of  the  Throne,  of  which  the  Throne  lias  not  failed  to 
take  advantage;  and  the  cry  of  "No  Pu|)ery"  having  thus 
lost  its  power  of  alarming  the  people  against  the  inroads  of 
the  Crown,  has  served  ever  since  the  very  diflbrent  purpose 
of  strengthening  the  Crown,  against  the  pretensions  and 
struggles  of  the  people.  The  danger  of  the  Church  from 
rapists  and  Pretenders  was  the  chief  pretext  for  the  repeal  of 
the  Triennial  Bill,  for  the  adoption  of  a  standing  army,  for 
the  numerous  suspensions  of  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act,  and,  in 
short,  for  all  those  spirited  infractions  of  the  constitution  by 
which  the  reigns  of  the  last  century  were  so  eminently  dis- 
tinguished. We  have  seen  very  lately,  too,  how  the  Throne 
has  been  enabled,  by  the  same  scarecrow  sort  of  alarm,  to 
select  its  ministers  from  among  men  whose  servility  is  their 
only  claim  to  elevation,  and  who  are  pledged  (if  such  an 
alternative  could  arise)  to  take  part  with  the  scruples  of  the 
King  against  the  salvation  of  the  empire. 


The  people ! — ah,    that    Freedom's  form  should 
stay 
Where  Freedom's  spirit  long  hatli  pass'd  away! 
That  a  false  smile  should  play  around  the  dead, 
And  flush  the  features  when  the  sou!  hath  fled !' 
When  Rome  had  lost  her  virtue  with  her  riglits, 
When  her  foul  tj'rant  sat  on  Caprece's  heights* 
Amid  liis  ruffian  spies,  and  doom'd  to  death 
Each  noble  name  they  blasted  with  their  breath, — 
Even  then,  (in  mocker}'  of  that  golden  time, 
When  the  Repubhc  rose  revered,  sublime, 
And  her  proud  sons,  difl'uscd  from  zone  to  zone, 
Gave  kings  to  everj'  nation  but  their  own,) 
Even  then  the  senate  and  the  tribunes  stood, 
Insulting  marks,  to  show  how  high  the  flood 
Of  Freedom  flow'd,  in  glory's  bygone  day, 
And  how  it  ebb'd, — forever  ebb'd  away  I^ 

Look  but  around — though  yet  a  tyrant's  sword 
Nor  haunts  our  sleep  nor  glitters  o'er  our  board, 
Though  blood  be  better  diawu,  by  modem  quacks. 
With  Treasnry  leeches  than  with  sword  or  axe  ; 

a  Somebody  has  said,  "Quand  tous  les  poGtes  scraicnt 
noy6s,  ce  ne  scrait  pas  grand  dommage,"  but  I  am  a\\are 
that  this  is  not  fit  language  to  be  held  at  a  tin)e  when  our 
birth-day  odes  and  state-papers  are  written  by  such  pretty 
poets  as  Mr.  P — e  and  Mr.  C — nn— ng.  All  1  wish  is,  that  the 
latter  gentleman  would  change  places  with  his  brother}* — e, 
by  which  means  we  should  have  somewhat  less  prose  in  our 
odes,  and  certainly  less  poetry  in  our  politics. 

3  "  It  is  a  scandal  (said  Sir  Charles  Sedley  in  William's 
reign)  that  a  government  so  sick  at  heart  as  ours  is  should 
look  so  well  in  the  face;"  and  Edmund  Burke  has  said,  in 
the  present  reign,  "When  the  people  conceive  that  laws  and 
tribunals,  and  even  popular  assemblies,  are  perverted  from 
the  ends  of  their  institution,  they  find  in  these  names  of  ile- 
gonerated  establishments  only  new  motives  to  discontent. 
Those  bodies  which,  when  full  of  life  and  beauty,  lay  in  their 
arms  and  were  their  joy  and  comfort,  when  dead  and  putrid 
become  more  loathsome  from  remendirance  of  former  en- 
dearments."—  Thoughts  on  the  present  Discontents,  1*770. 

«  _  Tutor  haberi 

Frincipis,  Augusts.  Caprearum  in  rujie  sedenlis 
Cum  grege  Chaldteo. 

Juvenal.  Sot.  x.  v.  02. 

The  senate  still  continued,  during  the  reign  of  Tiberius,  to 
manage  all  the  business  of  the  public;  the  money  was  tJien 
and  long  after  coined  by  their  authority,  and  every  other 
public  affair  received  their  sanction. 

We  are  told  by  Tacitus  of  a  certain  race  of  men,  who  made 
themselves  particularly  useful  to  the  Roman  emperors,  and 
were  therefore  called  "  inslrumenta  regni,"  or  "court  tools." 

From  this  it  appears,  that  my  Lords  M ,  C ,  &c.  &c., 

arc  by  no  means  things  of  modern  invention. 

fi  There  is  something  very  touching  in  what  Tacitus  tells 
us  of  the  hopes  that  revived  in  a  few  patriot  bosoms,  when 
the  death  of  Augustus  was  near  approaching,  and  the  fond 
expectation  with  \vhich  they  already  began  "bona  libertalis 
incassum  disserere." 

According  to  Ferguson,  CiEsar's  interference  with  the 
rights  of  election  "  made  the  subversion  of  the  republic  more 
felt  than  any  of  the  former  acts  of  his  power."— iJowi on 
Republic,  book  v.  chap.  i. 


CORRUPTION,  A  POETIC  EPISTLE. 


193 


Yet  say,  could  even  a  prostrate  tribune's  power. 
Or  a  mock  senate,  in  Rome's  servile  hour, 
Insult  SO  much  the  claims,  the  rights  of  man, 
As  doth  that  fettor'd  mob,  that  free  divan, 
Of  noble  tools  and  honorable  knaves, 
Of  peusion'd  patriots  and  privileged  slaves  ; — 
That  party-color'd  mass,  which  naught  can  warm 
But     rank     corruption's     heat — whose      quicken'd 

swarm 
Spread  their  light  wings  in  Bribery's  golden  sky. 
Buzz  for  a  period,  lay  their  eggs,  and  die  ; — 
That  greedy  vampire,  which  from  freedom's  tomb 
Comes  forth,  with  all  the  mimicry  of  bloom 
Upon  its  lifeless  cheek,  and  sucks  aud  drains 
A  people's  blood  to  feed  its  putrid  veins  I 

Thou   start'st,  my' friend,  at   picture    dra\vn   so 

dark — 
"Is    there    no    light?"  thou    ask'st — ''no    ling'ring 

spark 
"  Of  ancient  fire  to  warm  us?     Lives  there  nono, 
"  To  act  a  Marvell's  part  ?"'^alas  !  not  one. 
To  place  and  power  all  public  spirit  tends. 
In  place  and  power  all  public  spirit  ends  ;*^ 
Like  hardy  plants,  that  love  tlic  air  and  sky, 
When  out,  'twill  thrive — but  taken  in,  Hwill  die  ! 

Not  bolder  truths  of  sacred  Freedom  hung 
From  Sidney's  pen  or  burn'd  on  Fox's  tongue, 
Than  uj>start  Whigs  produce  each  market  night, 
While  yet  then*  conscience,  as  their  purse,  is  light ; 
While  debts  at  home  excite  their  care  for  those 
Which,  dire  to  tell,  their  much-loved  country  owes, 


1  Andrew  Marvell,  the  honest  opposer  of  the  court  during 
the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  and  the  liist  member  of  par- 
liament whn,  according  to  the  ancient  mode,  tuck  w;iges  from 
his  constiiuents.  The  Conmions  have,  since  then,  much 
changed  their  pay-masters. — See  the  State  Poems  for  some 
rude  but  spirited  effusions  of  Andrew  Marvell. 

2  The  f'lllowing  artless  speech  of  Sir  Francis  W'lnninglon, 
in  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  will  amuse  tho'sewhoare 
fally  aware  of  the  perfection  we  have  since  attained  in  that 
system  of  government  whose  humble  beginnings  so  nuich 
astonished  the  worthy  baronet.  "  I  did  observe  (says  he) 
that  all  those  who  had  pensions,  and  most  of  those  who  had 
offices,  voted  all  of  a  side,  as  they  were  directed  by  some 
great  officer,  exactly  as  if  their  business  in  this  House  had 
been  to  preserve  their  pensions  and  offices,  and  not  to  make 
laws  for  the  good  of  them  who  sent  them  here." — He  alludes 
to  that  parliament  which  was  called,  par  txcdlence,\\ie  Pen- 
sionarj'  Parliiunent. 

3  According  to  Xenophon,  the  chief  circumstance  which 
recommended  these  creatures  to  the  service  of  Eastern 
princes  was  the  ignominious  station  they  held  in  society,  and 
the  probability  of  their  being,  upon  this  account,  more  de- 
voted to  the  will  and  caprice  of  a  master,  from  whose  notice 
alone  they  derived  consideration,  and  in  whose  Hwnr  they 
Uiifilit  seek  refuge  from  the  general  contempt  of  mankind. — 
A^u^ai  upTf  J  01  cvvfivx'^i  irapa  rutg  aXAfii?  avOpt.nroii  Kai  6ia 
TovTo  icoTTOTOv  CTtiKtivpov  TipQciiovTat. — BlU  I  doubt  whcthef 


13 


And  loud  and  upright,  till  their  prize  bo  known, 

They  thwart  the  King's  supplies  to  raise  their  own. 

But  bees,  on  flowers  alighting,  cease  their  hum — 

So,  settling  upon  places,  Whigs  grow  dumb. 

And,  though  most  base  is  he  who,  'iieath  tho  shade 

Of  Freedom's  ensign  plies  corruption's  trade, 

And  makes  the  sacred  flag  he  dares  to  show 

His  passport  to  the  market  of  her  foe, 

Yet,  yet,  I  own,  so  venerably  dear 

Are  Freedom's  grave  old  anthems  to  my  ear. 

That  I  eiijo}'  them,  though  by  traitors  sung. 

And  reverence  Scripture  even  from  Satan's  tongue. 

Nay,  when  the  constitution  has  expired, 

I'll  have  such  men,  Uke  Irish  wakers,  hired 

To  ciiant  old  "  Habeas  Corpus"  by  its  side, 

And  ask,  in  purchased  ditties,  why  it  died? 

See  yon  smooth  lord,  whom  nature's  plastic  pains 
Would  seem  to'vo  fashion'd  for  those  Eastern  reigns 
When  eunuchs  flourlsh'd,  and  such  nerveless  things 
As  men  rejected  were  the  chosen  of  Kings  ;^ — 
Even  he,  forsooth,  (oh  fraud,  of  all  the  worst!) 
Dared  to  assume  the  patriot's  name  at  first— 
Thus  Pitt  began,  and  thus  begin  liis  apes  ; 
Thus  devils,  when  first  raised,  take  pleasing  shapes. 
But  oh,  poor  Ireland  I  if  revenge  bo  sweet 
For  centuries  of  wrong,  for  dark  deceit 
Aud  with'ring  insult — for  the  Union  throwni 
Into  thy  bitter  cup,*  when  that  alone 
Of  slavery's  draught  was  wanting^ — if  for  this 
Revenge  be  sweet,  thou  hast  that  diemon's  bliss ; 
For,  sure,  'tts  more  than  hell's  revenge  to  seo 
That  England  trusts  the  men  who've  niin'd  thee  : — 


even  an  Eastern  prince  would  have  chosen  an  entire  ad- 
ministration upon  this  principle. 

*         *'  And  in  the  cup  an  Union  shall  be  thrown." 

HavdcU 

6  Among  the  many  measures,  which,  since  the  Kcvolution, 
have  contributed  to  increase  the  influence  of  the  thmne,  and 
to  feed  up  this  "Aaron*s  serpent"  of  the  constitution  to  its 
present  health  and  respectable  magnitude,  there  have  been 
few  more  nutritive  than  the  Scotch  and  Irish  Unions.  Sir 
John  Packer  said,  in  a  debate  upon  the  former  question,  that 
"  He  vi'ould  submit  it  to  the  House,  whether  men  who  had 
basely  betrayed  their  tru-^t,  by  giving  up  their  independent 
constitution,  were  fit  to  be  admitted  into  the  English  House 
of  Commons."  But  Sir  John  would  have  known,  if  he  had 
not  been  out  of  place  at  the  time,  that  the  pliancy  of  surh 
materials  was  not  among  the  least  of  their  recommendations. 
Indeed,  the  promoters  of  the  Scotch  Union  were  by  no  means 
disappointed  in  the  leading  object  of  their  measure,  for  the 
triunjphant  majorities  of  the  court-party  in  parliament  may 
be  dated  iVom  the  admission  of  the  45  and  the  16.  Once  or 
twice,  upon  the  alteration  of  their  law  of  treason  and  the  im- 
position of  the  malt-tax.  (measures  which  were  in  direct  vio- 
lation of  the  Act  of  Union,)  these  worthy  North  Uritnns 
arrayed  themselves  in  opposition  to  the  court;  but  finding 
this  cSbrt  for  their  country  unavailing,  they  prudentlydeter- 
mined  to  think  thenceforward  of  themselves,  aud  few  men 


194 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Thai,  in  these  awful  days,  when  every  hour 
Creates  some  new  or  blasts  some  ancient  power, 
When  proud  Napoleon,  Hke  th'  enchanted  shield* 
Whose  light  conipell'd  each  wond'ring  foe  to  yield, 
Witli  half  ful  lustre  blinds  the  brave  and  free. 
And  dazzles  Europe  into  slavery, — 
Tiiat,  in  this  hour,  when  patriot  zeal  should  guide, 
When  Mind  should  rule,  and — Fox  should  not  have 

died, 
AH  that  devoted  England  can  oppose 
To  enemies  made  fiends  and  friends  made  foes, 
Is  the  rank  refuse,  the  despised  remains 
Of  that  unpitying  power,  whose  whips  and  chains 
Prove  Ireland  first  to  turn,  with  harlot  glance, 
Tow'rds    other    shores,    and    woo    th'   embrace    of 

France ; — 
Those  hack'd  and  tainted  tools,  so  foully  fit 
For  the  grand  artisan  of  mischief,  P — tt, 
So  useless  ever  but  in  vile  employ. 
So  weak  to  save,  so  vigorous  to  destroy — 

have  ever  kept  to  a  laudable  resolution  more  firmly.  The 
effect  of  Irish  representation  on  the  liberties  of  England  will 
be  no  less  perceotible  and  permanent. 

Ov6'  bye  Tavpov 

Aenrerai  aiircXXoirnj. 
The  infusion  of  such  cheap  and  useful  ingredients  ns  my 
Lord  L.,  Mr.  D.  B.,  &.C.,  &.C.,  into  the  legislature,  cannot  but 
act  as  a  powerful  alterative  on  the  constitution,  and  clear  it 
by  degrees  of  all  troublesome  humors  of  honesty. 

^  The  niJigician's  shield  in  Ariosto  : 

E  tolto  per  vertii  dello  splendore 
La  libertate  a  luro.  Cant.  2. 

We  are  tnld  that  CtEsar's  code  of  morality  was  contJiined  in 
the  fnllovving  lines  of  Euripides,  which  that  ccea  man  fre- 
quently repeated  :^ 

EiTTfp  yap  a^iKCiv  XP^  Tvpavvi^os  KCf-i 
KaXXtarov  a6iK£iv  rdWa  6'  cvacffcii'  xO^^v, 

This  is  also,  as  it  appears,  the  moral  code  of  Napoleon. 

2  The  following  prophetic  remarks  occur  in  a  letter  written 
by  Sir  Robert  Talbot,  who  attended  the  Duke  of  Bedford  to 
Paris  in  17G-2.  Talkingof  states  which  have  grown  powerlul 
in  commerce,  he  says,  "  According  to  the  nature  and  common 
course  of  things,  there  is  a  confederacy  against  them,  and  con- 
sequently in  the  same  proportion  as  they  increase  in  riches, 
they  approach  to  destruction.  The  address  of  our  King 
William,  in  making  all  Europe  take  the  alarm  at  France,  has 
brought  that  country  before  us  near  that  inevitable  period. 
We  must  necessarily  have  our  turn,  and  Great  Britain  will 
attain  it  as  soon  as  France  shall  have  a  dcclaimer  with  organs 
as  proper   (iir   that  political  purpose  as  were  those  of  our 

William  the  Third Without  doubt,  my  Lord, 

Great  Britain  must  lower  her  flight.  Europe  will  remind  us 
of  the  balance  of  commerce,  as  she  has  reminded  France  of 
the  balance  of  power.  The  address  of  our  statesmen  will  im- 
mortalize them  liycontriving  for  us  a  descent  which  shall  not 
be  a  fall,  by  making  us  rather  resemble  Holland  than  Car- 
thage and  Venice." — Letters  on  the  French  J^ation. 

3  The  king-deposing  doctrine,  notwithstanding  its  many 
mischievous  absurdities,  was  of  no  little  service  to  the  cause 
of  political  liberty,  by  inculcating  the  right  of  resistance  to 

B  From  Ara'.uB,  {v.  716.)  a  poet  who  wrote  ujion  aslrononiY,  though,  bs 
Cicero  aEiiiircs  us,  he  knew  noihin^  whatever  about  the  Buljeci  :  Just  ns 
the  grenl  Harvev  wrote  "De  Gencratione,"  though  he  had  aa  little  to  do 
wiUi  the  matter  aa  my  Lord  Viecouat  C. 


Such  are  the  men  that  guard  thy  threatened  shore, 
Oh  England  !  ehiking  England  I^  boast  no  more 


INTOLERANCE, 

A  SATIRE. 

"This  clamor,  which  pretends  to  be  raised  for  the  safety 
of  religion,  has  almost  worn  out  the  very  appearance  of  it, 
and  rendered  us  not  only  the  most  divided  but  the  most  im- 
moral people  upon  the  face  of  the  earth-" 

Addison,  1 1  e-tKoldcr,  No.  37. 

Start  not,  my  friend,  nor  think  the  muse  will  stam 
Her  classic  fingers  with  the  dust  profane 
Of  Bulls,  Decrees,  and  all  those  tliund'riug  scrolls, 
Which  took  such  freedom  once  with  rnyal  souls,' 

tyrants,  and  asserting  the  will  of  the  people  *i  be  the  only 
true  fountain  of  power.  Bellarmine,  the  most  violent  of  the 
advocates  for  pa jjal  authority,  was  one  of  the  first  to  maintain 
{De  Pontiff,  lib.  i.  cap.  7)  "  that  kings  have  not  their  author- 
ity or  office  imtuediately  from  God  nor  his  law  ;  but  only 
from  the  law  of  nations  ;"  and  in  King  James's  "Defence 
of  the  Rights  of  Kings  against  Cardinal  Perron,"  we  find  his 
Majesty  expressing  strong  indignation  against  the  Cardinal 
for  having  asserted  "  that  to  the  deposing  of  a  king  the  con- 
sent of  the  people  must  be  obtained" — "for  by  these  words 
(says  Jajnes)  the  people  are  exalted  above  llie  king,  and  made 
the  judges  ol  the  king's  deposing,"  p.  424. — Even  in  Mariana's 
celebrated  hook,  where  the  nonsense  of  bigotry  does  not 
interfere,  there  may  be  found  many  liberal  and  enlightened 
views  of  the  principles  of  government,  ofthe  restraints  which 
should  be  imposed  upon  royal  power,  of  the  subordination  of 
the  Throne  to  the  interests  ofthe  people,  &c,  &c.  {De  Rege 
et  Regis  Inatitutione.  See  particularly  lib.  i.  cap.  0,  8,  and 
9.) — It  is  rather  remarkable,  too.  that  England  should  be 
indebted  to  another  Jesuit  for  the  earliest  defence  of  that 
principle  upon  which  the  Revolution  was  founded,  namely, 
the  right  of  the  people  to  change  the  succession. — (See 
Doleman's  "Conferences."  written  in  support  of  the  title  of 
the  Infanta  of  Spain  against  that  of  James  I.) — When 
Englishmen,  therefore,  say  that  Popery  is  the  religion  of 
slavery,  they  should  not  only  recollect  that  theirown  boasted 
constitution  is  the  work  and  bequest  of  popish  ancestors; 
they  should  not  only  remember  the  laws  of  Edward  III., 
"under  whom  (says  BoUngbroke)  the  constitution  of  our 
parliaments,  and  the  whole  formof  our  government,  became 
reducttd  into  better  form  ;"  but  they  should  know  that  even  the 
errors  charged  on  Popery  have  leaned  to  the  cause  of  liberty, 
and  that  Papists  were  the  first  promulgators  of  the  doctrines 
which  led  to  the  Revolution. — In  general,  however,  the 
political  principles  of  the  Roman  Catholics  liave  been  de- 
scribed as  happened  to  suit  the  temporary  convenience  of 
their  oppressors,  and  have  been  represented  alternately  as 
slavish  or  refractory,  according  as  a  pretext  for  tormenting 
them  was  wanting^  The  same  inconsistency  has  marked 
every  other  imputation  against  them.  They  are  charged 
with  laxity  in  the  observance  of  oaths,  though  an  oaih  has 
been  found  sufficient  to  shut  ihem  out  from  all  worldly  ad- 
vantages. If  they  reject  certain  decisions  of  their  church, 
they  are  said  to  be  skeptics  and  bad  Christians;  if  theyadmil 
those  very  decisions,  they  are  branded  as  bigots  and  bad  sub- 


INTOLERANCE,  A  SATIRE. 


195 


Whea  heaven  was  yet  the  pope's  exclusive  trade, 

And  kings  were  danuid  as  fast  as  now  tliey're  made. 

No,  no — [et  D — 'gen — n  search  tlie  papal  chaiH 

For  fragrant  treasures  long  forgotten  there  ; 

And,  as  the  witch  of  sunless  Lapland  thinks 

That  little  swarthy  gnomes  deliglit  in  stinks, 

Let  sallow  P — re — v — I  snufFuptho  gale 

Which  wizard  D — gen — n's  gather'd  sweets  exhale. 

Knougli  for  me,  whose  heart  has  leani'd  to  scorn 

Bigots  alike  in  Rome  or  England  bom, 

Wiio  loatlie  the  venom,  whencesoe'er  it  springs. 

From  popes  or  lawyers,'^  pastry-cooks  or  kings, — 

Enough  for  me  to  laugh  and  weep  by  turns, 

As  mirth  provokes,  or  indignation  bums. 

As  C — nn — ng  vapors,  or  as  France  succeeds. 

As  H— wk — sb'ry  proses,  or  as  Ireland  bleeds  ! 

And  thou,  my  friend,  if,  in  these  headlong  days, 
When  bigot  Zeal  her  di-unken  antics  plays 
So  near  a  precipice,  that  men  the  while 
Look  breathless  on  and  shudder  while  they  smile — 
If,  in  such  fearful  days,  thou'lt  dare  to  look 
To  hapless  Ireland,  to  this  rankling  nook 
Which  Heaven  hath  freed  from  poisonous  things  in 

vam, 
Wliile  G — ff — id's  tongue  and    M — err — ve*s   pen 

remain — 
If  thou  hast  yet  no  golden  blinkers  got 
To  shade  thine  eyes  from  this  devoted  spot. 
Whoso  wrongs,  though  blazon'd  o'er  the  world  they 

be, 
Placemen  alone  are  privileged  not  to  see — 

jccts.  We  are  told  that  confidence  and  kindness  will  make 
them  enemies  to  the  gnvernment,  though  we  know  thai 
exclusion  and  injuries  have  hardly  prevented  them  from 
being  its  friends.  In  short,  nothing  can  better  illustrate  the 
niiserj-  of  those  shifts  and  evasions  by  which  a  long  course 
of  cowiirdly  injustice  must  be  supported,  than  the  whole 
history  of  Great  Britain's  conduct  towards  the  Catholic  part 
of  her  empire. 

>  The  ■'  Sella  Stercnraria"  of  the  popes.— The  Right  Hon- 
orable and  le:irned  Docler  will  find  an  engraving  of  this 
chair  in  Spanheim's  "  Di^quisitio  Hisiorica  de  Papi  Fcemina,*' 
(p.  118  ;)  and  I  recommend  it  as  a  model  for  the  fashion  of 
that  seat  which  the  Doctor  is  about  to  take  in  the  privy- 
council  of  Ireland. 

2  When  Innocent  X.  was  entreated  to  decide  the  contro- 
versy between  the  Jesuits  and  the  Jansenists,  he  answered, 
that  "  he  had  been  bred  a  lawyer,  and  had  therefure  nothing 
to  do  with  divinity." — It  were  to  be  wished  that  some  of  our 
English  pettifoggers  knew  their  own  fit  element  as  well  as 
Pope  Innocent  X. 

3  Not  the  C — md — n  who  speaks  thus  of  Ireland : — 
"To  wind  up  all,  whether  we  regard  the  fruiifulnessof  the 

soil,  the  advantage  of  the  sea,  with  so 'many  commodious 
havens,  or  the  natives  themselves,  who  are  warlike,  inge- 
nious, handsome,  and  well-complcxioned,  soft-skinned  and 
very  nimble,  by  reason  of  the  pliantness  of  their  muscles, 
this  Island  is  in  many  respects  su  happy,  that  Giraldus  might 
very  well  say, 'Nature  had  regarded  with  itiore  favorable 
eyes  than  ordinary  this  Kingdom  of  Zephyr.'  " 


Oh !    turn     awhile,    and,     though    the     shamrock 

wreaths 
My  homely  harp,  yet  shall  the  song  it  breathes 
Of  Ireland's  slaverj-,  and  of  Ireland's  woes, 
Live,  when  tiie  niemo'-y  of  her  tyrant  foes 
Shall  but  exist,  all  future  knaves  to  warn, 
Embalm'd  in  hate  and  canonized  by  scorn. 
When  C — stl — r — gh,  in  sleep  still  more  profound 
Than  his  own  opiate  tongue  now  deals  around, 
Shall  wait  tli'  impeachment  of  that  awful  day 
Wliich  even  his  practised  hand  canH  bribe  away. 

Yes,  my  dear  friend,  wert  thou  but  near  me  now, 
To  see  how  Spring  lights  up  on  Erin's  brow 
Smiles  that  shine  out,  imconquerably  fair, 
Even  through  the   blood-marks  left  by  C — md — n' 

there, — 
Couldst  thou  but  see  what  verdure  paints  the  sod, 
Wliich  none  but  tyrants  and  their  s'aves  have  trod, 
And  didst  thou  know  the  spirit,  kind  i^  d  brave. 
That  warms  tlie  soul  of  each  insulted  slave. 
Who,  tired  with  struggling,  sinks  beneath  his  lot. 
And  seems  by  all  but  watchful  France  forgot* — 
Thy  heart  would  burn — y^^s.  even  thy  Pittite  heart 
Would  burn,  to  think  that  such  a  blooming  part 
Of  the  world's  garden,  rich  in  nature's  charms, 
And  hll'd  with  social  souls  and  vigorous  arras, 
Should  be  the  victim  of  that  canting  crew. 
So  smooth,  so  godly, — yet  so  devilish  too ; 
Who,   arm'd   at  once  witli  prayer-books  and  with 

whips,^ 
Blood  on  their  hands,  and  Scripture  on  their  lips, 

*  The  example  of  toleration,  which  Bonaparte  has  held 
forth,  will,  I  fear,  produce  no  other  elTeci  than  that  of  deter- 
mining the  British  government  to  persist,  from  the  very 
spirit  of  opposition,  in  their  own  old  system  of  intolerance 
and  injustice;  just  as  the  Siamese  blacken  their  teeth, 
"because,"  as  they  say,  "  the  devil  has  white  ones."* 

6  One  of  the  unhappy  resul,li  of  the  contruversy  between 
Protestants  and  Catholics,  is  the  liiuiual  exposure  which 
their  criminations  and  recriminations  have  produced.  In  vain 
do  the  Protestants  charge  the  Papists  with  closing  the  door 
of  salvation  upon  others,  while  many  of  their  own  writings 
and  articles  breathe  the  same  uncharitable  spirit.  No  camm 
of  Constance  or  Laleran  ever  damned  heretics  more  effectu- 
ally than  the  eighth  of  the  Tliiriy-nine  Articles  consigns  to 
perdition  every  single  member  of  the  Greek  church ;  and  I 
doubt  whether  a  more  sweeping  clause  ol'danmation  was  ever 
proposed  in  the  most  bigoted  council,  than  that  which  the 
Calvinislic  theory  of  predestination  in  the  seventeenth  of 
these  Articles  exhibits.  It  is  true  that  no  liberal  Protestant 
avows  such  exclusive  opinions  ;  that  every  honest  clergyman 
must  feel  a  pang  while  he  subscribes  to  them  ;  that  some 
even  assert  the  Athanasian  Creed  to  be  the  forgery  of  one 
VigiliusTapsensis,  in  the  heginningof  the  sixth  century,  and 
that  eminent  divines,  like  Jortin,  have  not  hesitated  to  say, 
"There  are  propositions  contained  in  our  Liturgy  and  Arti- 
cles which  no  man  of  common  sense  amongst  us  believes."'' 
But  while  all  this  is  freely  conceded  to  Protestants;  while 

See  rHiatoire  Natiirelle  et  Pollt.  du  Royaume  de  Siam,  2tc. 
t>  Stricturct  oo  the  Aniclcsi  SubscriplionB,  Slc. 


196 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Tyrants  by  creed,  and  torturers  by  text, 

Make  this  life  hell,  in  honor  of  the  next  ! 

Your  R — desd — les,  P — re — v — Is, — g^reat,  glorious 

Heaven, 
If  I'm  presnmptuoue,  he  my  tongue  forgiven, 
When  here  I  swear,  by  my  sours  hope  of  rest, 
I'd  rather  have  been  born,  ere  man  was  lilost 
With  the  pure  dawu  of  Revelation's  hght, 
Yes, — rather  phmge  me  back  in  Pagan  night, 
And  take  my  chance  with  Socrates  for  hUss,* 
Than  be  the  Christian  of  a  faith  hke  this, 

nobody  doubts  their  sincerity,  when  they  declure  that  their 
articles  are  not  essentials  of  laith.  but  a  collection  of  opinions 
which  h;ive  been  pri)inul;:ated  by  fillible  men,  and  from 
many  of  which  they  feel  themselves  justified  in  dissenting. — 
while  so  much  liberty  of  retractation  is  allowed  to  Protestants 
ti[>ipn  their  own  declared  anrl  subscribed  Articles  of  religion, 
is  it  not  strange  that  a  siniil.ir  indulgence  shi;uld  be  so  obsti- 
nately refused  to  the  Catholics  upon  tenets  which  their 
clnirch  has  uniformly  resisted  and  condemned,  in  every  coun- 
try where  it  has  independently  flourished  1  \Vhen  llie  Cath- 
olics say,  "The  Decree  of  the  Council  of  Lateran,  which  you 
object  to  us,  has  no  clniiu  wlialever  upon  either  our  faith  or 
our  reason  ;  it  did  not  even  profess  to  contain  any  doctrinal 
decision,  but  was  merely  a  ju<ti('ial  proceedinf^  of  that  assem- 
bly ;  and  it  would  be  as  fair  for  us  lo  impute  a  wifekilling 
doctrine  to  the  Protestants,  because  their  first  pope.  Henry 
VIII.,  was  sanctioneil  in  an  iiidulj;ence  of  thut  propensity,  as 
lor  you  to  conclude  th;it  we  have  inherited  a  king-deposing 
taste  from  the  nets  of  the  Council  of  Lateran,  or  the  secular 
pretensions  of  our  popes.  With  respect,  too,  to  the  Decree  of 
tlie  Council  of  Constance,  upon  the  strength  of  which  you  ac- 
cuse us  of  breaking  faith  with  heretics,  we  do  not  hesitate  to 
pronounce  that  Decree  a  calumnious  forgery,  a  forgery,  too, 
so  obvious  aiui  ill-fabricated,  that  none  but  ourcnemies  have 
ever  ventured  to  give  it  the  slightest  credit  for  authenticity." 
When  the  Catholics  make  these  declarations,  (and  they  are 
almost  weary  with  making  them,)  when  they  show,  too,  by 
their  conduct,  that  these  declarations  are  sincere,  and  that 
tliuir  faith  and  morals  are  no  more  regulated  by  the  absurd 
decrees  cif  old  councils  and  popes,  than  their  science  is  influ- 
enced by  the  papal  anathema  against  that  Irishman"  who 
first  found  out  the  Antipodes, — is  it  not  strange  that  so  many 
still  wilfully  distrust  v  hat  every  good  man  is  so  tnuch  inter- 
ested in  believing'!  That  s6  many  should  prefer  the  dark- 
lantcrn  of  the  13th  centurjMolhesunshineof  intellect  which 
has  since  overspread  the  world?  and  that  every  dabbler  in 
theology,  from  Mr.  Le  Mesurier  down  to  the  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer,  should  dare  to  oiipose  the  rubbish  of  Con- 
stance and  Luteran  to  the  bright  and  triumphant  progress  of 
justice,  generosity,  and  truth'] 

»  Jn  a  singular  work,  written  by  one  Francisctis  Collins, 
"upon  the  Souls  of  the  Pngnns,'"  the  author  discusses,  with 
much  coolness  and  erudition,  all  the  jmibable  chances  of  sal- 
vation upon  which  a  heathen  pliilo«opher  might  calculate. 
Consigning  to  perdition,  without  much  difficulty,  Plato.  So- 
crntes,  &c.,  the  only  sage  at  whoso  fate  lie  seems  to  hesitate 
is  Pythagoras,  in  consideration  of  his  golden  thigh,  and  the 
many  miracles  which  he  performed.  But.  having  balanced 
a  little  his  claims,  and  finiUng  reason  to  father  all  these  mira- 
cles on  the  devil,  he  at  length,  in  the  twenty-fifth  chapter, 
decides  upon  damning  him  also.  {DcJinimabus  PoffanorunL, 
lib.  iv.  ciip.  20  and  25.)— The  p:)ct  Danio  compromises  the 

B  Virgtliiis,  burnamctl  Soliva^s,  a  naliTc  of  IrclniiJ,  wlio  maintained, 
in  the  8ih  century,  the  Uocirine  of '.he  AnlipodeB,  and  wa»  nnathematiied 
•  :coTdiii«fly  l)y  the  ^v}t.  Jvhn  Scolus  Eri^cnn.  koolber  Irutimkii,  waa 
t;.t  Bni  that  ever  wrote  a^insl  ira^suDsiaiitiatiou. 


Which  builds  on  heavenly  cant  its  earthly  sway, 
And  in  a  coHvert  mourns  to  lose  a  prey ; 
Which  grasping  human  Iiearts  with  double  hold, — 
Like  Daniie's  lover  mixing  god  and  gold,^ — 
Corrupts   both   state    and    chiu-ch,    and    makes  an 

oath 
The  knave  and  atheist's  passport  into  both  ; 
AVliich,  while  it  dooms  dissenting  souls  to  know 
Nor  bliss  above  nor  liberty  below, 
Adds  the  slave's  suffering  to  the  sinner's  fear, 
And,  lest  he  'scape  hereafter,  racks  hun  here  I' 

matter  with  the  Pagans,  and  gives  them  a  neutral  territory 
or  limbo  of  tlieir  own,  where  their  employment,  it  must  l»e 
owned,  is  not  ver^'enviablc — "Senza  speme  vivcnio  in  desio." 
— Cant.  iv. — Among  the  numerous  errors  impuieil  lo  Origeu, 
he  is  accused  of  having  denied  the  eternity  of  future  punish- 
ment; and,  if  he  never  advanced  a  more  irrational  doctrine, 
we  may  venture,  I  think,  to  ftirgive  him.  ht  'vent  so  far, 
however,  as  to  include  the  devil  himself  in  the  j,vneral  hell- 
delivery  which  he  supposed  would  one  day  oroth«?rtako 
place,  and  in  this  St.  Augustin  thinks  him  rather  too  mcrci- 
fifl — "  Miserecordior  profecio  fuit  Origenes,  (jui  el  ipsuni  di- 
abolum."  &c.  (De  Civttat.  Dei,  lib.  xxi.  cap.  17.) — Accord- 
ing to  St.  Jerom,  it  was  Origen's  opinion  that  "  the  i\cv\\ 
himself,  after  a  certain  time,  will  be  as  well  off  as  the  angel 
Gabriel" — "Id  ipsum  fore  Gabrielem  quod  diabolum."  (Seo 
his  Epistle  to  Pammachius.)  But  Halloix,  in  liis  Defence  of 
Origen,  denies  strongly  that  his  learned  father  had  any  such 
misplaced  tenderness  for  the  devil. 

3  Mr.  Fox,  in  his  Speech  <m  the  Repeal  of  the  Test  Act, 
(1790,)  thus  condemns  the  intermixture  of  religion  with  the 
political  constitution  of  a  state  : — "  What  purpose  (he  asks) 
can  it  serve,  except  the  baleful  purpose  of  communicating  and 
receiving  contamination  1  Under  such  an  alliance  corruption 
nmst  alight  upon  the  one,  and  slavery  overwhelm  the  other.'* 

Locke,  too,  says  of  the  connection  between  church  and 
slate,  "The  boundaries  on  both  sides  are  fixed  and  immove- 
able. He  jumbles  heaven  and  earth  together,  tlie  things 
most  remote  and  opposite,  who  mixes  these  two  societies, 
which  are  in  their  original,  end,  business,  and  in  every  thing, 
perfectly  distinct  and  infinitely  different  from  each  other." — 
First  Letter  on  Toleration. 

The  corruptions  introduced  into  Christianity  maybe  dated 
from  the  period  of  its  establishment  under  Constanline,  nor 
could  all  the  splendor  which  it  then  acquired  atone  for  the 
peace  and  purity  which  it  lost. 

3  There  has  been,  af^er  all,  quite  as  much  intolerance 
among  Protestants  as  among  Papists.  According  to  the 
hackneyed  quotation — 

Iliacos  intra  muros  peccaturet  extra. 

Even  the  great  champion  of  the  Reformation,  Melanchlhon, 
whom  Jortin  calls  "a  divine  of  much  mildness  and  good- 
nature,''*  thus  expresses  his  approbation  of  the  burning  of 
Servelus :  "  Legi  (he  says  to  BuUinger)  quae  dc  Served  blas- 
phcmiis  respondistis,  et  pietatem  ac  judicia  vestra  probo. 
Judici)  etiam  senatum  Genevensem  recto  fccisse.  quod  homi- 
nem  periinacem  et  non  omissnrum  blasphemlas  sustulit;  ac 
miralus  sum  esse  qui  severilatem  illam  improbenl."  I  havo 
great  pleasure  in  contrasting  with  these  "  mltd  and  goodna- 
ture! <"  sentiments  the  following  words  of  the  Papist  Baluzc. in 
addressing  his  friend  Conringius ;  '  Interim  nnienms,  mi  Con- 
ringi,  et  tametsi  diversas  opiniones  tuemur  in  causi  rdigionis, 
nioribus  tamen  diversi  non  simus.  qui  eadem  literarum  stnd;a 
sectamur."~/^i!rrTnnn.  Conring.  Epistol.  par.  sccund.  p.  56. 

Hume  tells  us  that  the  Conuuons,  in  the  beginning  of 
Charles  the  First's  reign,  "attacked  Montugue,  one  of  the 


INTOLERANCE,  A  SATIRE. 


197 


But  no — far  other  faith,  far  milder  beams 

Of  lieavenly  justice  warm  the  Christian's  dreams  ; 

His  creed  is  writ  on  Mercy's  page  above, 

By  the  pure  liauds  of  all-atoning  Love  ; 

He  weeps  to  see  abused  Religion  twine 

Roiuul  Tyranny's  coarse  brow  her  wreath  divine ; 

And  he,  wiiile  round  him  sects  and  nations  raise 

To  tlie  one  God  their  varying  notes  of  praise, 

Blesses  each  voice,  whate'er  its  tone  may  be, 

That  serves  to  swell  the  general  harmony.* 

Such  was  the  spirit,  gently,  grandly  bright, 
That  fill'd,  oh  Fox!  thy  peaceful  son!  with  light; 
While  free  and  spacious  as  that  ambient  air 
Whicli  folds  our  planet  in  its  circling  care, 
The  mighty  sphere  of  thy  transparent  mind 
Embraced  the  world,  and  breathed  for  all  mankind. 
Last  of  the  great,  farewell ! — yet  not  the  last — 
Though  Britain's  sunshine  hour  with  ther-  be  past, 
lerne  still  one  ray  of  glory  gives, 
And  feels  but  half  thy  loss  while  Grattan  lives. 


APPENDIX. 

To  tho  foregoing  Poem,  as  first  nnbiished,  were 
subjoined,  m  the  shape  of  a  Note,  or  Ai)pendix,  the 
following  remarks  on  the  History  and  Music  of  Ire- 
land. This  fragment  was  originally  intended  to  form 
ptirt  of  a  Preface  to  the  Irish  Melodies ;  but  after- 
Kins  s  chaplain?,  on  account  of  a  inodemle  book  which  he 
had  Uilely  composed,  and  which,  to  their  great  tiisgust,  saved 
virtuous  Ctitholics,  as  well  as  other  Christians,  from  eternal 
torments." — In  the  same  manner  a  complaint  was  lodged 
before  the  Lords  of  the  Council  against  thatexcelleiit  writer 
Hooker,  for  having,  in  a  Sermon  against  Popery,  attciiipied 
to  save  many  of  his  Popish  ancestors  from  igi'orance  — Tn 
these  examples  of  Protestant  toleration  I  shall  beg  leave  to 
oppose  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  of  old  Roger 
Ascham,  (the  tutor  of  Queen  EIiziiN>,h,)  which  is  preserved 
among  the  Harrington  Papers,  and  was  written  in  loGfi,  to  the 
Etifl  of  Leicester,  complaining  of  the  Archbishop  Young, 
who  had  tnken  away  his  prebend  in  the  church  of  York: 
'•  M:ister  Bourne^  did  never  grieve  me  half  somoche  in  otfer- 
ing  mo  wrong,  as  Mr.  Dudley  and  the  Byshopp  of  York  doe, 
in  taking  away  my  right.  No  byshopp  in  Q.  M  ry's  time 
would  have  so  dealt  with  me:  nor  Mr.  Bourne  hym'-elf,  when 
Winchester  lived,  durst  have  so  dcili  with  me.  Tor  suche 
good  estimation  in  th<tse  dnyeseven  the  learnedstai:d  wysest 
men,  as  Gardener  and  Cardinal  Poole,  made  of  my  pr-ore 
service,  that  although  they  knewe  perfectly  that  in  religion, 
both  by  open  wrytinge  and  pryvie  taike,  I  was  contrarye  unto 
them;  yea,  when  Sir  Francis  Englefield  by  name  did  aotejne 
sppci;i|!ye  at  the  councill-bonrd,  G:irdener  would  not  suffer 
me  to  be  called  thither,  nor  touched  ellswheare.saiingi-  suche 
words  of  me  in  a  lettre,  as.  though  leltres  cannot,  I  l.lushe 
to  write  tliem  to  your  lordshi[ip.  Winchester's  go&l-wiU 
stoiide  not  in  speaking  laire  and  wishing  well,  but  he  did  in 
deeds  that  for  meb  whereby  my  wife  and  children  shall  live 


wards,  for  some  reason  which  I  do  not  now  recol- 
I'Ct,  was  thrown  aside. 

Our  historj',  for  many  centuries  past,  is  credit- 
p.ble  neither  to  our  neighbors  nor  ourselves,  and 
ought  not  to  be  read  by  any  Iris!:man  w^ho  wishes 
either  to  love  England  or  to  feel  proud  of  Ireland. 
Tho  loss  of  independence  very  early  debased  our 
character ;  and  our  feuds  and  rebellions,  thongh 
frequent  and  ferocious,  but  seldom  displayed  that 
generous  spirit  of  entcrprl:  e  with  which  the  pride 
uf  an  independent  monar<  Iiy  so  long  dignified  tho 
straggles  of  Scotland.  It  is  true  this  x^land  has 
given  birth  to  lieroes  wl.  >,  under  more  fa\orable 
circumstances,  might  have  left  in  the  hearts  of 
their  countrjinen  reconec'ions  as  dear  as  those  of 
a  Bruce  or  a  Wallace  ;  b  it  success  was  wanting  to 
consecrate  resistance,  the'r  cause  was  branded  with 
the  disheartening  naniv  ^f  treason,  and  tiicir  oppressed 
country  was  such  a  blt.ik  among  nations,  that,  like 
the  adventures  of  those  woods  which  Rinuldo  wished 
to  explore,  the  fame  of  I'leir  ictions  was  lost  in  the 
obscurity  of  the  place  where  they  achieved  them. 

Erriindo  in  qnelli  boschi 

Trovar  potria  strano  avventtire  e  nioltc, 
Ma  come  i  luoarhi  i  fattt  ancor  son  foschi, 
Che  non  se  n'  ha  notizia  le  piii  volte.2 

Hcnco  is  it  that  the  annals  of  Ireland,  through 
a  lapse  of  six  hundred  years,  exhibit  not  one  of 
those  shining  names,  not  one  of  those  themes  of 
national  pride,  from  which  poetry  borrows  her 
noblest  inspiration ;  aud  that  history,  which  ought 

the  better  when  t  am  gone."  (See  J^ugm  ^ntiqv<B,\o\.\. 
pp.  98.  90.)— If  men  who  acted  thus  were  bigots,  wliai  shall 
we  call  Mr.  P— re— v— 17 

In  Putclilfe's  "Survey  of  Popery"  there  occurs  the  follow- 
ing assertion  :—"PapIst-3,  that  positively  hold  the  heretical 
and  false  doctrines  of  the  modern  church  of  Rome,  cannot 
possibly  be  saved."— As  a  contrast  to  this  and  other  s[)eci- 
mens  of  Protestant  liberality,  which  it  would  be  much  more 
easy  than  pleasant  to  collect.  I  refer  my  reader  to  the  Decla- 
ration of  Le  Pere  Courayer; — doubting  not  that,  while  he 
reads  the  sentiments  of  this  pious  man  upon  toleration,  he 
will  feel  inclined  to  exclaim  with  Belsham,  "  Blush,  ye  Prot- 
estant bigots!  and  be  confounded  at  the  comparison  of  yonr 
own  wretched  and  malignant  prejudices  with  the  fjenerous 
and  enlarged  idea-^,  the  noble  and  nriinated  languagfc  of  this 
Popish  priest."— z:.'jsaj'j,  xxvii.  p.  8C. 

1  "  La  toli^rancc  est  la  chose  du  nionde  la  plus  propre  a 
ramener  le  siecle  d'or,  et  a  faire  un  concert  et  une  harmonic 
de  plusieurs  voix  et  instniinenls  do  diflerents  tons  et  notes, 
aussi  agrO;ablc  pour  le  moins  que  I'nniformitt;  d'une  seule 
voix."  Bayle,  Coiiimmtairc  Philosopliique,  &.C..  part  ii.  rbap. 
vi. — Both  Bayle  and  Locke  would  have  treated  the  subject 
of  Toleration  in  a  manner  much  mi>re  worthy  of  themselves 
and  of  the  causi-,  if  they  had  wriitiMi  in  an  age  less  distract- 
ed by  religious  |trejudices. 

*  Arlosto,  canto  iv. 

B  Sir  John  Bourne,  Principal  Secrerary  of  Slate  to  Quern  Mary 
b  By  GardeaL-r'G  Tavor  Aschiini  lung'  held  his  rellowihip,  lhuit|;h  not 
reEtdcDt. 


198 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


to  bo  the  richest  garden  of  the  Muse,  yields  no 
growth  to  her  in  this  hapless  island  but  cypress  and 
woctK  In  truth,  the  poet  who  would  embellish  his 
song  with  allusions  to  Irish  names  and  events;,  must 
be  contented  to  seek  them  in  those  early  periods 
when  our  character  was  yet  unalloyed  and  originalj 
before  the  imi>oIitic  craft  of  our  conquerors  had  di- 
vided, weakened,  and  disgraced  us.  The  solo  traits 
of  heroism,  indeed,  wliich  he  can  venture  at  this  day 
to  commemorate,  eitlier  with  safety  to  himself,  or 
honor  to  hie  country,  are  to  be  looked  for  in  those 
ancient  times  when  the  native  monarchs  of  Ireland 
displayed  and  fostered  virtues  worthy  of  a  better 
age  ;  when  our  Malachies  wore  around  their  necks 
collars  of  gold  which  they  had  won  in  single  combat 
from  the  invader,'  and  our  Briens  deserved  and  won 
tlio  warm  afit'cllons  of  a  people  by  exhibiting  all 
the  most  estimable  qualities  of  a  king.  It  may  be 
said  that  the  magic  of  tradition  has  shed  a  charm 
over  this  remote  period,  to  which  it  is  in  reality  but 
little  entitled,  and  that  most  of  the  pictures,  which 
we  dwell  on  so  fondly,  of  days  wlien  this  island  was 
distinguished  amidst  the  gloom  of  Europe,  by  the 
sanctity  of  her  morals,  the  spirit  of  her  knighthood, 
and  the  polish  of  her  schools,  are  little  more  than 
the  inventions  of  national  partiality, — that  bright  but 
spurious  ofTspring  which  vanity  engenders  upon  ig- 
norance, and  with  wliich  the  firet  records  of  every 
people  abound.  But  the  skeptic  is  scarcely  to  be  en- 
vied who  would  pause  for  stronger  proofs  than  we 
already  pos^iess  of  the  early  glories  of  Ireland ;  and 
were  even  the  veracity  of  all  tlicse  proofs  surrender- 
ed, yet  who  would  not  fly  to  such  flattering  fictions 
from  the  sad  degrading  truths  whicli  the  history  of 
later  times  presents  to  us? 

The  language  of  soitow,  however,  is,  in  general, 
best  suited  to  our  Music,  and  with  themes  of  this 
nature  the  poet  may  bo  amply  supplied.  There  is 
scarcely  a  page  of  our  annals  that  will  not  furnish 
him  a  subject,  and  while  the  national  Muse  of  other 
countries  adorns  her  templo  proudly  with  trophies 

1  See  Wnrner'ji  History  of  Ireland,  vol.  i.  book  U. 

*  Stniiu*.  Thelinid.  liti.  xii. 

S  "  A  siTl  of  civil  excoiiinninicatmn,  (says  Gibbon,)  which 
sepnraied  ihein  from  their  fellow-ciiizens  l>y  a  peculiar  brand 
ofi'iriiiiiy:  anil  litis  declaratinn  of  the  supreine  magistrato 
lunikMl  to  jii>lify,  or  at  leasttoexcuse,  the  Insults  of  a  fanatic 
pcpulncc.  The  secliiries  were  (.'raduatly  ilisqualified  fi>r  the 
po*«e^*lon  of  honorable  or  lucmtive  employments,  and  Theo- 
dnsliiH  was  saiisftcd  with  his  own  justice  when  he  decreed, 
thai,  as  the  Kunniiiinns  disiinpuishcd  the  nature  of  the  Son 
frniii  that  of  the  rather,  they  vhuuld  bu  incapable  of  making 
their  wills,  ur  of  receiving  aoy  advantage  from  testamentary 
doi\atiuns  " 


of  the  past,  in  Ireland  her  melancholy  altar,  like 
the  shrine  of  Pity  at  Athens,  is  to  be  known  only 
by  the  tears  that  are  shed  upon  it ;  "  lacrymis  al- 
taria  sudant."^ 

There  is  a  well-known  story,  related  of  the  An- 
tiochians  under  the  reign  of  Thcodosius,  which  is 
not  only  honorable  to  the  powers  of  music  in  gener- 
al, but  which  a])plies  so  peculiarly  to  the  mounifiU 
melodies  of  Ireland,  that  I  cannot  resist  the  temp- 
tation of  introducing  it  here.— The  piety  of  Thcodo- 
sius would  have  been  admirable,  had  it  not  been 
stained  with  intolerance  ;  but  under  his  reign  was,  I 
believe,  fii"st  set  the  example  of  a  disqualifying 
penal  code  enacted  by  Cliristians  against  Christians.' 
Whether  his  interference  with  the  religion  of  the 
Antiochians  had  any  share  in  the  alienation  of  their 
loyalty  is  not  expressly  ascertained  by  historians  ; 
but  several  edicts,  heavy  taxation,  and  tlie  rapacity 
and  insolence  of  the  men  whom  he  sent  to  govern 
them,  euflicicntly  account  for  the  discontents  of  a 
warm  and  susceptible  people.  Repentance  soon  fol- 
lowed the  crimes  into  which  their  impatience  had 
hurried  them  ;  but  the  vengeance  of  the  Emperor 
was  implacable,  and  punishments  of  the  most  dread- 
ful nature  hung  over  the  city  of  Antioch,  whose 
devoted  inhabitants,  totally  resigned  to  despond- 
ence, wandered  througli  the  streets  and  public  as- 
semblies, giving  utterance  to  their  grief  in  dirges  of 
the  most  touching  lamentation."'  At  length,  Flavi- 
anus,  their  bishop,  whom  they  had  sent  to  intercede 
with  Theodosius,  finding  all  his  entreaties  coldly 
rejected,  adopted  the  expedient  of  teaching  these 
Bongs  of  sorrow  which  he  had  heard  from  the  lips  of 
his  unfortunate  countiymen  to  the  minstrels  wlio 
perfoniud  for  the  Emperor  at  table.  The  heart  of 
Theodosius  could  not  resist  this  appeal ;  tears  fell 
fast  into  his  cup  while  1  e  listened,  and  the  Antio- 
chians were  forgiven. — Surely,  if  music  ever  spoke 
the  niiKfortuncs  of  a  people,  or  could  ever  conciliate 
forgiveness  of  tlieir  errors,  the  music  of  Ireland 
ought  to  possess  those  powers. 

4MfXi;  Tiva  oXo^vp[iui'  Tr'Xiipt)  K<it  av^nraOeta^  aviBEfin'Ot,  rnij 
ficXuiitatg  tnrt6'iv.~js:iccphoT.  lib.  xii.  cap.  43.  This  story  is 
lold  also  in  Sozoincn,  Hb.  vii.  cap.  23;  hut  unfortunately 
Chrj-soslom  says  nothing  whatever  about  it.  and  he  not  only 
had  the  best  oppnrliinities  of  informntinn,  but  was  too  fond 
of  initVic.as  appears  by  his  praises  of  psalmody.  {Expusit.  in 
Psalm  xli.,)  to  omit  such  a  Haltering  illustnition  of  its  pow- 
ers. He  imputes  Ihnir  reconciliation  to  the  interference  of 
the  Aiiliochian  solitaries,  while  Zozimus  altribules  it  to 
the  remonstrances  of  the  sophist  Libanius.—Gilibon.  I  think, 
does  not  even  allude  to  this  story  of  the  musicKns. 


THE  SKEPTIC,  A  SATIRE. 


199 


THE  SKEPTIC, 


A  PHILOSOPHICAL-  SATIRE. 


FiNDAR.  ap.  Hetcdot.  Ub.  iii. 


PREFACE. 

The  Skeptical  Philosophy  of  the  Ancieqts  has 
been  no  less  misrepresented  than  the  Epicurean. 
Pyrrho  may  perhaps  liave  carried  it  to  ratlier  an 
irrational  excess;  —  bat  we  must  not  believe,  with 
Beattie,  all  the  absurdities  imputed  to  this  philos- 
opher ;  and  it  appears  to  me  that  the  doctrines  of 
the  school,  as  explained  by  Sextus  Empiricus,'  are 
f;ir  more  suited  to  the  wants  and  infirmities  of  human 
reason,  as  well  as  more  conducive  to  tiie  mild  virtues 
of  humility  and  patience,  than  any  of  those  systems 
of  philosophy  which  preceded  the  introduction  of 
Christianity.  Tiie  Skeptics  may  be  said  to  have 
held  a  middle  path  between  the  Dogmatists  and 
Academicians  ;  the  former  of  whom  boasted  that 
they  had  attained  the  truth,  while  the  latter  denied 
that  any  attainable  truth  existed.  The  Skeptics, 
however,  without  eitlier  asserting  or  denying  its  ex- 
istence, professed  to  be  inodestly  and  anxiously  in 
search  of  it ;  or,  as  St.  Augustine  expresses  it,  in 
his  liberal  tract  against  the  Mauicha;ans,  "  nemo 
nostrum  dicat  jam  se  invenisse  veritalem ;  sic  earn 
quaeramus  quasi  ab  utrisque  ncsclatur."'*'  From  this 
habit  of  impartial  investigation,  and  the  necessity 
which  it  imposed  upon  tliem,  of  studying  not  only 
every  system  of  p  .''osophy,  but  every  art  and 
science  which  professed  to  lay  its  basis  in  truth, 
they  necessarily  took  a  wider  range  of  erudition, 
and  were  far  more  travelled  in  the  regions  of  phi- 
losophy than  those  whom  conviction  or  bigotry  had 
domesticated  in  any  particular  system.  It  required 
all  the  learning  of  dogmatism  to  overthrow  the 
dogmatism  of  [earning ;   and  the  Skeptics  may  bo 

)  PjTrh.  Hypoth.— The  reader  may  find  a  toIeraWy  clear 
abstract  of  this  work  of  Sextus  Empiricus  in  La  VCrite  des 
Sciences,  by  Mersenne.  liv.  i.,  chap,  ii.,  &.c. 

2  Lib.  contra  Epist.  Manichaei  quani  vocant  Fundamenti, 
Op.  Taris.  tnm.  vi. 

3  See  Martin  Schoockius  de  Scepticismo,  who  endeavors, 
— weakly,  I  ihiok,— to  refute  this  opinion  of  Lipsius. 


said  to  resemble,  .n  .his  respect,  *.at  ancient  incen- 
diary who  stole  from  the  altar  the  fire  with  which 
he  destroyed  the  temple.  This  advantage  over  all 
the  other  sects  is  allowed  to  them  even  by  Lipsius, 
whose  treatise  on  the  miracles  of  the  Virgo  Hal- 
lensis  will  sufficiently  save  him  >om  all  suspicion 
of  skepticism.  "  Lahore,  ingenio,  memoria,"  he 
says,  "  supra  omnes  peno  philosophos  fulsse. — Quid 
nonne  omnia  aliomm  secta  tcnere  debuerunt  et  inqui- 
rcre,  si  poteruut  refellerc?  res  dicit.  Nonne  orationes 
varia.s,  raras,  subtiles  inveniri  ad  tam  rcceptas.  claras, 
certas  (ut  videbatur)  sententias  evertcndasT'  &c. 
&c.^ — Manuduct.  ad  Pkilosoph.  Stoic.  Dissert.  4. 

Between  the  skepticism  of  the  ancients  and  the 
modems  the  great  difference  is,  that  the  former 
doubted  for  the  purpose  of  investigating,  as  may  be 
exemplified  by  the  third  book  of  Aristotle's  Meta-. 
physics,*  while  the  latter  investigate  for  the  purpose 
of  doubting,  as  may  be  seen  through  most  of  the 
philosophical  works  of  Hume.^  Indeed,  the  Pyr- 
rhonism of  latter  days  is  not  only  more  subtle  than 
that  of  antiquity,  but,  it  must  be  confessed,  more 
dangerous  in  its  tendency.  The  happiness  of  a 
Christian  depends  so  essentially  upon  his  belief,  that 
it  is  but  natural  he  should  feel  alarm  at  tlie  progress 
of  doubt,  lest  it  should  steal  by  degrees  into  that 
region*  from  which  ho  is  most  interested  in  ex- 
cluding it,  and  poison  at  last  the  very  spring  of  his 
consolation  and  hope.  Still,  however,  tlie  abuses 
of  doubting  ought  not  to  deter  a  philosophical  mind 
from  indulging  mildly  and  rationally  in  its  use  ; 
and  there  is  nothing,  surely,  more  consistent  with 
the  meek  spirit  of  Christianity,  tlian  that  humble 
skepticism  which  professes  not  to  extend  its  dislrust 

*'E(jri  Se  v^is cvjTopTiiTai /3ov)\o^ci'oiiirpovp}ovToSi(i^opr}aat 
KoX'Of. — Metaphys.  lib.  iii.,  cap.  1. 

6  Neither  Hwme,  however,  nor  Berkeley,  are  to  be  jiid«;<'d 
by  the  misrepresentalions  of  Beattie,  whose  book,  however 
amiably  intended,  puts  forth  a  most  unphilosophical  appeal 
to  popular  feelings  and  prejudices,  and  is  a  continued  ;ieati> 
principii  throughout. 


200 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


beyond  tho  circle  of  human  pursuits,  and  the  pre- 
lensiouB  of  human  knowledge.  A  follower  of  this 
school  may  bo  among  the  readiest  to  admit  tlio 
cluim-s  of  a  superintending  Intelligence  upon  his 
fuith  and  adoration  :  it  is  only  to  the  wisdom  of  this 
weak  world  that  he  refuses,  or  at  least  delays,  his 
aflsent ; — it  is  only  in  passing  through  the  sliadow  of 
earth  that  his  mind  undergoes  the  eclipse  of  skepti- 
cism. No  follower  of  Pyrrho  has  ever  spoken  more 
strongly  against  the  dogmatists  tlian  St.  Paul  him- 
self, in  the  First  Epistle  to  tho  Corinthians;  and  there 
are  passages  in  Ecclesiastes  and  other  parts  of  Scrip- 
ture, which  justify  our  utmost  diffidence  m  all  that 
human  reason  originates.  Even  the  Skeptics  of  an- 
tiquity refrained  carefully  from  the  mysteries  of 
theolog)',  and,  in  entering  the  temples  of  religion, 
laid  aside  their  pliilosopliy  at  tho  porch.  Sextus 
Empiricus  thus  declares  the  acquiescence  of  his  sect 
in  tho  general  belief  of  a  divine  and  fore-knowing 
Power;  T(j  ficv  fit'.*  KaraKo)^ovOovi>T£S  aJo^aurws  (pajicf 
ctvat  5«>vs,  Kut  ciSt^cv  ^lovi   Kat  Trpavociv   aVTOVS  (paftcv.^ 

In  short,  it  appears  to  me,  that  this  rational  and  well 
regulated  skepticism  is  tho  only  duughter  of  tlie 
Schools  that  can  safely  be  selected  as  a  handmaid 
for  Piety.  He  who  distrusts  the  light  of  reason,  will 
bo  the  first  to  follow  a  more  luminous  guide  ;  and  if, 
with  an  ardent  love  for  truth,  he  has  sought  her  iu 
vain  through  the  ways  of  this  life,  he  will  but  turn 
with  the  more  hope  to  that  better  world,  where  all 
is  simple,  true,  and  everlasting:  for,  there  is  no 
parallax  at  the  zenith  ; — it  is  only  near  our  troubled 
horizon  that  objects  deceive  us  into  vague  and  erro- 
neous calculations. 


1  Lib.  iii.  cnp.  1. 

•  "  The  iwrticular  bulk,  number,  figure,  and  motion  of  the 
p.-irls  nf  fire  or  snow  arc  really  in  them,  whether  any  one  per- 
ceive ihcnt  or  not.  tind  therefore  they  may  be  ciilleil  real  qu;il- 
ilics,  bcc.'\usc  they  really  exist  in  those  bodies;  but  li;:ht, 
licat,  whiteness,  or  coldneins,  arc  no  more  really  in  thcni  thun 
sickness  or  pim  Is  in  innnna.  Take  away  thf  sensation  of 
them  ;  let  nut  the  eye  see  light  or  colors,  nor  tr..*  ears  hear 
sounds ;  let  the  palate  not  taste,  nor  the  nose  smell,  and  all 
colors,  tastes,  oilors,  and  sounds,  as  ihcy  are  such  particular 
Ideas,  vanish  and  cense." — Locke,  book  ii.,  chap.  8. 

Bishop  Berkeley,  it  is  well  known,  extended  this  doctrine 
even  to  pritnary  qualities,  and  siipiwsed  thai  matter  itself 
has  but  an  ideal  existence.  But,  how  arc  we  to  apply  his 
thcorj'  to  that  period  which  preceded  the  fonnalinn  of  man, 
when  our  system  of  sensible  things  was  produced,  and  the 
aun  shone,  and  tho  watcra  flowed,  without  any  sentient 
being  to  wiines-i  them  ?  The  spectator,  whom  Whislon  sup- 
plies, will  scarcely  solve  the  ditficully  :  "  To  speak  my  mind 
freely."  says  he,  "I  believe  that  tho  Messias  was  there 
actually  present." — See  t\'kiston,  of  the  JMosaic  Creation. 

>  Boetius  employs  this  argument  of  the  Skeptics  among  his 
consolatorj-  reflections  upon  the  emptiness  of  fame.  "Quid 
quod  diversiirum  gentium  mores  inter  kc  ntqne  institiila  dis- 
cordant, ul  qu'id  apud  alios  Inude,  apnd  alios  suppUcindlgnum 
jadiceturl" — Lib.  ii.  prosn".  Manyamusing  instances  of  di- 
versity, in  the  tastes,  manners,  and  morals  of  dilferenl  uations, 


THE   SKEPTIC. 

As  the  gay  tint,  that  decks  the  vernal  rose,' 

Nat  in  the  flower,  but  in  our  vision  glows; 

As  tho  ripe  flavor  of  Faleruian  tides 

Not  in  the  wine,  but  in  our  taste  resides ; 

So  when,  with  heartfelt  tribute,  we  declare 

That  Marco's  honest  and  that  Susan's  fair, 

'Tis  in  our  minds,  and  not  in  Susan's  eyes 

Or  Marco's  life,  the  worth  or  beauty  lies : 

For  she,  in  flat-nosed  China,  would  appear 

As  plain  a  thing  as  Lady  Anne  is  here  ; 

And  one  light  joke  at  rich  Lorelto's  dome 

Would  rimk  good  Marco  with  the  damn'd  at  Rome. 

There's  no  deformity  so  vile,  so  base, 
That  His  not  somewhere  thought  a  charm,  a  grace  ; 
No  fool  reproach,  that  may  not  steal  a  beam 
From  other  suns,  to  bleach  it  to  esteem.^ 
Ask,  who  is  wise  ? — you'll  fmd  tlie  self-same  man 
A  sage  in  France,  a  madman  in  Japan  ; 
And  here  some  head  beneath  a  mitre  swells, 
Which  there  had  tingled  to  a  cap  and  bells : 
Nay,  there  may  yet  some  monstrous  region  be, 
Unliiiown  to  Cook,  and  from  Napoleon  free, 
Where  C — stl — r — gh  w-ould  for  a  patriot  pass, 
And  mouthing  M vo  scarce  be  deem'd  an  ass ! 

"  List  not  to  reason,  (Kpicurus  cries.) 
"  But  trust  the  senses,  there  conviction  lies:"* — 
Alas!  (A^y  judge  not  by  a  piu"er  light. 
Nor  keep  their  fountains  more  uutinged  and  bright : 


may  be  found  throughout  the  works  of  that  amusing  Sekptic, 
LeMothe  le  Vayer.— Seeliis  Opuscule  Sceptiqiie,  his  Treatise 
"  De  la  Secte  Sceplique,"  and,  above  all.  those  Dialogues,  not 
to  be  fuund  in  his  works,  which  he  published  under  the  name 
of  Hor.'itiu^  Tubcro. — The  chief  olijection  to  these  writings 
of  Le  Vayer,  (and  it  is  a  blemish  which  may  l>e  felt  also  in 
the  Esprit  des  Loix.)  is  the  suspicious  obscurity  of  the  sour- 
ces from  whence  he  frequently  draws  his  instances,  and  the 
indiscriminale  use  made  by  him  of  ilie  lowest  populace  of 
the  library, — those  lying  travellers  and  wonder-mongers  of 
whom  Shaftesbury,  in  his  Advice  to  an  Author,  complains, 
as  having  leniled  in  his  own  time  to  the  diffusion  of  a  very 
shallow  and  vicious  sort  of  skepticism.— Vol.  i.  p.  352.  Tho 
Pyrrhonism  of  Le  Vayer,  however,  is  of  the  most  innocent 
and  playful  kind;  and  Villeipandy,  the  author  of  Scepii- 
clsmns  Debellatus,  exempts  him  specially  in  the  declaration 
of  war  which  he  denounces  against  tho  other  armed  neu 
trals  of  the  sect,  in  consideration  of  the  orthodox  limits 
within  which  he  confines  his  incredulity. 

*  Tills  was  the  creed  also  of  those  modern  Epicureans, whom 
Ninon  de  I'EncIos  collected  around  her  in  the  Kue  desTour- 
nclles,  and  whose  object  seems  to  have  been  to  decry  the  fat- 
uity of  reason,  as  tending  only  to  embarrass  our  wholesome 
use  of  pleasures,  without  enabling  us,  in  any  degree,  to  avoid 
their  abuse.  Madame  des  Iloulieres,  the  fa*r  pupil  of  Des 
Barreaux  in  the  arts  of  poetry  and  gallantry,  has  devoted  most 
of  her  verses  to  this  laudable  purpose,  and  is  even  such  a  de- 


THE  SKEPTIC,  A  SATIRE. 


201 


Habit  BO  mars  them,  that  the  Russian  swain 
Will  sigh  for  train-oil,  while  he  sips  champag^ne  ; 
And  heaUh  so  rules  them,  that  a  fever's  heat 
Would  make  even  Sh — r — d — n  tiiink  water  sweet. 

Just  as  the  mind  the  erring  sense^  believes, 
The  erring  mind,  iu  timi,  the  sense  deceives  ; 
And  cold  disgust  can  find  but  wrinkles  there, 
Wiiere  passion  fancies  all  that's  smooth  and  fair 
P  *  *  *  *,  who  sees,  upon  his  pillow  laid, 
A  face  for  which  ten  thousand  pounds  were  paid, 
Can  tell,  how  quick  before  a  juiy  flies 
The  spell  tliat  mock'd  the  warm  seducer's  eyes. 

Self  is  the   mediiun  through  which  Judgment's 
ray- 
Can  seldom  pass  without  being  turned  astray. 
The  smith  of  Ephesus"  thought  Dian's  slirine, 
By  which  his  craft  most  throve,  the  most  divine  ; 
And  ev'n  the  true  faith  seems  not  half  so  true, 
When  link'd  with  one  good  living  as  with  two. 
Had  W — Ic — t  first  been  pension'd  by  the  throne, 
Kings  would  have  sufFer'd  by  his  praise  alone ; 
And  P — ine  perhaps,  for  something  snug  per  ann., 
Had  laugh'd,  like  W— 11— sley,  at  all  Rights  of  Man. 

But  'tis  not  only  individual  minds, — 
Whole  nations,  too,  the  same  delusion  blinds. 
Thus  England,  hot  from  Denmark's  smoking  meads, 
TiUTis  up  her  eyes  at  Gallia's  guilty  deeds ; 

terniined  foe  to  reason,  Ihat,  in  one  of  her  pastorals,  she  con- 
gratulates her  sheep  on  the  want  of  it.  SU  Evremont  speaks 
thus  upon  the  subject : — 

"  Un  melange  incertain  d'esprit  et  de  matiere 
Nous  fait  vivre  avec  trop  ou  trop  peu  de  lumicre. 

Natuv.  61eve-nous  a  la  clart6  des  anges, 
Oil  noi.5  abaisse  au  sens  des  simples  animaux." 
Which  niLiy  be  thus  paraphrased  :— 

Had  man  been  made,  at  nature's  birth, 

Of  only  flame  or  only  earth, 

Had  he  been  form'd  a  perfect  whole 

Of  purely  that,  or  grossly  this, 
Then  sense  would  ne'er  have  clouded  sonl, 

Nor  soul  restrain'd  the  sense's  bliss. 
Oh  happy,  had  his  light  been  strong. 

Or  had  he  never  shared  a  light, 
Which  shines  enougli  to  show  he's  wrong, 

But  not  entjugh  to  lead  him  right. 

1  See,  among  the  fragments  of  Petronius,  those  verses  be- 
ginning '■  Fallunt  nns  oculi,"  &c.  The  most  skeptical  ot  the 
ancient  poets  was  Euripides;  and  it  would.  I  think,  puzzle 
the  whole  school  of  Pyrrho  to  produce  a  doubt  more  start- 
ling than  the  following:— 

Tis  A*  oiitv  ct  i^tjvTOvO'  0  kckXtjtui  ^afciv, 
To  Z,nv  ^^  Si'ijn-«£(v  eoTt. 
See  Laert.  in  Pyrrh. 

Socrates  and  Plato  were  the  grand  sources  of  ancient  skep 
ticism.  According  to  Cicero,  (de  Orator,  lib.  iii.,)  they  sup- 
plied Arcesilas  with  the  doctrines  of  the  Middle  Academy; 
and  how  closely  these  resembled  the  tenets  of  the  Skeptics, 


Thus,  self-pleased  still,  the  same  dif^honoring  chain 
She  binds  in  Ireland,  she  would  break  in  Spain ; 
While  praised  at  distance,  but  at  home  forbid, 
Rebels  in  Cork  are  patriots  at  Madrid. 

If  Grotius  bo  thy  guide,  shut,  shut  the  book, — 
In  force  alone  for  Laws  of  Nations  look. 
Let  shipless  Danes  and  whining  Yankees  dwell 
On  naval  rights,  with  Grotius  and  Vattel, 
While  C — bb — t's  pirate  code  alone  appears 
Soimd  moral  sense  to  England  and  Algiers. 

Wo  to  the  Skeptic,  in  these  party  days. 
Who  wafts  to  neither  shrine  his  pij^s  of  praise  I 
For  him  no  pension  pours  'is  annual  fruits, 
No  fertile  sinecure  spontaneous  shoots  ; 
Not  hi&  .he  meed  that  crown'd  Don  H — kh — m's 

rhyme. 
Nor  sees  he  e'er,  in  dreams  of  future  time. 
Those  sliadowy  forms  oi  sleek  reversions  rise, 
So  dear  to  Scotchmeu's  second-sighted  eyes. 
Yet  who,  that  looks  to  History's  damning  leaf, 
Where  Whig  and  Tory,  thief  opposed  to  lliief, 
On  either  side  in  lofty  shame  are  seen,' 
While  Freedom's  form  hangs  crucified  between — 
Who,  B— rd — tt,  wlio  such  rival  rogues  can  see. 
But  flies  from  both  to  Honesty  and  thee  ? 

If,  weary  of  the  world's  bewild'ring  maze,* 
Hopeless  of  finding,  through  its  weedy  ways, 

may  be  seen  even  in  Se.vtusEmpiricus,  (lib.  heap.  33.)  who, 
with  all  his  distinctioni^.  can  scarcely  prove  any  difference. 
It  appears  strange  that  Epicurus  should  have  been  a  dognia- 
tist ;  and  his  natural  temper  would  most  probably  have  led 
him  to  the  repose  of  skepticism,  had  not  the  Stoics,  by  their 
violent  opposition  to  his  doctrines,  compelled  hiin  to  be  us 
obstinate  as  themselves.  PluUirch,  indeed,  in  reporting  some 
of  his  opinions,  represents  him  as  havins  delivered  them  with 
considerable  hesitation. — YiniKovpo;  ov6cv  ottoj  ivaitrA-ft  rou- 
T(Ov,  cxoi^evog  tov  Ci^fiEXoncvov. — De  Placit.  Pkilosopk.Wh.W. 
cap.  13.  See  also  the  2Ist  and  22d  chapters.  But  that  the 
leading  characteristics  of  the  sect  were  self-sufficiency  and 
dogmatism,  appears  from  what  Cicero  says  of  Velleius.  De 
J^atur.  Deor. — ''Turn  Velleius,  fidenier  sane,  ut  solent  isti, 
nihil  lam  verensquam  ne  dubitare  aliritia  de  re  vidcrelur."' 

2  Acts,  chap.  xix.  "  For  a  certain  man  named  Demetrius, 
a  silversmith,  which  made  silver  shrines  for  Diana,  brought 
no  small  gain  unto  the  craftsmen." 

s  "Those  two  thieves,"  says  Ralph,  "between  whom  the 
nation  is  crucified." —  Use  and  .Ibiise  of  Parliaments. 

*  The  agitation  of  the  ship  is  one  of  Ibe  chief  diflrcultios 
which  impede  the  discovery  of  the  longitude  at  sea;  and 
the  tumult  and  hurry  of  life  are  equally  imfavorable  to  tlirit 
calm  level  of  mind  which  is  necessary  loan  inquirer  after 
truth. 

In  the  mean  time,  car  modest  Skeptic,  in  the  absence  of 
truth,  contents  himself  with  probabilities,  resembling  in  this 
respect  those  suitors  of  Penelope,  who,  on  finding  that  they 
could  not  possess  the  unstress  herself,  very  wisely  resolved 
to  put  up  with  her  maids  ;  ri)  Unfe^o^fl  n-AT/ffciCiti'  fn  ivva- 
fieuoi,  Till?  ranrfjs  c^ij-vuiro    Sepairaivaii. —  Piutare/l,  Utpi 


202 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Ono  flower  of  truth,  the  busy  crowd  we  shun, 
And  to  llio  shades  of  tranquil  learning  run, 
How  many  a  doubt  pursues!'  how  oft  we  sigh, 
When  histories  cliann,  to  think  that  histories  he  ! 
That  all  arc  grave  romances,  at  the  best. 
And  ]\I — sjrr — veV  but  more  clumsy  than  the  rest. 
By  Tory  Hume's  seductive  page  beguiled, 
We  fancy  Charles  was  just  and  Strafford  mild  ;^ 
And  Fox  iiimself,  with  parly  pencil,  draws 
Monmouth  a  hero,  "  for  the  good  old  cause  !"^ 
Tiien,  rigiits  arc  wrongs,  and  victories  are  defeats, 
Aa  French  or  English  pride  the  talc  repeats; 
And,  when  they  tell  Corunna's  story  o'er. 
They'll  disagree ^n  all,  but  honoring  Moore: 
Nay,  future  pens,  to  flatter  future  courts. 
May  cite  perhaps  the  Park-guns'  gay  reports. 
To  prove  that  England  triumph'd  on  the  morn 
Which  found  her  Junot's  jest  and  Europe's  scorn. 

In  Science,  too — how  many  a  system,  raised 
Like  Neva's  icy  domes,  awhile  hath  blazed 
With  lights  of  fancy  and  with  forms  of  pride, 
Then,  melting,  mingled  with  the  oblivious  tide  I 
Now  Earth  usurps  the  centre  of  the  sky, 
Now  Newton  puts  the  paltry  planet  by  ; 
Now  whims  revive  beneath  Descartcs's^  pen. 
Which  noWj  assail'd  by  Locke's,  expire  again. 

'  Pec  a  curirjus  work,  entitled  "Refleclions  upon  Learn- 
ing," Written  on  tlic  plan  of  Agrippa's  "De  Vanitate  Scicn- 
(iartim,"  but  much  more  honestly  and  skilfully  executed. 

*  This  historian  of  the  Irish  rebellions  has  outrun  even  his 
predecessor  in  the  same  task,  Sir  John  Temple,  for  whose 
character  with  respect  to  veracity  ilie  reader  may  consult 
Carte's  "  Collection  of  Ormond*3  Original  Papers,"  p.  207. 
Sec  also  Dr.  Nalson's  account  of  him,  in  the  introduction  to 
the  second  volume  of  his"  Historic.  Collect.*' 

*  He  defends  SiralTord's  conduct  as  "innocent  and  even 
inaaablc."  In  the  same  spirit,  speaking  of  the  arbitrary  sen- 
tence of  the  Star  Chamher,  he,  says, — "  The  severity  of  the 
Star  Chamber,  which  was  generally  ascribed  to  Laud*s  pas- 
sionntp  imposition,  was  perhaps,  in  itself,  somewhat  blainc- 
able." 

*  That  flexibility  of  temper  and  oputlon,  whicli  the  habits 
of  skepticism  arc  so  calculated  to  produce,  are  thus  pleaded 
forliy  Mr.  Fot,  in  the  very  sketch  of  Monmouth  to  which  I 
nlUidc;  and  (his  part  of  the  picture  the  historian  may  bo 
thought  to  have  drawn  from  liimsclf.  "One  of  tlje  most 
conspicuous  features  in  his  character  seems  to  have  been  a 
rcmarkulilc,  and,  as  sonic  think,  a  culpable  degree  of  flexi- 
bility. That  such  a  disposition  i*  preferable  to  its  opposito 
extreme,  will  he  ndtiilltcd  by  all  who  think  that  modesty, 
even  In  exce-sx.  Is  mure  nearly  allied  to  wisd<>m  than  conceit 
and  self-sufliciency.  He  who  has  attentively  considered  the 
political,  or  indeed  the  general  concerns  of  life,  may  possibly 
CO  still  further,  and  nmy  rank  a  willingness  to  be  convmced, 
or,  in  some  cases,  even  without  conviction,  to  concede  our 
own  opinion  to  thatof  other  men, among  the  principal  ingre- 
dients in  the  composition  of  practical  wisdom."— ll  is  right 
to  observe,  however,  that  the  Skeptic's  readiness  of  conces- 
sion arises  rather  from  uncerlitinty  than  conviction,  more 
from  a  suspicion  that  his  own  opinion  may  be  wrong,  than 
from  any  persuasion  that  the  opinion  of  his  adversary  is 


And  when,  perhaps,  in  pride  of  clicmic  powera, 

We  think  the  keys  of  Nature's  kingdom  ours. 

Some  Davy's  magic  touch  the  dream  misettles. 

And  turns  at  once  our  alkalis  to  metals. 

Or,  should  we  roam,  in  metaphysic  maze, 

Through  fair-built  theories  of  former  days, 

Some    Dr — mm — d°    from    the    north,   more    ably 

ekill'd, 
Like  other  Goths,  to  ruin  than  to  build. 
Tramples  triumphant  through  our  fanes  o'erthrown. 
Nor  leaves  one  grace,  one  glory  of  his  own. 

"^h  Learning,  whatsoe'er  thy  pomp  and  boast, 
L^iletter'd    minds    have    taught    and  charra'd  men 

meet. 
The  rude,  unread  Columbus  was  our  guide 
To  worlds,  which  Icam'd  Lactantius  had  denied  ; 
And  one  wild  Shakspeare,  following  Nature's  lights, 
Is  worth  whole  planets,  fill'd  with  Stagyrites. 

See  grave  Theology,  when  once  she  strays 
From  Revelation's  path,  what  tricks  she  plays  ; 
What  various  heav'ns, — all  fit  for  bards  to  sing, — 
Have  chiirclimen    drcam'd,  from  Papias'  down  to 

King :' 
While  hell  itself,  in  India  naught  but  smoke,' 
In  Spain's  a  funiace,  and  in  France — a  joke. 

right.  "  It  may  be  so,"  was  the  courteous  and  skeptical  for- 
mula with  which  tlie  Dutch  were  accustomed  to  reply  to 
the  statements  of  ambassadors.  Sec  Llor/iTs  Stale  IVorthies^ 
art.  Sir  Thomas  Wyat. 

(*  Descartes,  who  is  considered  as  the  parent  of  modern 
skepticism,  says,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  whole  range  of 
philosophy  wliich  does  not  admit  of  two  opposite  opinions, 
and  which  is  not  involved  in  doubt  and  uncertainty.  "In 
Fhilosophia  nihil  adhuc  reperiri,  de  quo  non  in  utramque 
partem  disputatur,  hoc  est,  quod  non  sit  inccrtumetdubium." 
Gassendi  is  likewise  to  be  added  to  the  list  of  n)0(lern  Skep- 
tics, and  Wedderkopft',  in  his  Dissertation  "  De  Pcepticismo 
profanoet  sacro,"(Argentorat.  IGiiG.)  has  denounced  Erasmus 
also  as  a  follower  of  Pyrrho,  for  his  opinions  upon  the  Trinity, 
and  some  other  subjects.  To  these,  if  we  add  the  names  of 
Bayle.  Mallebranche,  Dryden,  Locke,  &c.  &c.,  I  think  there  is 
no  one  who  need  be  ashamed  of  donl)ting  in  such  company. 

B  See  this  gentleman's  Academic  Uuestion-!. 

'  Papias  lived  about  the  time  of  the  apostles,  and  is  sup- 
posed to  have  given  birth  to  the  heresy  of  the  Chilliasta?, 
whose  heaven  was  by  no  means  of  a  spiritual  nature,  but 
rather  an  anticipation  of  the  Projihet  of  Hera's  elysium.  See 
Eusebius,  Hist.  Ecclcsiast.  lib.  iii.  cap". ^3.  and  Hieronym.  de 
Scriptor.  Ecclesiast. — From  all  I  can  find  in  these  au- 
thors concerning  Papias,  it  seems  hardly  fair  to  impute  to 
him  those  gross  imaginations  in  which  the  believers  of  the 
sensual  millennium  indulged. 

6  King,  in  his  Morsels  of  Criticism,  vol.  i.,  supposes  the 
sun  to  be  the  receptacle  of  blessed  spirits. 

"The  Indians  call  hell  "  the  House  of  Smoke."  SeePicart 
upon  the  Religion  of  the  Banians.  The  reader  who  is  curi- 
ous about  infernal  matters,  may  be  edified  by  consulting 
Riisca  de  Inferno,  particularly  lib.  ii.  cap.  7, 8,  where  he  will 
find  the  precise  sort  of  fire  ascertained  in  which  wicked 
spirits  are  to  be  burned  hereafter. 


THE  SKEPTIC,  A  SATIRE. 


203 


Hail,  modest  Ignorance,  thou  goal  and  prize, 
Tlioii  lasl,  best  knowledgo  of  the  simply  wise  ! 
Huil,  humble  Doubt,  when  error's  waves  are  past, 
IIow  sweet  to  reach  thy  shelter'd  port*  at  last, 
And,    there,    by    changing    skies    nor    lured    no 

awed. 
Smile  at  the  battling  winds  that  roar  abroad. 
There  gentle  Charity,  who  knows  how  frail 
The  bark  of  Virtue,  even  in  summer's  gale. 
Sits  by  the  nightly  fire,  whose  beacon  glows 
For  all  who  wander,  whether  friends  or  foes 


There    Faith    retires,    and    keeps    her   while    sail 

furl'd. 
Till  call'd  to  spread  it  for  a  better  world ; 
While  Patience,  watching  on  the  weedy  shoie, 
And  mutely  waiting  till  the  storm  bo  o'er, 
Oft  turns  to  Hope,  who  still  directs  her  cyo 
To  some  blue  spot,  just  breaking  in  the  sky  I 

Such  are  the  mild,  the  blessM  associates  given 
To  him  who    doubts, — and    trusts    in    naught    but 
Heaven ! 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG. 


BY  THOMAS  BROWN,  THE  YOUNGER. 


Elapss  manibu3  ceciil&re  tabellx.        Ovid. 


STEPHEN  WOOLRICHE,  ESQ. 

My  dear  Woolriche, 

It  is  now  about  seven  years  since  I  promised 
(and  I  grieve  to  think  it  is  almost  as  long  since  we 
met)  to  dedicate  to  you  the  very  first  Book,  of  what- 
ever size  or  kind,  I  should  publish.  Who  could  have 
thouglit  that  so  many  years  would  elapse,  without 
my  gi^'ing  the  least  signs  of  life  upon  the  subject 
of  this  important  promise  ?  Who  could  have  im- 
agined that  a  volimie  of  doggerel,  after  all,  would 
be  the  first  offering  that  Gratitude  would  lay  upon 
the  slirine  of  Friendship? 

If  you  continue,  however,  to  be  as  much  inter- 
ested about  me  and  my  pursuits  as  formerly,  you 
will  he  happy  to  hear  that  doggerel  is  not  my  only 
occupation  ;  but  that  I  am  preparinjr  to  throw  my 
name  to  the  Swans  of  the  Temple  of  Immortality,'* 
leaving  it,  of  course,  to  the  said  Swans  to  determine, 
whetlier  they  ever  will  take  the  trouble  of  picking 
it  from  the  stream. 

In  the  mean  time,  my  dear  Woolriche,  like  an 
orthodox  Lutheran,  you  must  judge  of  me  rather  by 
my  faith   than    my   works;    and  however  trifling 

1  "Che re  Sceiitique,  douce  paUire  ile  mon  ame.el  I'uniqne 
p-^rl  (ie  salut  a  une  esprit  riui  aiine  le  repos  I"— Z,a  Motkete 
T  ayer. 


the  tribute  whicli  I  here  offer,  never  doubt  the  fidel- 
ity witli  which  I  am,  and  always  sliall  be, 
Your  sincere  and 

attached  Friend, 

THE  AUTHOR 

J\larch  4,  1813. 


PREFACE. 


The  Bag,  from  which  the  following  Letters  are 
selected,  was  dropped  by  a  Twopenny  Postman 
about  two  months  since,  and  picked  up  by  an 
emissary  of  the  S/^ci'.ly  for  the  Suppression  of  Vice, 
wliJ,  supposing  it  might  materially  assist  the  pri- 
vate research's  of  that  Institution,  immediately 
took  it  to  his  employers,  and  was  rewarded  hand- 
somely for  his  trouble.  Such  a  treasuiy  of  secrets 
was  worth  a  whole  host  of  informers  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, like  the  Cupids  of  the  poet  (if  I  may 
u.se  so  profane  a  simile)  who  "  fell  at  odds  about 
the  sweet-bag  of  a  bee,"^  those  venerable  Sup- 
pressors  almost   fought    with    each   other    for   the 


3  Ariosto,  canto  35. 
3  Herrick. 


I 


204 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


lonor  and  delight  of  first  ransacking  the  Poet- 
Baj;.  Unluckily,  however,  it  turned  out,  upon 
examinalioii,  that  the  discoveries  of  profligacy 
which  il  euablod  them  to  make,  lay  cliiofly  in  those 
upper  regions  of  eociety,  whicli  their  well-bred 
re{[u!atioiis  forbid  them  to  molest  or  meddle  with. 
— In  consequence,  they  gained  but  very  few  vic- 
tims by  their  prize,  and,  after  lying  for  a  week  or 
two  under  Jlr.  Hatcbard's  counter,  the  Bag,  v/ith 
its  violated  coutente,  was  sold  for  a  trifle  to  a  friend 
of  mine. 

It  liappened  that  I  had  been  just  then  seized  with 
an  ambition  (having  never  tried  the  strength  of  my 
wing  but  in  a  Newspaper)  to  publish  something  or 
other  in  the  shape  of  a  Book  ;  and  it  occurred  to  me 
that,  the  present  being  such  a  letter-writing  era,  a 
few  of  these  Twopenny-Post  Ei)ist]es,  turned  into 
easy  verso,  would  be  as  light  and  popular  a  task  as 
I  could  possibly  select  for  a  commencement.  I  did 
not,  however,  think  it  prtulent  to  give  too  many 
Irftter«  at  first,  and,  accordingly,  have  been  obliged 
(in  order  to  eke  out  a  suliicient  number  of  pages)  to 
reprint  some  of  those  trifles  whicli  had  already 
appeared  in  the  public  journals.  As  in  the  battles 
of  ancient  times,  the  shades  of  the  departed  were 
sometimes  seen  among  the  combafauts,  so  I  thought 
I  might  manage  to  remedy  the  thinness  of  my  ranks 
by  conjining  up  a  few  dead  and  forgotten  epheme- 
rons  to  till  them. 

Such  are  the  motives  and  accidents  that  led  to 
the  present  publication ;  and  as  this  is  the  fii-st 
time  my  i\Iuso  hais  ever  ventured  out  of  the  go-cart 
of  a  Newspaper,  though  I  feel  all  a  parent's  delight 
at  seenig  little  IMiss  go  alone,  I  am  also  not  without 
a  parent's  anxiety,  lest  an  unlucky  fall  should  bo 
the  consequence  of  the  experiment ;  and  I  need 
not  point  out  how  many  living  instances  might  bo 
fovuid,  of  Muses  that  have  suffered  ver)'  severely 
in  their  heads,  from  taking  rather  too  caily  and 
raslily  to  their  feet.  Besides,  a  Book  is  so  very 
different  a  thing  from  a  Newspaper  I — in  the  former, 
your  doggerel,  without  either  company  or  slieller, 
m^:^t  stand  shivering  in  the  niid-l|e  of  a  bleak 
page  by  itself ;  whereas,  in  the  latter,  it  is  comfort- 
ably backed  by  advertisetnents,  and  has  soni-'imes 
even  a  speech  of  Mr.  St — ph — n's,  or  somctU'iig 
equally  warm,  for  a  chaitffc-pii — so  that,  in  gene- 
ral, ;ho  very  rcvenie  cf  "  laudalur  et  uigct"  is  its 
destiny. 

Ambition,  however,  must  run  some  rislis,  and  I 
shall  be  very  well  satisfied  if  tlie  reception  of  these 
few  Letters  should  have  tho  clfect  of  sending  mo 
to  the  Post-Bag  for  more 


>  rindar,  ryth.  5— My  friend  certainly  eannot  add  ovr' 


PREFACE 

TO  THE  FOURTEENTH  EDITION. 
BY  A  FRIE.VD  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

In  the  absence  of  Mr.  Brown,  who  is  at  present 

on   a  tour  through ,  I   feel   myself  called 

upon,  as  his  friend,  to  notice  certain  misconceptions 
and  misrepresentations,  to  which  this  little  volume 
of  Trifles  has  given  rise. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  not  true  that  Mr.  Bro%vn 
has  had  any  accomplices  in  the  work.  A  note, 
indeed,  which  has  hitherto  accompanied  his  Pre- 
face, may  very  natiu*ally  have  been  the  origin  of 
such  a  supposition  ;  but  that  note,  which  was 
merely  tho  coquetry  of  an  author,  I  have,  in  the 
present  edition,  talieu  upon  myself  to  remove,  and 
Mr.  Brown  must  therefore  bo  considered  (like  the 
mother  of  that  unique  production,  the  Centaur, 
jiQia  Kat  /ioiui'')  as  alone  responsible  for  the  whole 
contents  of  the  volume. 

In  the  next  place  it  has  been  said,  that  in 
consequence  of  this  graceless  little  book,  a  certain 
distinguished  Personage  prevailed  npon  another 
distinguished  Personage  to  withdraw  from  the 
author  that  notice  and  kindness  with  which  ho 
had  so  long  and  so  liberally  honored  him.  In  this 
stoiy  there  is  not  one  syllable  of  truth.  For 
the  magnanimity  of  i\\e  former  of  these  persons  I 
would,  indeed,  in  no  case  answer  too  rashly :  but 
of  the  conduct  of  the  latter  towards  my  friend,  I 
have  a  proud  gratification  in  declaring,  that  it  has 
never  ceased  to  be  such  as  he  must  Ivmember  with 
indelible  gratitude  ; — a  gratitude  tlie  more  cheer- 
fully and  warmly  paid,  from  it"!  not  bt';.\g  t  debt 
incurred  solely  on  his  own  account,  but  for  kind- 
ness shared  with  tlioso  nearest  and  dearest  to  him. 

To  tho  charge  of  being  an  Irisl-.man,  poor 
Mr.  Brown  pleads  guilty  ;  and  I  believe  it  must 
also  be  acknowledged  that  he  comes  of  a  Roman 
Catholic  family  :  an  avowal  which  I  am  aware  is 
decisive  of  his  utter  reprobation,  in  the  eyes  of 
those  exclusive  patentees  of  Christianity,  so  worthy 
to  have  been  the  followers  of  a  certain  enlightened 
Bishop,  Donaliis,^  who  held  "that  God  is  ni  Africa 
and  not  elsewhere."  But  from  all  this  it  does  not 
necessarily  follow  that  j\lr.  Brown  is  a  Papist ;  and, 
inde><i,  I  have  the  strongest  reasons  for  suspecting 
that. they,  who  say  so,  are  somewhat  mistaken. 
Not  that  I  presume  to  have  ascertained  liis  opinions 
upon  such  subjects.  All  I  profess  to  know  of  his 
orthodoxy  is,  that  ho    has    a    Protestant  wife   and 


3  Bishop  of  CasiE  Nigrcp,  in  the  fonnh  century. 


TWOPENNY  POST-BAG. 


205 


two  or  tliree  little  Protestant  children,  and  that  he 
has  been  seen  at  church  every  Sunday,  for  a  wliole 
year  together,  listening  to  tlie  sermons  of  hts  truly 

reverend   and  amiable  friend,  Dr. ,  and 

behaving  there  as  well  and  as  orderly  as  most 
pcopl*^. 

Tiiere  are  yet  a  few  other  mistakes  and  false- 
hoods about  Mr.  Brown,  to  which  I  had  intended, 
with  all  becoming  gravity,  to  advert ;  but  I  begin 
to  think  the  task  is  quite  as  useless  as  it  is  tiresome. 
Misrepresentations  and  calumnies  of  this  sort  are, 
like  the  arguments  and  statements  of  Dr.  Duigenan, 
— not  at  all  the  less  vivacious  or  less  sen'iceable  to 
their  fabricators,  for  having  been  refuted  and  dis- 
proved a  thousand  times  over.  They  are  brought 
for\vard  again,  as  good  as  new,  whenever  malice  or 
stupidity  may  be  in  want  of  them  ;  and  are  quite  as 
useful  as  the  old  broken  lantern,  in  Fielding's  Amelia, 
which  the  watchman  always  keeps  ready  by  him, 
to  produce,  in  ])roof  of  riotous  conduct,  against  liis 
victims.  I  shall  therefore  give  up  the  fruitless  toil 
of  vindication,  and  would  even  draw  my  pen  over 
what  I  have  already  written,  had  I  not  promised  to 
fm*nish  my  publisher  with  a  Preface,  and  know  not 
how  else  I  could  contrive  to  eke  it  out. 

I  have  added  two  or  tliree  more  trifles  to  this 
edition,  which  I  found  in  the  Morning  Chronicle,  and 
knew  to  be  from  the  pen  of  my  friend.  The  rest  of 
the  volume  remains^  in  its  original  state. 

.Ipril  iiO,  1814. 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS, 

&C. 


LETTER  I. 

FROM   THE    PR — NC — SS   CH — RL — E    OF   W — L — S 
TO   THE    LADY    B — RB — A    ASHL — Y.' 

My  dear  Lady  Bab,  you'll  be  shock'd,  I'm  afraid, 
When  you  hear  tlie  sad  rumpus  your  Ponies  have 
made ; 


»  A  new  reading  has  been  STipgested  in  the  original  of  ihe 
Ode  of  Horace,  freely  transla,ted  by  Lord  Eld — n,  page  1G6. 
In  the  line  "Sive  per  Syrteis  iter  a?sluo3as,"  it  is  proposed,  by 
a  ver>'  trifling  alteration,  to  read  "  Surtees,*''  instead  of  "Syr- 
teis," which  brings  the  Ode,  it  is  said,  more  home  to  the  noble 
translator,  and  gives  a  peculiar  force  and  aptness  to  the  epi- 


Since  the  time  of  horse -consuls,  (now  long  out  of 

date,) 
No  nags  ever  made  such  a  stir  in  the  state. 
Lord  Eld — n  first  heard — and  as  instantly  prayM  he 
To  "  God  and  his  Kiuij'" — that  a  Popish  young  Lady 
(For  though  you've  bright  eyes  and  twelve  thousand 

a  year. 
It  is  still  hut  too  true  you're  a  Papist,  my  dear,) 
Had  insidiously  sent,  by  a  tall  Irish  groom, 
Two  priest-ridden  Ponies,  just  landed  from  Rome, 
And  so  full,  little  rogues,  of  pontifical  tricks, 
That  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  was  scarce  safe  from 

their  kicks. 

Off  at  once  to  Papa,  in  a  flurry  he  flies — 
For  Papa  ahvays  does  what  these  statesmen  adv'«e. 
On  condition  that  they'll  be,  in  turn,  so  polite 
As  in  no  case  whate'er  to  advise  !iim  too  right — 
"  Pretty  doings  are  here.  Sir,  (he  angrily  cries, 
"While  by  dint  of  dark  eyebrows  he  strives  to  look 

wise) — 
"  'Tis  a  scheme  of  the  Romanists,  so  lielp  mo  God  ! 
"  To  ride  over  your  most  Royal  Highness  rough- 
shod— 
"  Excuse,    Sir,    my    tears — they're    from    loyalty's 

source — 
*'  Bad  enough   'twas   for  Troy  to  be  sack'd   by  a 

Horse  J 
"  But  for  us  to  be  ruin'd  by  Ponies  still  worse  I" 
Quick  a  Council  is  call'd — the  whole  C  abinet  sits — 
The  Archbishops    declare,  frightcn'd   out  of   their 

wits. 
That  if  once  Popish  Ponies  should  eat  at  my  manger. 
From  that  awful  moment  the  Church  is  in  danger  ! 
As,  give  them  but  stabling,  and  shortly  no  stalls 
Will  suit  their  proud  stomachs  but  those  at  SL  Paul's. 

The  Doctor,^  and  he,  the  devout  man  of  Leather,* 
V — ns — tt — t,    now    laying    their    Saint-heads    to- 
gether, 
Declare  that  these  skittish  young  <? -bo  mi  nations 
Are  clearly  foretold  in  Chap.  yi.  Revelations — • 
Nay,  they  verily  think  they  could  point  out  the  one 
Which  the  Doctor's  friend  Death  was  to  canter  upon. 

Lord  II — rr — by,  hoping  that  no  one  imputes 
To  the  Court  any  fancv  to  persecute  brutes. 
Protests,  on  the  word  of  himself  and  his  cronies, 
That  had  these  said  creatures  been  Asses,  not  Ponies, 
The  Court  would  have  started  no  sort  of  objection, 
As  Asses  were,  there,  always  sure  of  protection. 


thet  "£E5tuosns."    I  merely  throw  out  this  etncndaiion  for 
the  earned,  being  unable  myself  to  decide  upon  its  merits. 

2  This  young  Lady,  who  is  a  Roman  Catholic,  had  lale!y 
made  a  present  of  some  beautiful  Ponies  to  the  Pr — nc — ss, 

3  Mr.  Addington,  so  nicknamed. 

*  Alluding  to  a  tax  lately  laid  upon  leather. 


206 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  If  the  Pr— DC — ss  tcill  keep  them,  (says  Lord 
C—Kil— r— gh,) 
"  To  muke  tlioin  quite  harmless,  tho  only  true  way 
"  Is  (as  certain  Chief  Justices  do  with  their  wives) 
"  To  flog  them  within  half  au  inch  of  their  lives. 
•*  If  they've  any  bad  Irish  blood  lurkinjr  about, 
*'  Tliis  (ho  knew  by  experience)  would  soon  draw 

it  ouL" 
Should  this  be  thought  cruel,  his  Lordship  proposes 
"  The  new  Veto  snaffle'  to  bind  down  their  noses — 
"  A  pretty  contrivance,  made  out  of  old  chains, 
"  Whicli    appears    to    indulge,  while  it   doubly  re- 
strains ; 
"  Which,  however  high-mettled,  their  gamesomeness 

checks 
*'  (Adds  his  Lordship  humanely,)  or  else  breaks  their 
necks  I" 

This  proposal  received  pretty  general  applause 
From  the  statesmen  around — and  the  neck -bre alt ing 

clause 
Had  a  vigor  about  it,  wliich  soon  reconciled 
Even  Eld — n  himself  to  a  measure  so  mild. 
So  the  snaflles,  my  dear,  were  agreed  to,  Tiem.  con.j 
And  my  Lord  C — stl — r — gh,  having  so  often  shone 
lu  the  fettering  Lne,  is  to  buckle  them  an. 

I  shall  drive  to  your  door  in  these  Fe/os  some  day, 
But,  at  present,  adieu  ! — I  must  hurry  away 
To  go  see  my  Mamma,  as  I'm  suifer'd  to  meet  her 
F  :?  just  half  an  hour  by  the  Qu — u's  best  repeater. 

ClI — RL TTE. 


LETTER  n. 

FROM    COLONEL    M'M — 11 — N    TO   G LD    FU — NC- 

L CKIE,  ESQ. 

Dear  Sir,  I've  just  hud  limo  to  look 
Info  your  very  learned  Book,^ 
Wlirrein — as  plain  as  man  can  speak, 
Whase  Englisli  is  half  modern  Greek — 
You  prove  that  wo  can  ne'er  intrench 
Our  happy  isles  against  the  French, 
Til!  Royalty  in  England's  made 
A  much  more  independent  trade  ; — 


1  Tho  question  whether  a  Veto  was  to  be  nllowed  to  the 
Crown  in  the  appointntcnl  of  Irish  Catholic  Bishops  was,  ot 
lhi^  lime,  verj-  gcnenilty  and  acUvcly  agitated. 

2  Tor  an  account  of  this  extrnorilinary  work  of  Mr.  Leckic, 
see  the  "  EJinburgh  Review,"  vol.  ix. 


In  short,  until  the  House  of  Guelph 
Lays  Lords  and  Commons  on  the  shelf, 
And  boldly  sets  up  for  itself 

All,  that  can  well  be  understood 
In  tiiis  said  Book,  is  vastly  good  : 
And,  as  to  wliat's  incomprehensible, 
I  daro  be  sworn  'tis  full  as  sensible. 

But,  to  your  work's  immortal  credit, 
The  Pr — n — e,  good  Sir,  the  Pr — n — e  has  read  it 
(The  only  Book,  himself  remarks, 
Which  he  has  read  since  Mrs.  Clarke's.) 
Last  levee-morn  he  look'd  it  through. 
During  that  awful  hour  or  two 
Of  grave  tonsorial  preparation. 
Which,  to  a  fond,  admiring  nation, 
Sends  forth,  announced  by  trump  and  drum, 
The  bcst-wijjg*d  Pr — n — e  in  Christendom. 

Ho  thinks  with  you,  th'  imagination 
Of  partnership  in  legislation 
Could  only  enter  in  the  noddles 
Of  dull  and  ledger-keeping  twaddles. 
Whose  heads  on  firms  are  running  so. 
They  ev-'n  must  have  a  King  and  Co., 
And  hence,  most  eloquently  show  forth 
On  checks  and  balances,  and  so  forth. 

But  now,  he  trusts,  we're  coming  near  a 
Far  more  royal,  loyal  era  ; 
When  England's  monarch  need  but  say, 
"  Whip  me  those  scoundrels,  C — stl — r — gh  !" 
Or,  "  Hang  me  up  those  Papists,  Eld — n," 
And  'twill  be  done — ay  faith,  and  well  done. 

Witli  view  to  which,  I've  his  command 
To  beg.  Sir,  from  your  travell'd  hand, 
(Rotmd  which  the  foreign  graces  swarm^) 
A  Plan  of  radical  Refonn ; 
Compiled  and  chosen  as  best  you  can. 
In  Turkey  or  at  Ispahan, 
And  quite  upturning,  brancli  and  root, 
Lords,  Commons,  and  Burdott  to  boot. 

But,  pray,  whale'er  you  may  impart,  write 
Somewhat  more  brief  than  Major  C — rtwr — ght : 

Else,  though  the  Pr e  be  long  in  rigging, 

'Twould  take,  at  least,  a  fortnight's  wigging, — 
Two  wigs  to  ever)'  paragi*aph — 
Before  ho  well  could  get  through  half. 


»"Tho  truth  indeed  secm<!  tn  Vf,  that  having  livfd  so 
lone  Hl)ro;id  as  evidently  to  have  insi.  iii  jt  prcat  desrer,  tho 
use  of  lii;  native  language,  Mr.  Leckie  has  grndiially  come 
not  rmly  to  speak,  but  to  fcfl.  like  a  foreigner."  Edinliargh, 
Rcpietr. 


il 


INTEKCEPTED  LETTERS. 


207 


You'll  send  it  also  speedily — 
As,  truth  to  BLiy,  'twixt  you  and  me, 
His  Highness,  heated  by  your  work, 
Already  thinks  himself  Grand  Turk  ! 
And  you'd  have  langh'd,  had  you  seen  how 
He  scared  the  Ch — nc — II — r  just  now, 
When  (on  his  Lordship's  entering  puff 'd)  he 
Slapp'd  his  back  and  call'd  him  '"  Mufti  T' 

The  tailors  too  have  got  commands, 
To  put  directly  into  iiands 
All  sorts  of  Dulimans  and  Pouches, 
With  Sashes,  Turbans,  and  Paboutches, 
(While  Y — rm — th's  sketcihng  out  a  plan 
Of  new  Moustaches  a  rOttomane,) 
And  all  things  fitting  and  expedient 
To  iurkify  our  gracious  R — g — nt ! 

You,  therefore,  have  no  time  to  waste — 
So,  send  your  System. — 

Yours,  in  haste. 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Before  I  send  this  scrawl  away, 

I  seize  a  moment,  just  to  say, 

There's  some  parts  of  the  Turkish  system 

So  vulgar,  'twere  as  well  you  miss'd  'em. 

For  instance — in  Seraglio  matters — 

Your  Turk,  whom  girlish  fondness  flatters, 

Would  fill  his  Haram  (tasteless  fool !) 

With  tittering,  red-cheek'd  things  from  school. 

But  here  (as  in  that  fairy  land, 

Where  Love  and  Ago  went  hand  in  hand  '^ 

Where  lips,  till  sixty,  shed  no  honey, 

And  Grandams  were  worth  any  money,) 

Our  Sultan  has  much  riper  notions — 

So,  let  your  list  of  s^3-promotions 

Include  those  only,  plump  and  sage, 

Who've  reacliM  the  regulation-age ; 

That  is,  (as  near  as  one  can  fix 

From  Peerage  dates,)  full  fifty-six. 

This  rule's  for  far" rites — nothing  more — 
For,  as  to  wives,  a  Grand  Signor, 
Though  not  decidedly  without  them, 
Need  never  care  one  curse  about  them. 


1  The  learned  Colonel  must  allude  here  to  a  description 
of  the  Mysterious  Isle,  in  the  History  of  Abdalla,  son  of 
Hanif,  where  such  inversions  of  the  order  of  nature  are  said 
to  have  taken  place. — "  A  score  of  old  women  and  the  same 
number  of  old  men  played  here  and  there  in  the  court,  some 
at  chuck-farthing,  others  at  tip-cat  or  at  cockles.** — And 


LETTER  in. 


We  miss'd  you  last  night  at  the  "  hoary  old  siimer's," 
Who  gave  us,  as  usual,  the  cream  of  good  dinners; 
His  soups  scientific — his  fishes  quite  prime — 
His  pates  superb — and  his  cutlets  sublime  ! 
In  short,  'twas  the  snug  sort  of  dinner  to  stir  a 
Stomachic  orgasm  iu  my  Lord  El — b — gli, 
Who  set  to,  to  be  sure,  with  miraculous  force, 
And  exclaim'd,  between  moulhfuls,  "  a  //e-Cook  of 

course  !^ 
"  While  you  live — (wnat's  there  unaer  that  cover? 

pray,  look) — 
"While  you  live — (I'll  just  taste  it)   ne'er  keep  a 

She-Cook. 
"  'Tis  a  sound   Salic   Law — (a  small   bit  of  that 

toast) — 
"  Which  ordains  that  a  female  shall  ne'er  rule  the 

roast; 
"  For  Cookery's   a    secret — (this    turtle's    uncom- 
mon "\ — 
"  Like  Masonr}'-,  never  found  out  by  a  woman  !" 

The  dinner,  you  know,  was  in  gay  celebration 

Of  int/  brilliant  triumph  and  H — nt's  condemna- 
tion ; 

A  compliment,  too,  to  his  Lordship  the  Judj^e 

For  his  Speech  to  the  Jury — and  zounds !  who 
would  grudge 

Turtle  soup,  though  it  came  to  five  guineas  a 
bowl, 

To  reward  such  a  loyal  and  complaisant  soul  ? 

We  were  all  m  high  gig — Roman  Punch  and  To- 
kay 

Travelled  round,  till  our  heads  travell'd  just  the 
same  way ; 

And  we  cared  not  for  Juries  or  Libels — no — 
damme !  nor 

Ev'n  for  the  threats  of  last  Sunday's  Examiner ! 

More    good    things   were    eaten   than   said — but 
Tom  T— rrh— t 
In  quoting  Joe  Miller,  you  know,  has  some  merit ; 
And,  hearing  the  sturdy  Justiciar)-  Cliief 
Say — ^sated  with  tiurtle — "  I'll  now  try  the  beef" — 


again,  "There  is  nothinc,  believe  me,  more  en^afiing  than 
those  lovely  wrinkles,"  &c.&c.— See  Talcs  of  t/ie  East.vol. 
iii.  pp.  607,  608. 

2  This  leuer,  as  the  reader  will  perceive,  was 
day  alter  a  dinner  given  by  the  M — rq — s  of  U — d—L 


-208 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Tommy  whisper'd  him  (giving  his  Lordsliip  a  sly 

hit) 
"  I  fear  'twill   be  /(ang--beef,  iny  Lord,  if  vou  try 

it  I" 

And  C — md — n  was  tlicrc,  wlio,  that  morning, 
\vm\  gone 

To  fit  his  new  Marquis's  coronet  on  ; 

And  the  dish  set  before  liim — oil  dish  well-de- 
vised ! — 

Was,  what  old  Mother  Glasse  calls,  "  a  calf 's  head 
surprised !" 

Tlio  brains  were  near  Sh — r}',  and  once  had  been 
fine. 

But,  of  late,  they  had  lain  so  long  soaking  in  wine, 

Tliat  though  we,  from  courtesy,  still  clioso  to  call 
I    These  brains  vcr)'  fine,  they  were  no  brains  at  all. 

I 

,       When  the  dinner  was  over,  we  drank  every  one 

'    In  a  bumper,  "  the  venial  delights  of  Crim.  Con. ;" 

-\t  which  H — df — t  with  warm  reminiscences 
gloated, 

.\nd  E — b'r — h  cliuckled  to  liear  himself  quoted. 

Our  ne.xt  roimd  of  toasts  was  a  fancy  quite  new. 
!    For  we  drank — and  you'll  own  'twas  benevolent 

too — 
J    To  these  well-meaning  husbands,   cits,  parsons,  or 
j  peers, 

I    Wlioni  we've,  any  time,  honor'd  by  courthig  their 

dears : 
■   This  museum  of  wittols  w"as  comical  rather ; 
I   Old  H — df — t   gave  M — ss — y,   and  I  gave  your 
I  f— th— r. 

I        In  short,    not    a   soul    till    this    morning   would 
budge — 

We  were  all  fim  and  frolic, — and  even  the  J e 

Laid  .aside,  for  the  time,  his  juridical  fashion. 
And  through  the  whole  night  wasn't  once  in  a  pas- 
sion ! 

I  write  this  in  bed,  while  my  whiskere  are  air- 
ing, 
And  M — c'  has  a  sly  dose  of  jalap  preparing 
For  poor  T — mmy  T — rr — t  at  breakfast  to  quaiT— 
As  I  feel  I  want  something  to  give  me  a  laugh, 
And  there's  nothing  so  good  as  old  T — mmy,  kept 

close 
To  his  Cornwall  accounts,  after  taking  a  dose. 

■  Colonel  M-M:ihoii. 

*  This  letter,  which  contnined  some  verj"  henvy  enclosures, 
seems  to  have  Wen  sent  to  [/inilon  by  n  private  hand,  nnd 
then  put  IntotheTwopennyPost-Oflice,  to suvo  trouble.  8ce 
the  AppendLx. 

•  In  sending  this  sheet  to  the  Press,  however,  I  learn  that 


LETTER  IV. 

FROM   THE    RIGHT    HON.   P TR CK    D GEN N   TO 

THE    RIGHT    HON.    SIR   J HN    N CH L. 

DuMiii.^ 
liAST  week,  dear  N — ch — 1,  making  merry 
At  dinner  with  our  Secretary, 
When  all  were  dnuik,  or  pretty  near, 
(The  time  for  doing  business  here,) 
Says  he  to  me,  "  Sweet  Bully  Bottom ! 
"  Tliese  Papist  dogs — hiccup — 'od  rot  'em  ! — 
"  Deserve  to  be  bespatter'd — hiccup — 
"  With  all  the  dirt  ev'ii  you  can  pick  up. 
"  But,  as  the  Pr — ce  (here's  to  him — fill — 
"  Hip,  hip,  hurra  1) — is  trying  still 
"  To  humbug  them  with  kind  profes.sions, 
*'  And,  as  you  deal  in  strong  e.\pres.^ions— 
"  '  Rogue' — '  traitor' — hiccup — and  all  tliat — 
"  You  must  be  muzzled.  Doctor  Pat  I — 
"  You  must  indeed — liiccup — that's  flat." 

Yes — "  muzzled"  was  the  word.  Sir  Jolin — 
Tliese  fools  have  clapp'd  a  muzzle  on 
The  boldest  mouth  that  e'er  ran  o'er 
With  slaver  of  the  times  of  yore  !' — ■ 
Was  It  for  tliis  that  back  I  went 
As  far  as  Lateran  and  Trent, 
To  prove  that  they,  who  damn'd  us  then, 
Ought  now,  in  turn,  be  damn'd  again? — 
The  silent  victim  still  to  sit 
Of  Gr^tt — n's  fire  and  C — nn — g's  wit. 
To  hear  ev'n  noisy  JI — th — w  gabble  on, 
Nor  mention  once  the  W — e  of  Babylon ! 
Oil !  'tis  too  much — who  now  will  be 
The  Nightman  of  No-Popery? 
What  Courtier,  Saint,  or  even  Bishop, 
Such  learned  filth  will  ever  fish  up? 
If  there  among  our  ranks  be  one 
To  take  my  place,  'tis  thou,  Sir  .Tohn ; 
Thou,  who,  like  me,  art  dubb'd  Right  Hon 
Like  me,  too,  art  a  Lawyer  Civil 
That  wishes  Papists  at  the  devil. 

To  whom  then  but  to  thee,  my  friend, 
Should  Patrick*  his  Port-folio  send? 
Take  it — 'tis  thine — his  leani'd  Port-folio, 
With  all  its  theologic  olio 
Of  Bulls,  half  Irish  and  half  Roman— 
Of  Doctrines,  now  believed  by  no  man — 

the  "  mnzzlc"  has  been  taken  off,  and  the  Right  Hon.  Doctor 
again  let  loose ! 

<  A  bad  name  for  poetry;  but  R — sen — n  is  still  worse. — 
As  FrudcQtiiis  says  upon  a  vt-ry  different  subject— 
Terquetur  Apulio 
Nomine  percussus. 


\l 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


209 


Of  Councils,  held  for  men's  salvation, 

Yet  always  ending  in  damnation — ■ 

(Which  shows  that,  since  the  world's  creation, 

Your  Priests,  whate'er  their  gentle  shamming, 

Have  always  had  a  taste  for  damning,) 

And  many  more  such  pious  scraps, 

To  prove  (what  we^ve  long  proved,  perhaps,) 

That,  mad  as  Christians  used  to  he 

About  the  Tliirteeuth  Century, 

There  still  are  Christians  to  bo  had 

In  this,  the  Nineteenth,  just  as  mad  ! 

Farewell — I  send  with  this,  dear  N — ch — I, 
A  rod  or  two  I've  had  in  pickle 
Wherewith  to  trim  old  Gr — tt — n's  jacket. — 
The  rest  shall  go  by  Monday's  packet. 

P.  D. 

Among  the  Enclosures  in  the  foregoing  Letter  was 
the  following  "  Unanswerable  Argument  against 
the  Papists." 

*  «  »  » 

We're  told  the  ancient  Roman  nation 
Made  use  of  spittle  in  lustration  ;' 
{Vide  Lactantium  ap.  GallsEuni" — 
i.  e,  you  need  not  read  but  see  *em  ;) 
Now,  Irish  Papists,  fact  surprising. 
Make  use  of  spittle  in  baptizing  ; 
Which  proves  them  all,  O'Finns,  O'Fagans, 
Connors,  and  Tooles,  all  downright  Pagans. 
This  fact's  enough  ; — let  no  one  tell  us 
To  free  such  sad,  salivous  fellows. — 
No,  no — tlio  man,  baptized  with  spittle, 
Hath  no  truth  in  him — not  a  tittle  ! 


LETTER  V. 

FROM    '<IE    COUNTESS   DOWAGER   OF   C — UK 
TO    LADY    . 


Mv  dear  Lady  ■ 


- !  I've  been  just  sending  out 


About  five  hundred  cards  for  a  snug  little  Rout — 
(By   the  by,  you've  seen  Rokeby? — this    moment 

got  mine — 
The  Mail-Coach  Edition' — prodigiously  fine  ;) 


■  LustraUbus  ante  salivis 

Fers.  s.at.  2. 


Expiat. 

3  I  have  taken  the  trouble  of  examining  the  Doctor's  ref- 
erence here,  and  find  him,  for  once,  correct.  The  following 
are  the  words  of  his  indignant  referee,  Gallcens  ; — "  Asserere 


But  I  can't  conceive  how,  in  this  very  cold  weather, 
I'm  ever  to  bring  my  five  hundred  togetlier ; 
As,  unless  the  thermometer's  near  boiling  heat. 
One  can  never  get  half  of  one's  Imndreds  to  meet. 
(Apropos — you'd   have   laugh'd   to   see   Townsend 

last  night. 
Escort  to  their  chairs,  with  his  staiF,  so  polite, 
The  "  three  maiden  Miseries,"  all  in  a  fright ; 
Poor  Townsend,  like  Mercury,  filling  two  posts. 
Supervisor  of  thieves,  and  chief-usher  o{  ghosts  .') 


But,  my  dear   Lady  ,  can't  you  hit  on 

some  notion, 
At  least  for  one  night  to  set  London  in  motion  ? — 
As  to  having  the  R — g — nt,  that  sliow  is  gone  by — 
Besides,  I've  remark'd  that  (between  y'ou  and  I) 
The  Marchesa  and  he,  inconvenient  in  more  ways. 
Have  taken  much  lately  to  whispering  in  doorways ; 
Wliich — consid'ring,  you  know,  dear,  the  size  of 

the  two- 
Makes   a  block   that   one's   company    cannot  get 

through ; 
And  a  house  such  as  rtiiue  is,  with  doorways  so 

small. 
Has  no  room  for  such  cumbersome  love-work  at 

all.— 
(Apropos,  though,  of  love-work — you've  heard  it, 

I  hope, 
That  Napoleon's  old  mother's  to  marry  the  Pope, — 
What  a  comical  pair !) — but,  to  stick  to  my  Rout, 
'Twill  be  hard  if  some  novelty  can't  be  struck  out. 
Is  there  no  Algerine,  no  Kamchatkan  arrived? 
No  Plenipo  Pacha,  thrco-tail'd  and  ten-wived  ? 
No  Russian,  whose  dissonant  consonant  name 
Almost  rattles  to  fragments  the  trumpet  of  fame  ? 

I  remember  the  time,  three  or  four  winters  back. 
When — provided    their    wigs    were    but    decently 

black — 
A  few  Patriot  monsters,  from  Spam,  were  a.  sight 
That  would  people  one's  house  for  one,  night  after 

night. 
But — whether    the     Ministers    paw'd    them     too 

much — 
(And  you  know  how  they  spoil  whatsoever  they 

touch) 
Or,  whether  Lord  G — rge  (the  young  man  about 

town) 
Has,  by  dint  of  bad  poetry,  written  them  down. 
One  has  certainly  lost  one's  peninsular  rage  ; 
jVnd  the  only  stray  Patriot  seen  for  an  age 

non  veremur  sacrum  baptismum  a  Papistis  profanari,  et  sputi 
usum  in  peccatorum  expiatione  a  Paganis  non  a  Christianis 
mandsse.^' 

»  See  Mr.  Murray's  Advertisement  about  Ihe  Mail-Coach 
copies  of  Rokeby. 


210 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Has  been  at  snch  places  (think,  how  the  fit  cools  I) 
As  old  Mrs.  V— gh— n's  or  Lord  Lr— v— rp— I's. 

But,  in  short,  my  dear,  names  like  Wintitschit- 
stopschinzoudhoff 
Are   the   only   things   now   make   an   ev'ning   go 

smootli  off: 
So,  get  mo  a  Russian — till  death  I'm  your  debtor — 
If  he  brings  tho  whole  Alphabet,  so  much  tlie  bet- 
ter. 
And — Lord  I  if  ho  would  but,  in  character,  sup 
Off  his  fish-oil  and  candles,  he'd  quite  set  mo  up  I 

Au  revoir,  my  sweet  girl — I  must  leave  you  in 
haste — 
Little  Gunter  has  brought  me  the  Liqueurs  to  taste. 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Bv  the  by,  have    you  found  any  frieud  that  can 

construe 
That  Latin  account,  t'other  day,  of  a  Monster?' 
If  we  can't  get  a  Russian,  and  that  thing  in  Latin 
De  D  -t  too  improper,  I  tliink  I'll  bring  that  in. 


LETTER  VI. 

FROM  ABDALLAU,'  IN  LO.VDON,  TO  MOUABSAN, 
IN  ISPAHAN. 

Whilst  thou,  Mohassan,  (happy  thou  !) 
Dost  daily  bend  thy  loyal  brow 
Before  our  King — our  Aiiia's  treasure  ! 
Nutmeg  of  Comfort ;  Rose  of  Pleasure  ! — 
And  bcar'st  as  many  kicks  and  bruises 
As  the  said  Rose  and  Nutmeg  chooses  ; 


»  AUtidinf,  I  suppose,  (o  the  Latin  Advertisement  of  a 
Lusua  Nuturir  in  the  Newspapers  lately. 

2  I  have  nindo  many  inquiries  about  this  Persian  pentle- 
man,  tiut  CHnnnt  salisfaclorily  nsccruiin  who  he  is.  From 
his  notions  of  Reiipious  Lilterty.  however,  I  conclude  that  he 
is  an  importation  of  Minisleri ;   and  he  has  arrived  just  in 

time  to  asslal  the  P e  and  Mr.  L — ck — e  in  ttieir  new 

Oriental  Plan  of  Refonn.— See  the  second  of  these  Letters. 
How  Atidaitah's  epistle  to  Ispahan  found  its  way  Into  the 
Twopenny  Post-Bag  is  more  than  1  can  pretend  to  account 
lor. 

*  "C'est  un  honn^lc  homme,"  said  a  Turkish  governor  of 
De  Ruyler;  "c'est  grand  dommapc  qu'il  soit  Chretien." 

*  Sunnites  and  Shiitfs  are  the  twt>  leading  scct^  into  wliich 
the  Mahnnietan  world  is  divided  ;  and  they  have  pnne  on 
cursing  and  persecutingcacholher.wilhoutany  intermission, 
for  about  eleven  hundred  years.  The  Sunni  Is  the  established 
K«t  in  Turkey,  and  the  Skia  in  Persia  ;  and  the  ditferonces 


Thy  head  still  near  the  bowstring's  borders, 
And  but  left  on  till  further  orders — 
Through  London  streets  with  turban  fair, 
And  caftan,  floating  to  the  air, 
I  saunter  on,  the  admiration 
Of  tliis  short-coated  population — 
This  sew'd  up  race — this  butlon'd  nation — 
Who,  while  they  boast  their  laws  so  free, 
Leave  not  one  limb  at  liberty, 
But  live,  with  all  their  lordly  speeches. 
The  slaves  of  buttons  and  tight  breeches. 
« 
Yet,  though  they  thus  their  knee-pans  fetter 
(They're  Christians,  and  they  know  no  better') 
In  some  tilings  they're  a  thinking  nation  ; 
And,  on  Religious  Toleration, 
I  own  I  Uke  tlieir  notions  quite, 
They  are  so  Persian  and  so  right '. 
You  know  our  Sunnites,' — hateful  dogs  . 
Whom  every  pious  Shiitc  flogs 
Or  longs  to  flog* — 'tis  true,  they  pray 
To  God,  but  in  an  ill-bred  way  ; 
With  neither  arras,  nor  legs,  nor  faces 
Stuck  in  their  right,  cqnonic  places." 
'Tis  true,  they  worship  All's  name"' — 
Their  Heav'n  and  ours  are  just  the  same — 
(A  Persian's  Heav'n  is  easily  made, 
'Tis  but  black  eyes  and  lemonade.) 
Yet,  though  we've  tried  for  centuries  back — 
We  can't  persuade  this  stubborn  pack. 
By  bastinadoes,  screws,  or  nippers. 
To  wear  th'  establish'd  pea-green  slippers.' 
Then,  only  thiids,  the  libertines  ! 
They  wash  their  toes — they  comb  their  chins,' 
With  many  more  such  deadly  sins  ; 
And  what's  the  worst,  (thougli  last  I  rank  it,) 
BeUeve  the  Chapter  of  the  Blanket ! 

Yet,  spite  of  tenets  so  flagitious, 
(Which  mtist,  at  bottom,  bo  seditious ; 


Iietween  them  mm  chiefly  upon  those  important  points, 
which  our  pious  friend  Abdallah,  in  the  true  spirit  of  Shiile 
Ascendency,  reprobates  in  this  Letter. 

^  "  Les  Sunnites.  qui  etoient  cumme  les  Calholiques  de 
Rlusulnmnisnie." — D'Ucrbdot. 

*  "  In  contradistinction  to  the  Sounis,  who  in  their  prayers 
cross  their  hands  on  the  lower  part  of  their  breast,  the  Schi- 
ahs  drop  their  arms  in  straight  lines  ;  and  as  the  Sounis,  at 
certain  periods  of  the  prayer,  press  their  foreheads  on  the 
ground  or  carpet,  the  Schiahs,"  &c.,  &.C. — Forster*^  Voyage. 

'  "  Les  Turcs  ne  detestenl  pas  Ali  reciproqueraent ;  au 
contraire,  ils  le  reconnoissent,"  &c..  &c. — Chardi%. 

*"The  Shiiles  wear  green  slippers,  which  the  Sunnites 
consider  as  a  great  abomination."^.fl/ariti. 

*  For  these  points  of  dilTerence,  as  well  as  for  the  Chapter 
of  the  Blanket,  I  must  refer  the  reader  (not  liaving  the  book 
by  me)  to  Ficart's  Account  of  the  Mahometan  Sects. 


I 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


211 


Since  no  man  living  would  refuse 

Green  slippers,  but  from  treasonous  views ; 

Nor  wash  liis  toes,  but  with  intent 

To  overturn  the  government,) — 

Sucli  is  our  mild  and  tolerant  way, 

We  only  curse  them  twice  a  day 

(According  to  a  Fonn  that's  set,) 

And,  far  from  torturing,  only  let 

All  orthodox  believers  beat  'em. 

And  twitch  their  beards,  where'er  they  meet  'em. 

As  to  the  rest,  they're  free  to  do 
Whate'cr  their  fancy  prompts  them  to. 
Provided  they  make  nothing  of  it 
Tow'rds  rank  or  honor,  power  or  profit ; 
Which  things,  we  nat'rally  expect, 
Belongs  to  us,  the  Establish'd  sect. 
Who  disbelieve  (the  Lord  be  thanked !) 
Th'  aforesaid  Chapter  of  the  Blanket. 
The  same  mild  views  of  Toleration 
Inspire,  I  tind,  this  button'd  nation. 
Whose  Papists  (full  as  given  to  rogue, 
And  only  Sunnites  with  a  brogue) 
Fare  just  as  %vell,  with  all  their  fuss, 
As  rascal  Sunnites  do  with  us. 

The  tender  Gazel  I  enclose 
Is  for  my  love,  my  Syrian  Rose — 
Take  it  when  night  beguis  to  fall, 
And  throw  it  o'er  her  mother's  walL 

GAZEL. 

Rememberest  thou  the  hour  we  pass'd,^ 
That  hour  the  happiest  and  the  last? 
Oh  !  not  so  sweet  the  Siha  thorn 
To  summer  bees,  at  break  of  mom. 
Not  half  so  sweet,  through  dale  and  dell, 
To  Camels'  ears  the  tinkling  bell. 
As  is  the  soothing  memory 
Of  tliat  one  precious  hour  to  me. 

How  can  we  live,  so  far  apart? 
Oh !  why  not  rather,  heart  to  heart. 

United  live  and  die — 
Like  those  sweet  birds,  that  fly  together, 
With  feather  always  touching  feather, 

Link'd  by  a  hook  and  eye  I' 


1  This  will  appear  strange  to  an  English  reader,  bnt  it  is 
literally  translated  from  Abdailah's  Persian,  and  the  cnrious 
bird  to  which  he  alludes  is  the  Juftak,  of  which  I  find  the 
fullowing  account  in  Richardson  :— "  A  sort  of  bird,  that  is 
said  to  have  but  one  wing ;  on  the  opposite  side  to  which 
the  male  has  a  hnok  and  the  female  a  ring,  so  that,  when 
they  fly,  they  are  fastened  together." 

»  rrom  motives  of  delicacy,  and,  indeed,  of  fdhw-feelingt 


LETTER  VIL 

FROM    MESSRS.    L CK GT N    A.ND    CO.   TO 

,  ESQ.^ 

Per  Post,  Sir,  we  send  your  MS. — look'd  it  thro' — 
Very  sorry — but  can't  undertake — 'twouldn't  do. 
Clever   work.   Sir  I  —  woidd    get   up  prodigiously 

well — 
Its  only  defect  is — it  never  woijd  sell. 
And  though   Statesmen  may  glory  in   being   un- 

bought, 
In  an  Author  'tis  not  so  desirable  thought. 

Hard  times.  Sir, — most  books  are  too  dear  to  be 
read — 

Though  the  gold  of  Good-sense  and  Wit's  small- 
change  are  &ed. 

Yet  the  paper  we  Publishers  pass,  in  their  stead. 

Rises  higher  each  day,  and  ('tis  frightful  to  thiuA. 
it) 

Not  even  such  names  as  F — tzg — r — d's  can  sink 
it! 

However,  Sir — if  you're  for  trying  again. 
And  at  somewhat   that's   vendible  —  we   are  your 
men. 

Since   the   Chevalier   C — rr'    took   to   marrying 
f  lately. 

The  Trade  is  in  want  of  a  Traveller  greatly — 
No    job.   Sir,    more    easy  —  your   Country   once 

plann'd, 
A  month  aboard  ship  and  a  fortnight  on  laud 
Puts  your  Quarto  of  Travels,  Sir,  clean  out  of  hand. 

An   East-India  pamphlet's    a   thing    that  would 

tell— 
And  a  lick  at  the  Papists  is  sure  to  sell  well. 
Or — supposing  you've  nothing  original  in  you — 
Write  Parodies,  Sir,  and  such  fame  it  will  win  you, 
You'll  get  to  the  Blue-stocking  Routs  of  Albiuia !' 
(Mind — not  to  her  dinners — a  second-hand  Muse 
Mustn't  think  of  aspiring  to  mess  with  the  Blues.) 
Or — in  case  nothing  else  in  this  world   you   can 

do— 
The  deuce  is  in't,  Sir,  if  you  cannot  rcvieic  ! 


I  suppress  the  name  of  the  Anthor  whose  rejected  manu- 
script was  enclosed  in  this  letter.— See  the  Appendix. 

3  Sir  John  Carr,  the  author  of  ■'  Toms  in  Ireland,  Holland, 
Sweden,"  &c.  &c. 

<  This  alluiles,  I  believe,  to  a  curious  corre<!pondcnce 
which  is  said  to  have  pa.ssed  lately  between  Alb — n — a, 
Countess  of  B — ck — gh — nis — e,  and  a  certain  ingenious 
Parodist 


212 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Should  you  feci  auy  touch  of  poetical  glow, 
We've  a  Srlioine  to  suggest — Mr.  Sc — tt,  you  must 

kuoiv, 
(Who,   we're  sorry   to  say   it,   now  worto  for   the 

Ruir,') 
Havhig  quitted  the  Borders,  to  seek  new  renown, 
Is  corning,  by  long  Quurto  stages,  to  Town  ; 
And  Iwginning  with  Rokeby  (tho  job's  sure  to  pay) 
Means  to  do  all  the  Gentlemen's  Seats  on  the  way. 
Now,  the  Scheme  is  (though  none  of  our  hackneys 

can  beat  him) 
To  start  a  fresh  Poet  through  Ilighgate  to  meet  him  ; 
Who,  by  means  of  quick  proofs — no  revises — long 

coaches — 
May  do  a  few  Villas,  before  Sc — tt  approaches. 
Indeed,  if  our  Pegasus  be  not  curst  shabby, 
He'll   reach,  without  found'ring,  at  least  ">Vobum- 

Abbey. 
Such,  Sir,  is  our  plan — if  you're  np  to  the  freak, 
"Pis  a  malcli !  aud  we'll  put  you  in  training  ne.\t 

week. 
At  present,  no  more — in  reply  to  this  Letter,  a 
Line  will  oblige  very  much 

Yours,  et  cetera. 

Temple  of  the  .Muses. 


LETTER  VIII. 

fhom  colonel  th — m — 3  to 

sk ff not n,  esq. 

CoMK  to  our  Ffite,"  and  bring  with  thee 
Thy  newest,  best  embroidery. 
Come  to  our  Fete,  aud  show  again 
That  pea-green  coat,  thou  pink  of  men, 
Which  chann'd  all  eyes  *.hat  last  survey 'd  it ; 
When  Br — mm — I's  self  inquired  "  who  made  it  ?" — 
When  Cits  came  wond'ring,  from  the  East, 
.'Vnd  thought  thee  Poet  Pye  at  least .' 

Oh  !  come,  (if  haply  'lis  thy  week 
For  looking  pale,)  with  paly  clicek  : 

'  Paternoster  Row. 

2  This  letter  enclosed  a  Card  for  the  Grand  Ffttc  on  the 
5lh  of  Febru.iry. 

3  An  amateur  actor  or  mucti  risible  renown. 
*         Qnem  tn,  Melpomene,  senicl 

Nascenlem  ptaeido  lumine.  vidrris,  &c.        Hor.\t 
The  Man,  u\wn  whom  thou  h-'ist  deicn'd  to  look  funny, 

Oh  Trnacdy's  Muse  I  at  the  hour  of  his  birth — 
Let  thcni  say  what  they  will,  that's  the  Man  fi>r  my  money, 
Give  others  thy  tears,  but  let  me  have  thy  mirth  I 
6  The  crest  of  Mr.  C— tes,  the  %-ery  amiLsing  amateur  tra- 


Though  more  we  love  thy  roseate  days, 
When  the  rich  rouge-pot  pours  its  blaze 
Full  o'er  thy  face,  aud,  amply  spread, 
Tips  even  thy  whisker-tops  with  red — 
Like  the  last  tiuts  of  dying  Day 
That  o'er  some  darkling  grove  delay. 

Bring  thy  best  lace,  thou  gay  Philander 
(That  lace,  like  H — rry  Al — x — nd — r, 
Too  precious  to  be  wash'd,) — thy  rmgs, 
Thy  seals — in  short,  thy  prettiest  things ! 
Put  all  thy  wardrobe's  glories  on, 
Aiid  yield  in  frogs  and  fringe,  to  none 
But  the  great  R — g — t's  self  alone  ; 
Who — by  particular  desire — 
Fur  that  night  only,  means  to  hire 
A  dress  from  Romeo  C — tes,  Esquire.' 
Hail,  first  of  Actors )'  best  of  R— g— ts  ! 
Bom  for  each  other's  fond  allegiance  ! 
Both  gay  Lotharios — both  good  dreeaeis — 
Of  serious  Farce  both  learu'd  Professors — 
Both  circled  round,  for  use  or  show, 
With  cock's  combs,  whei^^oe'er  they  go  1' 

Thou  know'st  tho  time,  thou  man  ttf  lore  I 
It  takes  to  chalk  a  ball-room  floor — 
Thou  know'st  the  time,  too,  well-a-day  1 
It  takes  to  dance  that  chalk  away." 
The  Ball-room  opens — far  and  nigh 
Comets  and  suns  beneath  us  lie  ; 
O'er  snow-white  moons  and  stars  we  walk, 
And  the  floor  seems  one  sky  of  chalk ! 
But  soon  shall  fade  that  bright  deceit. 
When  many  a  maid,  with  busy  feet 
That  sparkle  in  the  lustre's  ray, 
O'er  the  white  path  shall  bound  and  play 
Like  Nymphs  along  tho  Milky  Way : — 
With  every  step  a  star  hatli  fled. 
And  suns  grow  dim  beneath  their  tread  ! 
So  passetli  life — (thus  Sc — tt  would  write. 
And  spinsters  read  him  with  delight,) — 
Hours  are  not  feet,  yet  hours  trip  on, 
Time  is  not  chalk,  yet  time's  soon  gone  V 

But,  hang  this  long  digiessive  flight  I — 
I  meant  to  say,  thou'lt  see,  that  night, 

gedlan  here  alluded  to,  was  a  cock ;  and  most  profusely  were 
his  liveries,  harness,  &c.  covered  with  this  a-nament. 

«  To  those,  who  ueither  go  to  balls  nor  read  the  Morning 
Post,  it  may  be  necessary  to  mention,  that  the  floors  of  Ball- 
rooms, in  general,  arc  ch;ilked,  for  safety  and  for  ornament, 
with  various  fanciful  devices, 

'  Hearts  are  not  (lint,  yet  flints  are  rent. 

Hearts  are  not  steel,  yet  steel  is  bent. 
After  all,  however,  Mr.  Sc— tt  may  well  say  to  the  Colonel 
(and,  indeed,  to  much  better  waga  than  the  Colonel,}  ^aov 
liwuunQat  ri  fii/ieioOai. 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


213 


AVhat  falscliood  rankles  in  their  liearts. 

Who  say  the  Pr -e  neg;lects  the  arts — 

Nei;lP<!t.s  tlie  arts  ? — no,  Str — hi — g,'  no ; 
27ij  Cupids  answer  "  'tis  not  so ;" 
And  every  floor,  that  night,  shall  tell 
How  quick  thou  daubest,  and  how  well. 
Shine  as  thou  may'st  in  French  vermilion, 
Thou'rt  bestf  beneath  a  French  cotillion ; 
And  still  coni'st  off,  whate'er  thy  faults, 
With  flying  colors  in  a  Waltz. 
Nor  need'st  thoti  mourn  the  transient  date 
To  tiiy  best  works  assign'd  by  fate. 
While  suine  chef-d'a;Hvres  live  to  weary  one, 
Thine  boast  a  short  life  and  a  rnerry  one ; 
Their  hour  of  glory  past  and  gone 
With  '•  Molly  put  the  kettle  on  '.'" 

But.,  bless  my  soul '.  Vve  scarce  a  leaf 
Of  paper  left — so,  must  be  brief. 

This  festive  Fete,  in  fact,  w'JI  be 

The  former  FHe's  fac-shiiile  ^ 

The  same  long  Masquerade  of  Rooms, 

All  trick'd  up  in  such  odd  costumes, 

(These,  P — rt — r,*  arc  thy  glorious  works !) 

You'd  swear  Egyptians,  Moors,  and  Turks, 

Bearing  Good-Taste  some  deadly  malice. 

Had  clubb'd  to  raise  a  Pic-Nic  Palace ; 

And  each  to  make  the  olio  pleasant 

Had  sent  a  State-Room  as  a  present 

The  same/a«(E«;7s  and  girandoles — 

The  same  gold  Asses,'  pretty  souls ! 

That,  iu  this  rich  and  classic  dome. 

Appear  so  perfectly  at  home. 

The  same  bright  river  'mong  the  dishes, 

But  not — ah  1  not  the  same  dear  fishes — 

Late  hours  and  claret  kiU'd  the  old  ones — 

So  'stead  of  silver  and  of  gold  ones, 

(It  being  rather  hard  to  raise 

Fish  of  that  specie  now-a-days,) 

Some  sprats  have  been  by  Y — rm — th's  wish. 

Promoted  into  Silver  Fish, 

And  Gudgeons  (so  V — ns — tt — t  told 

The  R — g — t)  are  as  good  as  Gold ! 

So,  prithee,  come — our  F6te  will  be 
But  half  a  Fete  if  wanting  thee. 


1  A  foreign  artist  much  patronized  by  the  Prince  Uegent. 

2  The  name  of  a  popular  country-dance. 

a  "C — lit — n  H e  will  exhibit  a  complete /tic-simi/f,  in 

respect  to  interior  ornament,  to  what  it  did  at  the  la-st  F6te. 
The  same  splendid  draperies,"  &c.  b-C— Morning  Past. 

*  Mr.  Walsh  Porter,  to  whose  taste  was  \e(t  the  furnishing 
of  the  rooms  of  Carlton  House. 


APPENDIX. 


LETTER  IV.    PAGE  208. 

Among  the  papers  enclosed  in  Pr.  D — g — n — n's 
T^etter,  was  found  ati  Heroic  Epistle  in  Latin  verse, 
from  Popo  Joan  to  her  Lover,  of  which,  as  it  is 
rather  a  curious  document,  I  shall  ventiu-e  to  give 
some  account.  This  female  Pontiff  was  a  native  of 
England,  (or,  according  to  others,  of  Germany,)  who, 
at  an  ccjiy  age,  disguised  herself  in  male  allire.  atid 
followed  her  lover,  a  J  mn;^  ecclesiastic,  to  Athens, 
where  she  studied  with  siich  effect,  thai  tipon  her 
arrival  at  Rome  she  was  thought  worthy  »f  being 
raised  to  the  Pontificate.  This  Epistle  is  addressed 
to  her  Lover  (whom  she  had  elevated  to  the  dignity 
of  Cardinal)  soon  after  the  fatal  accouchement,  by 
which  her  Fallibility  was  betrayed. 

She  begiiA  ly  reminding  him  tenderly  of  the  time, 
when  they  were  together  at  Athens — when,  as  she 
says, 

"  by  Ilissns'  stream 

"  We  whisp'ring  walk'd  along,  and  leam'd  to  speak 
"  The  tenderest  feelings  in  the  purest  Greek  ; — 
"  Ah,  then  how  little  did  we  think  or  hope, 
"  Dearest  of  men,  that  I  should  e'er  be  Pope  '.' 
"  That  I,  the  humble  Joan,  whose  housewife  art 
"  Seem'd  just  enough  to  keep  thy  house  and  heart, 
"  (And  those,  alas,  at  sixes  and  at  sevens,) 
"  Should  soon  keep  all  the  keys  of  all  the  heavens  !" 

Still  less  (she  continues  to  say)  could  they  have 
foreseen,  that  such  a  cata.strophe  as  had  happened 
in  Council  would  befall  them — that  she 

"  Should   thus   siuprise   the   Conclave's  grave   de- 
corum, 
*'  And  let  a  little  Pope  pop  out  before  'em — 
"  Pope  Innocent  !  alas,  the  otdy  one 
'*  Thai:  name  could  e'er  be  justly  fi.\'d  upon." 

She  then  very  pathetically  laments  the  downfall  of 
her  greatness,  and  enumerates  the  various  treasures 
to  which  she  is  doomed  to  bid  farewell  forever ; — 


-e's  own  table  were  in  the 


6  The  salt-cellars  on  the  Pr— 
form  of  an  Ass  with  panniers. 

6  Spanheiio  attributes  the  nnanimity,  with  which  Joan 
was  elected,  to  that  innate  and  irresistible  charm  by  which 
her  sex,  though  latent,  operated  upon  the  instinct  of  the 
Cardinals.—"  Non  vi  aliqu&,  sed  concorditer,  omnium  in  se 
converse  desiderio.  qua;  sunt  blandientis  seius  arlcs,  laten 
tes  in  h&c  qaanquam  !" 


214 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  But  oil,  nioro  dear,  more  precious  ten  times  over — 
"  Farewell  my  Lord,  luy  Cardinal,  my  Lover ! 
"  I  made  tkte  Cardinal — tliou  mad'st  me — ah! 
'•  Tnim  mad'st  Die  rai)a  of  tlic  world  Mamma  !" 

I  have  not  time  at  present  to  translate  any  more 
of  this  Epistle  ;  hut  I  presume  the  argmneut  which 
the  Kight  Hon.  Doctor  aiul  his  friends  mean  to  de- 
duce from  it,  is  (in  their  u.sual  convincing  strain) 
that  Romanists  must  be  unworthy  of  Emancipation 
now,  became  they  had  a.  Petticoat  Pope  in  the 
Ninth  Century.  Nothing  can  bo  more  logically 
clear,  and  I  find  that  Horace  had  e.\actly  the  same 
views  upon  the  subject. 

Hvmanvs  (ehen  posleri  negabiUs!) 
Emaneipaltts  Fa:MIN£ 

Fert  vallum ! 


LETTER  VII.    PAGE  911. 

Thk  Mamiscript  found  enclosed  in  the  Booksel- 
ler's Letter,  turns  out  to  be  a  Melo-Drama,  in  two 
Acts,  entitled  •'  The  Book,'"'  of  which  the  Theatres, 
of  course,  had  had  the  refusal,  before  it  was  presented 
to  Messrs.  L — ck — ngt — n  and  Co.  This  rejected 
Drama,  however,  possesses  considerable  merit,  and 
I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  laying  a  sketch  of  it  before 
my  Readers. 

The  firBt  Act  opens  in  a  very  awful  manner — 
Titnr,  three  o'clock  in  the  morning — Scene,  the 
Bourbon  Chamber'  in  C — rlt — n  House — Enter  the 
P  e  R — g — t  solus — After  a  few  broken  sen- 
tences, he  thus  exclaims : — 

Away — Away — 
Thou  haunt'st  my  fancy  so,  thou  devilish  Book, 
I  meet  thee — trace  tiiee,  wheresoe'er  I  look. 
I  Bee  thy  danuied  ink  in  Eld — n's  brows — 

I  860  Ihy  fonlsrap  on  my  II — rif — d's  Spouse 

V — ns — tt — t's  head  recalls  thy  leathern  case. 
And  all  thy  btnck-Uaves  stare  from  R — d — r's  face ! 

'  Thrro  WM,  in  like  manner,  a  niyslcrious  Book,  in  the 
IClh  Ccnturj'.  whicll  eniployi<l  nil  Iho  aniious  curiosity  of 
the  Learned  of  that  time.  Kvery  one  spolte  of  it ;  many 
wmle  against  it ;  thnui:h  it  does  not  appear  tlmt  anyliody 
had  ever  seen  it ;  and  Carotins  is  of  opinion  tliat  no  such 
Boolt  ever  cxislt^d.  It  was  cnlitied  "  LiIkt  de  irilius  iingras- 
torilius."  (See  Morhol".  Cap.  de  Libris  dr\ninatis.)— Our 
more  nimlcrn  mystery  of  "  tlie  B,Ki]t"  rcscmbica  this  in  many 
particulars  ;  and,  if  the  number  of  Lawyers  employed  in 
drawini!  it  up  be  staled  correctly,  n  slight  nlteralion  of  the 


While  turning  here,  (laying  his  hand  on  his  heart,) 

I  find,  ah  wretc!;ed  elf, 
Thy  List  of  dire  Errata  in  myself. 

{Walks  the  stage  in  considcrahle  agitation.) 
Oh  Roman  Punch !  oli  potent  Cnrayoa ! 
Oh  Marcschino !  Mareschino  oh  ! 
Delicious  drams !  why  have  you  not  the  art 
To  kill  this  gnawing  Book-wurm  in  my  heart  1 

He  is  here  interrupted  in  his  Soliloquy  by  perceiv- 
ing on  the  ground  some  scribbled  fragments  of  paper, 
which  he  instantly  collects,  and  "  by  tlie  light  of 
two  magnificent  candelabras"  discovers  the  follow- 
ing uncoimccted  words,  "  Wife  neglected'* — ''  the 
Book" — "  Wrong  Measures" — "  the  Queen" — "  Mr 
Lambert" — "  the  R — g — t." 

Ha !    treason    in    my    house  I — Curst    words,    that 

wither 
My  princely  soul,   (shaking  the  papers  violently,) 

what  Demon  brought  you  hither? 
"My  Wife;" — "the    Book"  too! — slay — a    nearer 

look — 
(holding  the  fragments  closer  to  the  Candelabras) 
Alas !  too  plain,  B,  double  O,  K,  Book — 
Death  and  destniction ! 

He  here  rings  all  the  bells,  and  a  whole  legion  of 
valets  enter.  A  scene  of  cursing  and  swearing 
(very  much  in  the  German  style)  ensues,  in  the 
course  of  which  messengers  are  dispatched  in  differ- 
ent directions,  for  the  L — rd  Ch — nc — II — r,  the 
D — 6  of  C. — b — 1 — d,  &c.  &e.  The  intermediate 
time  is  filled  up  by  anotlier  Soliloquy,  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  which  the  aforesaid  Personages  rush  on 
alarmed  ;  the  D — ke  with  his  stays  only  half-laced, 
and  the  Ch — nc — II — r  with  his  wig  thrown  hastily 
over  an  old  red  night-cap,  "  to  maintain  the  becom- 
ing splendor  of  his  ofTice."^  The  R — g — t  produces 
the  appalling  fragments,  upon  which  the  Ch — nc — I- 
1 — r  breaks  out  into  exclamations  of  loyalty  and 
tenderness,  and  relates  the  following  portentous 
dream : 

'Tis  scarcely  two  hours  since 

I  had  a  fearful  dream  of  thee,  my  P e  ! — 

Methought  I  heard  thee,  midst  a  courtly  crowd. 
Say  from  thy  throne  of  gold,  in  mandate  loud, 

title  into  "  d  tribus  iinpostoribus"  would  produce  a  coinci- 
dence altogether  very  remarkable. 

3  The  same  Chamber,  doublless,  that  was  prepared  for  the 
reception  of  the  Bourbons  at  the  lirsl  Grand  F&te,  and  which 
was  ornamented  (all  "  for  the  Deliverance  of  Europe")  with 
fieura-tic-ttfS. 

^  "To  enable  the  individual,  who  holds  the  office  of  Chan 
cellor,  to  maintain  it  in  becoming  splendor."  (^^  Ipiid  lauf^.i.) 
— Lord  Castlereagh's  Speech  vpon  tht  Virc-Ckancdle^t 
Bill. 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


215 


"  Worship  my  whiskers !" — {weeps)  not  a  kneo  was 

there 
But  bent  and  worshipp'd  the  Illustrious  Pair, 
Whicli  curl'd  in  conscious  majesty  !  (jmlls  out  his 

handkerchief) — wliile  cries 
Of     "  Wliiskers,    whiskers !"    shook    the    echoing 

skies. — 
Just  in  tliat  glorious  hour,  methought,  there  came, 
With  looks  of  injured  Pride,  a  Princely  Dame, 
And  a  yoiuig  maiden,  clinging  by  lier  side. 
As  if  she  fear'd  some  tyrant  would  divide 
Two  hearts  that  natiu-e  and  affection  tied ! 
The  Matron  came — within  her  right  hand  glow'd 
A  radiant  torch  ;  while  from  her  left  a  load 
Of  Papers  hung — (icipcs  his  eyes)  collected  in  her 

veil — . 
The  venal  evidence,  the  slanderous  tale. 
The  wounding  hint,  the  current  lies  that  pass 
From  Post  to  Courier,  form'd  tlie  motley  mass  ; 
Which,  with  disdain,  before  the  Throne  she  throws. 
And  lights  the  Pile  beneath  thy  princely  nose. 

(Weeps.) 
Heav'ns,  how  it  blazed ! — I'd  ask  no  livelier  fire 
(With  auimalion)   To  roast  a  Papist  by,  my  gra- 
cious Sire  ! — 
But,  ah !  the  Evidence — {iceeps  again)  I  moum'd 

to  see — 
Cast,  as  it  bum'd,  a  deadly  light  on  thee  : 
And  Tales  and  Hints  their  random  sparkle  flung. 
And    hiss'd     and     crackled,    like    an    old    maid's 

tongue ; 
While  Post  and  Courier,  faithful  to  their  fame. 
Made  up  in  stink  for  what  they  lack'd  in  flame. 
When,  lo,  ye  Gods  !  the  fire  ascending  brisker, 
Now  singes  one,  now  lights  the  other  whisker. 
Ah !  where  was  then  the  Sylphid,  that  unfurls 
Her  fairy  standard  in  defence  of  curls  ? 
Throne,  Whiskers,  Wig,  soon  vanish'd  into  smoke. 
The  watchman  cried  "  Past  One,"  and — I  awoke. 

Here  his  Lordship  weeps  more  profusely  than 
ever,  and  the  R — g — ;  (who  has  been  very  much 
agitated  during  the  recital  of  the  Dream)  by  a 
movement  as  characteristic  as  that  of  Charles  XII. 
when  he  was  shot,  claps  his  hands  to  his  whiskers 
to  feel  if  all  be  really  safe.  A  Privy  Council  is 
held — all  the  Servants,  &c.,  are  examined,  and  it 
appears  that  a  Tailor,  who  had  come  to  measure 
the  R — g — t  for  a  Dre&s,  (which  takes  three  whole 
pages  of  the  best  superfine  clinquant  in  describing,) 
was  the  only  person  who  had  been  in  the  Bourbon 
Chamber  during  the  day.  It  is,  accordingly, 
determined  to  seize  the  Tailor,  and  the  Council 
breaks  up  with  a  unanimous  resolution  to  be  vig- 
orous. 

The   commencement  of  the   Second  Act   turns 


chiefly  upon  the  Tria,  and  Imprisonment  of  two 
Brothers' — but  as  this  forms  the  under  plot  of 
the  Drama,  I  shall  content  myself  with  extracting 
from  it  the  following  speech,  which  is  addressed 
to  the  two  Brothers,  as  they  *'  e.xeuut  severally" 
to  Prison : — 

Go  to  your  prisons — though  the  air  of  Spring 

No  mountain  coolness  to  your  clieeks  shall  bring  ; 

Though  Summer  ilowers  shall  pass  unseen  away, 

And  all  your  portion  of  the  glorious  day 

May  be  some  solitary  beon  that  falls. 

At  morn  or  eve,  upon  your  dreary  walls — 

Some  beam  that  cntcre,  trembling  as  if  awed, 

To  tell  how  goy  the  young  world  laughs  abroad! 

Yet  go — for  thoughts  as  blessed  as  the  air 

Of  Spring  or  Summer  flowers  await  you  there  ; 

Thoughts,  sue  h  as  Ho,  who  feasts  his  courtly  crew 

In  rich  conservatories,  never  knew  ; 

Pure  self-esteem — the  smiles  that  light  within — 

The  Zeal,  whose  circling  charities  begin 

With  the  few  loved  ones  Heaven  has  placed  it  near, 

And  spread,  till  all  Mankind  are  in  its  sphere  ; 

The  Pride,  that  suft'crs  without  vaunt  or  plea, 

And  the  fresh  Spirit,  that  can  warble  firee, 

Through  prison-bars,  its  hymn  to  Liberty ! 

The  Scene  ne.xt  changes  to  a  Tailor's  Workshop, 
and  a  fancifully-arranged  group  of  these  Artists  is 
discovered  upon  the  Shopboard — Tlieir  task  evi- 
dently of  a  royal  natme,  from  the  profusion  of  gold- 
lace,  frogs,  &c.,  that  he  about — They  all  rise  and 
come  forward,  while  one  of  them  sings  the  following 
Stanzas  to  the  tune  of  "  Deny  Down." 

My  brave  brother  Tailors,  come,  straighten  your 

knees. 
For  a  moment,  like  gentlemen,  stand  up  at  ease, 
While  I  smg  of  our  P e,  (and  a  fig  for  his  rail- 

ers,) 
The  Shopboard's  delight !  the  Mfficenas  of  Tailors ! 
Deny  down,  down,  down  deny  down. 

Some  monarchs  take  roundabout  ways  into  note, 
While    His   short  cut    to   fame  is — the  cut   of  his 

coat; 
Philip's  Son  thought  the  World  was  too  small  for  his 

Soul, 
But  our  R — g— t's  finds  room  in  a  laced  button-hole. 
Derry  down,  &.c. 

Look  through   all  Europe's  Kings — those,  at  least, 

who  go  loose — 
Not  a  King  of  them  all's  such  a  friend  to  the  Goose, 

'  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  and  his  brother 


216 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


So,  God  kcop  liim  increasing  in  size  and  renown, 

Still  tlio  fiiltost  and  best  fitted  P o  about  town  ! 

Derry  down,  &c. 

During  the  "  Derry  down"  of  this  last  verso,  a 

messenger  from  the  S — c — t — y  of  S e's  Office 

rushes  on,  and  tlie  singer  (who,  luckily  for  the 
eflt'ct  of  the  scene,  is  the  very  Tailor  suspected  of 
tlio  mysterious  fragments)  is  interrupted  in  the 
midst  of  his  laudatory  exertions,  aud  hurried  away, 
to  the  no  small  surprise  and  consternation  of  his 
comrades.  The  Plot  now  hastens  rapidly  in  its 
development — the  management  of  the  Tailor's 
examination  is  highly  skilful,  and  the  alarm,  which 
he  is  made  to  betray,  is  natural  without  being 
ludicrous.  The  explanation,  too,  which  he  finally 
gives  is  not  more  simple  than  satisfactory.  It 
appears  that  the  said  fragments  formed  part  of  a 
self-exculpatory    note,    which    he   had  intended    to 

send  to  Colonel   M'M n  upon  subjects   purely 

proi'essional,   and    the    corresponding    bits    (which 


still  lie  luckily  in  his  pocket)  being  produced,  and 

skilfully  laid  beside  the  others,  the  following 
billet-doux  is  the  satisfactory  result  of  th^ir  juxta- 
position. 

Honored  Colonel — ^my  Wife,  who's  the  Queen  of 
all  slatterns. 

Neglected  to  put  up  the  Book  of  new  Patterns. 

She  sent  the  wrong  Measures  too — shamefully 
wrong — 

They're  the  same  used  for  poor  Mr.  Lambert,  when 
young ; 

But,  bless  you !  they  wouldn't  go  half  round  the 
R-g-t- 

So,  hope  you'll  excuse  yours  till  death,  most  obe- 
dient. 

This  fully  explains  the  whole  mystery — the 
R — g — t  resumes  his  wonted  smiles,  and  the  Drama 
terminates  as  usual,  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  par- 
tie& 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


IXOAAZONTOE  ASXOAIA. 


THE  INSURRECTION  OF  THE  PAPERS. 


"ll  would  be  impossible  for  his  Royal  Highness  to  disen- 
pnge  his  person  from  the  accumulating  pile  of  papers  that 
cnronipassol  it."— Lord  Castlereaoh's  Speech  vpon  Col- 
onel M'Maflon^s  .Appointment,  Jlpril  14,  1812. 

Last  night  I  toss'd  and  tum'd  in  bed. 
But  could  not  sleep — at  length  I  said, 
"  I'll  think  of  Viscount  C— stl— r — gh, 
"  And  of  his  speeches — -that's  the  way." 
And  so  it  was,  for  instantly 
I  slept  as  sound  as  sound  could  be. 
And  then  I  dream'd — so  dread  a  dream ! 
Fuseli  has  no  such  theme  ; 
Lewis  never  wrote  or  borrow'd 
Any  horror,  half  so  horrid ! 

Methought  the  P e,  in  whiskor'd  state, 


Before  me  at  his  breakfast  sate ; 


On  one  side  lay  tmread  Petitions, 
On  t'other.  Hints  from  five  Physicians  ; 
Here  tradesmen's  bills, — official  papers. 
Notes  from  my  Lady,  drarns  for  vapors — 
There  plans  of  saddles,  tea  and  toast. 
Death-warrants  and  the  Morning  Post. 

When  Ic !  the  Papers,  one  and  all. 
As  if  at  some  magician's  call. 
Began  to  flutter  of  themselves 
From  desk  and  table,  floor  and  shelves. 
And,  cutting  each  some  difTerent  capers. 
Advanced,  oh  Jacobinic  papers  ! 
As  though  they  said,  "  Oiu-  sole  design  is 
"  To  suffocate  his  Royal  Highness  !" 
The  Leader  of  this  vile  sedition 
Was  a  huge  Catholic  Petition, 
With  grievances  so  full  and  heavy, 
It  threaten'd  worst  of  all  the  bevy. 
Then  Common-Hall  Addresses  came 
In  swaggering  sheets,  and  took  their  aim 


I 


I 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


217 


Right  at  the  R — g — t's  well-dressM  head, 

As  if  determined  to  be  read. 

Next  Tradesmen's  Bills  began  to  fly, 

And  Tradesmen's  Bills,  we  kn(^^,  mount  liigh ; 

Nay,  ev'n  Death-warrants  thought  they'd  best 

Be  lively  too,  and  join  the  rest. 

But,  oh  the  base.st  of  defections ! 

His  letter  about  "  predilections," — 
His  own  dear  Letter,  void  of  grace. 
Now  flew  up  in  its  parent's  face ! 
Shock'd  with  his  breach  of  filial  duty. 
He  just  could  murmur  "  et  Tu  Brute  .'" 
Then  sunk,  subdued  upon  the  floor 
At  Fox's  bust,  to  rise  uo  more  ! 

I  waked — and  pray'd,  with  lifted  hand, 
"  Oh  !  never  may  this  Dream  prove  true  ; 

*'  Though  paper  overwhelms  the  land, 
"  Let  it  not  crush  the  Sovereign  too  1" 


PARODY 

OF    A    CELEBRATED    LETTER.' 

At  length,  dearest  Freddy,  the  moment  is  nigh. 
When,  with  P — re — v — I's  leave,  I  may  throw  my 

chains  by ; 
And,  as  time  now  is  precious,  the  first  thmg  I  do, 
Is  to  sit  down  and  write  a  wise  letter  to  you. 


I  meant  before  now  to  have  sent  you  this  Letter, 
But  Y — rm — tli  and  I  thought  perhaps  'twould  be 

better 
To  wait  till  the  Irish  aS'aira  r  ere  decided — 
(That  is,  till  both  Houses  had  prosed  and  divided, 
With  all  due  appearance  of  thought  and  digestion,) — 
For,  though  H — rtf — rd  House  had  long  settled  the 

question, 
I  thought  it  but  decent,  between  me  and  you. 
That  the  two  other  Houses  should  settle  it  too. 

»  Letter  from  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  Regent  to  the 
Duke  of  YorJi,  Feb.  13,  1812. 

3  "  I  think  it  hardly  necessary  to  call  your  recollection  to 
the  recent  circumstances  under  which  I  assumed  the  author- 
ity delesated  to  me  by  Parliament." — Prince's  Letter. 

^  "  My  sense  of  duty  to  our  Boyal  father  solely  decided 
that  choice," — Ibid. 


I  need  not  remind  you  how  cursedly  bad 
Our   affairs   were  all   looking,  when  Father  went 

mad;' 
A  straight  waistcoat  on  him  and  restrictions  on  me, 
A  more  limited  Monarchy  could  not  well  be. 
I  was  call'd  upon  then,  in  that  moment  of  puzzle, 
To  choose  my  own  Minister — ^just  as  they  muzzle 
A  playful  young  bear,  and  then  mock  his  disaster, 
By    bidding    him    choose    out    his    own    dancing- 

ma-ster. 

I  thought  the  best  way,  as  a  dutiful  son. 

Was  to  do  as  Old  Royalty's  self  would  have  done.' 

So  I  sent  word  to  say,  I  woidd  keep  the  whole 
batch  m, 

The  same  chest  of  tools,  without  cleansing  or 
patching ; 

For  tools  of  tliis  kind,  LKe  Martinus's  sconce  ;* 

Would  lose  all  their  beauty,  if  puriflt^^  once  ; 

And  think^-oidy  think — if  our  Father  should 
find, 

Upon  gracioiKly  coming  again  to  his  mind,' 

That  improvement  had  spoil'd  any  favorite  ad- 
viser— 

That  R — se  was  grown  honest,  or  W — stm — rel — nd 
wiser — 

That  R — d — r  was,  ev'n  by  one  twinkle,  the 
brighter — 

Or  L — V — rp — i's  speeches  but  half  a  pound  light- 
er— 

WTiat  a  shock  to  his  old  royal  heart  it  would  be ! 

No  ! — far  were  such  dreams  of  improvement  from 
me: 

And  it  pleased  me  to  find,  at  the  House,  where,  you 
kuow,° 

There's  such  good  mutton  cutlets,  and  strong 
cura^oa,'' 

That  the  Marchioness  call'd  me  a  duteous  old  boy. 

And  my  Y — rm — th's  red  whiskers  grew  redder 
for  joy. 

You  know,  my  dear  Freddy,  how  oft,  if  I  would, 
By  the  law  of  last  Sessions  I  might  have  done  good. 
I  might  have  withheld  these  political  noodles 
From   knocking    their    heads  against  hot  Yankee 

Doodles  ; 
I  might  have  told  Ireland  I  pitied  her  lot. 
Might  have  sooth'd  her  with  hope — but  you  know 

I  did  not 

<  The  antique  shield  of  Martinus  Pcriblerns,  which,  upon 
scouring,  turned  out  to  be  only  an  old  sconce. 

6  "  1  waived  any  personal  gratification,  in  order  that  his 
Majesty  might  resume,  on  his  restoration  to  health,  every 
power  and  prerogative,*'  &c. — Prince's  I^etter. 

'  "  And  1  have  the  satisfaction  of  knotting  that  snch  was 
the  opinion  of  persons  for  whose  judgment,"  &c.  kc.—Jiid. 

'  The  letter-writer's  favorite  luncheon. 


218 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Aiid   my  wish  is,  in   trutli,  tliat  the   best  of  old 

fellows 
Slioiild  not,  on  recovering,  have  caiiso  to  be  jealous. 
But  find  lliat,  while  he  has  been  laid  on  the  slielf. 
We've  been  all  of  us  nearly  as  mad  as  himself. 
You  smile  at  my  hopes — but  tho  Doctors  and  I, 
An)  the  last  that  can  think  the  K — n;;  ever  will  die.' 

A  new  era's  arrived,' — though  you'd  hardly  be- 
lieve it — 

And  all  things,  of  course,  must  be  new  to  receive  it. 

New  villas,  new  fiStes,  (which  ev'u  Waithman  at- 
tends,)— 

New  saddles,  new  helmets,  and — why  not  new 
friends  ? 


I  repeat  it,  "  New  Friends" — for  I  cannot  describe 
Tho  delight  I  am  in  with  this  P — re — v — 1  tribe. 
Such    caperinjr  ; — Sucli  vaporing! — Such  rigor  I — 

Such  vifjor  I— 
North,  South,  East,  and  \\'est,  they  have  cut  such 

a  figure. 
That  soon  they  will  bring  the  whole  world  round 

our  cars. 
And  leave  us  no  friends — but  Old  Nick  and  Algiers. 

When  I  think  of  the  glory  they've  beam'd  on  my 
chains, 
'Tis  enough  quite  to  turn  my  illustrious  brains. 
It  is  true  we  are  bankrupts  in  commerce  and  riches, 
But  think  how  wo  find  our  Allies  in  new  breeches ! 
We've  lost  tiio  warm  hearts  of  the  Irish,  'tis  granted, 
But  then  we've  got  Java,  an  island  much  wanted. 
To  put  tho  last  lingering  few  who  remain, 
'^f  the  Walcheren  warriors,  out  of  their  pain. 
Then  how  Wellington  fights !   and  how  squabbles 

his  brother ! 
For  Papists  the  one,  and  v-ith  Papists  the  other ; 
One  crushing  Napoleon  by  taking  a  City, 
While   t'other  lays  waste  a  wliole  Cath'lic  Com- 
mittee. 
( Ih  deeds  of  renown  ! — shall  I  boggle  or  flinch. 
With  such  prospects  before   me?  by  Jove,  not  an 

Inch. 
No — let  Enpland^s  affairs  go  to  rack,  if  they  will. 
We'll  look  after  th'  affairs  of  the  Continent  still  ; 
And,  with  nothing  at  homo  but  starvation  and  riot. 
Find  Lisbon  in  bread,  and  keep  Sicily  quiet. 


'  "  1  certainly  nm  the  la-^t  person  in  the  kingdom  to  whom 
il  can  be  {lennillcd  to  despair  of  our  royal  ffilhcr*s  recovery." 
— Prince's  Letter. 

^  "  A  new  er\  is  now  arrived,  and  I  cannot  bat  reflect 
with  Hiitisfaction,"  4tc. — fbid. 

'  '■  I  have  no  predilections  to  indulge,— no  resentjnenta  to 
gratify." — Iltid. 


I  am  proud  to  declare  I  have  no  predilections,'  , 
My  heart  is  a  sieve,  where  some  scatter'd  affections 
Are  just  danced  about  for  a  moment  or  two. 
And   the  finer    they   are,    the  more   sure  to  run 

through  : 
Neither  feel  I  resentments,  nor  wish  there  should 

come  ill 
To    mortal  —  except    (now    I    tliink    on't)    Beau 

Br — mm — 1, 
Who  threaten'd  last  year,  in  a  superfine  passion. 
To  cut  me,  and  bring  the  old  K — ng  into  fashion. 
This  is  all  I  can  lay  to  my  conscience  at  present ; 
When  such  is  my  temper,  so  neutral,  so  pleasant. 
So  royally  free  from  all  troublesome  feelings. 
So  little  encumber'd  by  With  ij  my  dealings, 
(And  that  I'm  co;;sistent  the  world  will  allow, 
What  I  was  at  Newmarket  the  same  I  am  now.) 
When  such  are  my  merits,  (you  know  I  hate  crack- 
ing,) 
I  hope,  like  tho  Vender  of  Best  Patent  Blacking, 
"  To  meet  with  the  gen'rous  and  kind  approbation 
"  Of  a  candid,  enlighten'd,  and  liberal  nation." 

By  the  by,  ere  I  close  this  magnificent  Letter, 
(No   man,    except    Pole,   could   have   writ  you  a 

better,) 
'Twould  please  me  if  those,  whom  I've  humbugg'd 

so  loug' 
With   the  notion   (good  men !)    that  I  knew  right 

from  wrong, 
W^ould  a  few  of  them  join  me — mind,  only  a  few — 
To  let  too  much  light  in  on  me  never  would  do  ; 
But  even  Grey's  brightness  shan't  make  mo  afraid, 
While   I've  C — md — n    and    Eld — n  to  fly  to  for 

shade  ; 
Nor  will  Holland's  clear  intellect  do  us  much  harm. 
While  there's  W — stm — rel — nd  near  him  to  weak- 
en the  charm. 
As  for  Moira's  high  spirit,  if  aught  can  subdue  it. 
Sure  joining  with  H — rtf^rd  and  Y — rm — th  will 

do  it! 
Between  R — d — r  and  Wh — rt — n  let  Sheridan  sit. 
And  the  fogs  will  soon  quench  even  Sheridan's  wit : 
And  against  all  the  pure  public  feeling  that  glows 
Ev'n  in  Whitbread  himself  we've  a  Host  in  G — rge 

R— se! 
So,   in  short,   if   they  wish  to   have   Places,  they 

may. 
And  I'll  thank  you  to  tell  all  these  matters  to  Grey,' 


*  "  I  cannot  conclude  without  expressing  the  gratification 
I  should  feel  if  some  of  those  persons  with  whom  the  early 
habits  of  my  public  life  were  formed  would  strengtiieii  my 
hands,  an<l  constitute  a  part  of  my  government." — Jiiitl. 

0  "You  are  authorized  to  communicate  these  sentiments 
to  Lord  Grey,  who.  I  have  no  doubt,  will  make  them  known 
to  Lord  Grenville." — Ibid. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS.                          219 

Who,  I  doubt  not,  will  write  (as  there's  no  time  to 

Books,  that,  far  from  every  eye, 

lose) 

In  "  sweltcr'd  venom  sleeping"  lie,) 

By  the  twopenny  post  to  tell  GrcnviUo  the  news  ; 

Stick  them  in  between  the  two, 

And  now,  dearest  Fred,  (though  I've  no  predilec- 

Proud Pea-hen  and  old  Cuckoo. 

tion,) 

Now  you  have  the  triple  feather. 

Believe  rae  yours  always  with  truest  ofFection. 

Bind  the  kindied  stems  together 

With  a  silken  tie,  whose  hue 

P.  S.  A  copy  of  this  is  to  P — re— 1  going  :' 

Once  was  brilliant  Buff  and  Blue  ; 

Good  Lord,  how  S>'.    Stephen"'!  will  ring  with  his 

Sullied  now — alas,  how  much  ! 

crowing  I 

Only  fit  for  Y — rm — th's  toucli. 

There — enough — thy  task  is  done ; 

Present,  worthy  G ge's  Son  ; 

Now,  beneatli,  in  letters  neat. 

Write  "  I  SERVE,"  and  all's  complete. 

ANACREONTIC 

TO  A  PLUMASSIER. 

Fine  and  feathery  artisan, 
Best  of  Plumists  (if  you  can 

With  your  art  so  far  presume) 

Make  for  me  a  Pr — ce's  Plume — 

Feathers  soft  and  feathers  rare, 

EXTRACTS 

Such  as  suits  a  Pr — ce  to  wear. 

FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  A  POLITICIAN. 

First,  thou  downiest  of  men. 

iVedncsday. 

Seek  me  out  a  fine  Pea-hen  ; 

Throogh   M — nch — st — r   Square   took    a   canter 

Such  a  Hen,  so  tall  and  grand. 

just  now — 

As  by  Jmio's  side  might  stand, 

IMet  the  old  yelloio  chariot,'  and  made  a  low  bow. 

If  there  were  no  cocks  at  hand. 

This  I  did,  of  course,  thinking  'twas  loyal  and  civil. 

Seek  her  feathers,  soft  as  down, 

But  got  such  a  look — oh  'twas  black  as  the  devil ! 

Fit  to  shine  on  Pr — ce's  crown  ; 

How  unlucky  I — incog,  he  was  trav'liug  about. 

If  thou  canst  not  find  tliem,  stupid  ! 

And  I,  like  a  noodle,  must  go  find  him  out. 

Ask  the  way  of  Prior's  Cupid.^ 

Mem. — when  next  by  the  old  yellow  chariot  I  ride. 

Rangmg  these  in  order  due. 

To  remember  there  is  nothing  pruicely  inside. 

Pluck  me  next  an  old  Cuckoo  ; 

Emblem  of  the  happy  fates 

Thursday. 

Of  easy,  kind,  cornuted  mates. 

At  Leveo  to-day  made  another  sad  blunder — 

Pluck  him  well — be  sure  you  do — 

What  can  be  come  over  me  lately^  I  wonder  ? 

^Yho  wouldn't  be  an  old  Cnckoo, 

The  Pr — ce  was  as  cheerful,  as  if,  all  his  life. 

Thus  to  have  his  plumage  bless'd, 

He    had    never   been    troubled  with    Friends  or  a 

Beaming  on  a  R — y — 1  crest  ? 

Wife— 

"  Fine  weather,"  says  he — to  which   I,  who  jnust 

Bravo,  Plumist ! — now  what  bird 

prate. 

Shall  we  find  for  Plume  the  third  ? 

Answer'd, "  Yes,  Sir,  but  changeable  rather,  of  late." 

You  must  get  a  learned  Owl, 

He  took  it,  I  fear,  for  he  look'd  somewhat  groff. 

Bleakest  of  black-letter  fowl,— 

And  handled  his  new  pair  of  wliiskers  so  rough. 

Bigot  bird,  that  hates  the  light,= 

That  before   all  the  courtiers  I  fcar'd  they'd  come 

Foe  to  all  that's  fair  and  bright. 

off. 

Seize  his  quills,  (so  form'd  to  pen 

And  then.  Lord,  how  Geramb"  would  triumphantly 

Books,*  that  shun  the  search  of  men  ; 

scoff  I 

I  "I  shall  send  a  copy  of  Ihis  letter  iraraedialely  to  Mr. 

<  In  allusion  to  "  the  Book"  which  created  such  a  sensa- 

Perceval."—PnHce'5  Letter. 

tion  at  that  period. 

3  See  Prior's  poem,  entitled  "  The  Dove." 

i  The  incog,  vehicin  of  the  Pr— ce. 

'  P— re— V— 1. 

»  Baron  Geramb,  the  rival  of  his  R.  H.  in  nhiskere. 

220 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Mem. — to  buy  for  son  Dicky  some  unguent  or  lotion 
To  nouriiih  his  wliiskers — sure  road  to  promotion  ." 

Saturilay. 

Lnsl  iiii;lit  a  Concert — vastly  gay — 
Cnei\  Ijy  Lady  C — sti — r — gli. 
IMy  I-ord  loves  music,  and,  wo  know, 
11:^  "  two  strings  always  to  his  bow.'' 
Ill  clioosing  song^,  the  ll~—g — t  named 
**  Had  J  a  htart  for  falsehood  framed." 
While  gentle  II — rtf — d  hegg'd  and  pray'd 
For  "  Voanf  /  am,  and  tore  afraid." 


EPIGRAM. 

What  news  to-day  ? — Oh !  worse  and  worse— 
"  Mac'  is  the  Pr — ce's  Privy  Purse  !" — 
The  Pr — co's  Purse !  no,  no,  you  fool, 
Vou  mean  the  Pr — ce's  Ridicule. 


KING  CRACK*  AND  HIS  IDOLS. 

WRITTEN  AFTER  THE  LATE  NEGOTIATION  FOR  A  NEW 
JI — N— STKV. 

King  Crack  was  the  best  of  all  possible  Kings, 
(At  least,  so  his  Courtiers  would  swear  to  you 
gladly,) 

Dot  Crack  now  and  then  would  do  hct'rodox  things. 
And,  at  last,  took  to  worsliipping  Images  sadly. 

Some  broken-down  Idols,  that  long  had  been  placed 

In  his  father's  old  Cabinet,  pleased  him  so  much. 

That  he  knelt  down  and  worshipp'd,   though — such 

was  his  taste — 

They  were  monstrous  to  look  at,  and  rotten  to 

touch. 

And    these    were    the    beautiful    Gods    of    King 
Crack  !— 
But  his  People,  disdaining  to  worship  such  things, 

'  F.nptnnd  is  not  the  only  cniintr>' where  merit  of  this  kind 
is  nutired  and  rcwnrded  "  I  remcmbor."  suys  Ttivernier, 
"  to  Imve  seen  «mo  of  the  KinR  of  IVrsiii's  porters,  whose 
moustnrhes  were  so  lone  thai  he  could  tic  them  behind  his 
necii,  for  which  renson  he  had  a  dtnilde  pension." 

'  A  rhetorical  figure  used  by  Lord  C — sll— r — gh,  In  one 
of  his  speeches. 

'  Colonel  M — cm— h— n. 


Cried  aloud,  one  and  all,  "  Come,  your  Godships 
must  pack — 
"  You'll  not  do  for  us,  though  you  may  do  for 
Kings." 

Then,  trampling  these  images  under  their  feet, 
Tliey  sent  Crack  a  petition,  beginning  "  Great 
CsBsar ! 
"  We're  willing  to  worship  ;  but  only  entreat 

"  That  you'll  find  us  some  decenter  Godheads 
than  these  are." 

"  I'll  try,"  says  King  Crack — so  they  fumish'd  him 
models 
Of  belter  shaped  Gods,  but   he   sent   them   all 
back  ; 
Some  were  chisell'd  too  fine,  some  had  ^''ads  'stead 
of  noddles, 
In  short,  they  were  all   much   too   godlike   for 
Crack 

So  he  took  to  his  darling  old  Idols  again. 

And,  just  mending  their  legs   and  new  bronzing 
thtjjr  faces. 
In  open  defiance  of  Gods  and  of  man. 

Set  the  monsters  up  gi*iuning  once  more  in  their 
places. 


WHAT'S  MY  THOUGHT  LIKE? 

Quest.  Why  is  a  Pump  like  V — sc — nt   C — stl — 
r-gh? 

AnsiD.  Because  it  is  a  slender  thing  of  wood, 
That  up  and  down  its  awkward  arm  doth  sway, 
And  coolly  spout  and  spout  and  spout  away, 

la  one  weak,  wasliy,  everlasting  flood  ! 


•  One  of  those  antedilavian  Princes  with  whom  Manetho 
and  Whiston  seem  so  intimately  arquainted.  If  we  had 
the  Memoirs  of  Thulh.  from  which  Manetho  cnnipiled  his 
History,  we  shouUl  find,  I  dare  say,  that  Crack  was  only 
ft  Repent,  and  that  he,  perhaps,  succeeded  Typhon,  who 
(ns  Whiston  says)  was  the  last  King  of  the  Antediluvian 
Dynast)'. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS.                          221 

Ne.\t,  OUT  C — ^stl — r — gh  to  crown. 

EPIGRAM. 

Bring  mo  from  the  County  Down, 

Wither'd  Shamrocks,  which  have  been 

DIALOGUE    BF.TWF.EN  A   CATHOLIC    DELEGATE    AND    HIS 

Gilded  o'er,  to  hide  the  green — 

R — y — L  11 GUN — 6S  THE  D E  OF  0 B L D. 

(Bucli  as  H — df — t  brought  away 

Said  liis  Higliuess  to  Ned,'  wityi  that  grim  face  of 

From  Pull-Mall  last  Patrick's  day)'— 

hi3, 

Stitch  the  garland  through  and  througli 

"  \Vliy  refuse  us 'the  Veto,  dear  Catholic  Neddy?" 

With  shabby  threads'o/ei-ery  hue; — 

*'  Because,  Sir,"  said  Ned,  looking  full  in  his  phiz, 

And  as.  Goddess  ! — cntre  nous — 

"  You're  forbidding  enough,   in  all   conscience, 

His  lordsliip  loves  (though  best  of  men) 

already  !" 

A  little  torture,  now  and  then. 

Crimp  the  leaves,  thou  fiiBt  of  Syrens, 

Crimp  them  with  thy  curling-iron-a. 
That's  enough — away,  away — 

Had  I  leisure,  I  could  say 

WREATHS  FOR  THE  MINISTERS. 

How  the  oldest  rose  that  grows 

Must  be  pluck'd  to  deck  Old  Rose — 

AN    ANACREONTIC. 

How  the  Doctci  s  brow  should  smile 

Hither,  Flora,  Queen  of  Flowers ! 

Crown'd  with  wreaths  of  chamomile. 

Haste  thee  from  Old  Bromplon's  bowers — 

But  time  presses — to  thy  taste 

Or,  (if  sweeter  that  abode,) 

I  leave  the  rest,  so,  prithee,  haste  1 

From  the  King's  well-odor'd  Road, 

Where  each  little  nurser)'  bud 
Breathes  the  dust  and  quaffs  the  mud. 

Hither  come  and  gayly  twine 

EPIGRAM. 

Brightest  herbs  and  flowers  of  thine 

Into  wreaths  for  those  who  nile  us. 

DIALOGUE    BETWEEN    A    DOWAGER    AND    HER    MAID    CR 

Those,  who  n.'.e  and  (some  say)  fool  ua — 

THE    NIGHT    OF    LORD   Y RM Tll's    FETE. 

Flora,  sure,  will  love  to  please 

"  I  WANT  the  Court  Guide,"  said  my  lady,  "  to  look 

England's  Household  Deities  l' 

"  If  the   House,    Seymour   Place,   bo  at  30.  or 

nor— 

"  We've  lost  the  Court  Guide,  Jla'ani,  but  here's 

First  you  must  then,  willy-nilly. 

Fetch  me  many  an  orange  lily — 

the  Red  Book, 

Orange  of  tlie  darkest  dye 

"  'Where  you'll  find,  I  dare  say,  Seymour  Places 

Irish  G— fF— rd  can  supply ; — 

in  plenty !'' 

IJhoose  me  out  the  longest  sprig. 

And  stick  it  in  old  Eld — n's  wig. 

Find  me  next  a  Poppy  posy. 

HORACE,  ODE  XI.  LIB.  II. 

Tj'pe  of  his  harangues  so  dozy. 

FREELY  TRANSLATED  BY  THE  PR CE  R G T.' 

Garland  gaudy,  dull  and  cool. 

To  crown  the  head  of  L — v — rp — I. 

•   Co.ME,  Y — rm — th,  my  boy,  never  trouble  your 

"Twill  console  his  brilliant  brows 

brains. 

For  that  loss  of  laurel  bouglis, 

About  what  your  old  crony. 

Which  they  sufTer'd  (what  a  pity !) 

The  Emperor  Boney, 

On  the  road  to  Paris  City. 

Is  doing  or  brewing  on  Muscovy's  plains  ; 

1  Edwartl  Byrne,  the  head  of  the  Delegates  of  the  Irish 

*  The  sobriquet  given  to  Lord  Sidmouth. 

Catholics. 

6  This  and  the  following  are  extracted  from  a  Work  which 

*  The  ancients,  in  like  manner,  crowned  their  Lares,  or 

may,  some  time  or  other,  meet  the  eye  of  the  Puljlic— en- 

Household  Gods.     See  Juvenal,  Sat.  9.  iv.  138.— Plutarch, 

titled  '■  Odes  of  Horace,  done  into  English  by  several  Persons 

too,  tells  us  that  Household  Gods  were  then,  as  they  are  now, 

of  Fashion." 

"much  given  to  War  and  penal  Statutes." — eptvvviii&cis  xai 

«                auid  bellicosus  Cantaber.  et  Scythes, 

itotvifiuvi  6atiiOfai. 

Hirpine  auincli,  cogitet  Hadria 

3  Certain  tinsel  imitations  of  the  Shamrock  which  are  dis- 

Divisus objecto,  remittas 

tributed  by  the  Ser\'anta  of  C n  House  every  Patrick's 

QuKrere 

.. 

222 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Nor  tremblo.  my  lad,  at  the  state  of  our  granaries ; 

SIioiiKl  there  coino  famine, 

Slill  plenty  to  cram  in 
You  always  sliull  have,  my  dear  Lord  of  tlie  Stan- 
naries. 

Brisk  let  us  revel,  while  revel  we  may ; 
For  the  {jay  bloom  of  fifty  soon  passes  away, 

And  then  people  get  fat, 

And  infirm,  and — all  that, 
And  a  wig  (I  confess  it)  so  clumsily  sits, 
That  it  frightens  the  little  l<ovcs  out  of  their  wits  ; 

Thy  whiskers,  too,  Y — rm — thi — alas,  even  they, 

Though  so  rosy  they  bum. 

Too  quickly  must  turn 
(What  a  heart-breaking  change  for  thy  wliiskers  I) 
to  Grey. 

Then   why,  my  Lord  Warden,  oh !  why  should 
you  fidget 
Your  mind  about  matters  you  don't  understand? 
Or  why  should  you  write  yourself  down  for  an 
idiot, 
Because   "  you"  forsooth,  "  have   the  pen    in 
your  hand  I" 

Think,  think  how  much  better 
Than  scribbling  a  letter, 
(Which  both  you  and  I 
Should  avoid,  by  the  by,) 
IIow  much  pleasanter  'tis  to  sit  under  the  bust 
(K  old  Charley,''  my  friend  here,  and  drink  like 
a  new  one  ; 
While  Charley  looks  sulky  and  frowns  at  me,  just 
As  the  Ghost  in  the  Pantomime  frowns  at  Don 

Juan. 
'    To  crown  us,  Lord  Warden, 
In  C — rub — rl — nd's  garden 
Grows  plenty  of  monk's  hood  in  venomous  sprigs : 


Ncc  trcpides  In  usnm 
PosccDtis  8cvl  paaca. 

Fugit  retro 
I^vi*  jiivcntns  cl  decor. 
Pcllcntc  lasclvos  aiiiorcs 
Cttnilir. 

Ncque  uno  Luna  ruhena  nltet 
VuKu. 

Quid  reicrnia  minorem 
Consiliis  aniinum  faiiptsl 
Cor  ron  sob  Alta  x'el  plulnno,  vel  hac 
Pinu  jiicentea  sic  tcmero. 
Churlcs  Fox. 

Ro!<ft 
Cm  I  OS  odorat)  caplllos, 

Dutn  licet,  Asiiyriaquc  nordo 
Polamusuncti. 

Qais  puor  ociiu 


While  Otto  of  Roses 
Refreshing  all  noses 
Shall  sweetly  exliale  from  our  whisKers  and  wigs 

What  youth  of  the  Household  will  cool  our  Noyau 

In  that  streamlet  delicious. 
That  down  'midst  the  dishes, 
AJl  full  of  gold  fishes, 
Romantic  doth  flow? — 
*"   Or  who  will  repan 

Unto  M ch r  Sq e, 

And  see  if  the  gentle  Marchesa  be  there? 
Go — bid  her  haste  hither, 
"   And  let  her  bring  with  her 
The  newest  No-Popery  Sermon  that's  going — 
'  Oh  !  let  her  come,  with  her  dark  tresses  flowing. 
All  gentle  and  juvenile,  curly  and  gay, 
In   the   manner    of — Ackermann's    Dresses   for 
May! 


HORACK,  ODE  XXIL  LIB.  I. 

FREELY  TRANSLATED  BY  LORD  ELD S. 

^  The  man  who  keeps  a  conscience  pure, 
(If  not  his  own,  at  least  his  Prince's,) 
Through  toil  and  danger  walks  secure. 
Looks  big  and  black,  and  never  winces. 

"  No  want  has  he  of  sword  or  dagger, 
Cock'd  hat  or  ringlets  of  Geramb  ; 
Though  Peers  may  laugh,  and  Papists  swagger. 
He  doesn't  care  one  single  d-mn. 

"  Whether  midst  Irish  chairmen  going. 
Or  through  St.  Giles's  alleys  dim, 
'Mid  drunken  Sheeiahs,  blasting,  blowing. 
No  matter,  'tis  all  one  to  him. 


Restinguel  ardentis  Falerni 
Pocula  prtFtercuiUe  lijmpha  ? 

w       Quis eliciet  donio 

Lyden  ? 
"  Ebiu-na,  die  age,  cum  lyra  (qu.  liar-a) 

Mature  t. 
*^  Incomtam  I^acxnre 

More  coniani  relisata  nodo. 
*3        Integer  vita*  scelcrisqne  pnrus. 
"       Nun  eget  Mauri  jacniis,  neque  area, 
Nee  venenatis  gravida  sngittis, 

Fusee,  pharetra. 
'*  Sive  per  »Syrtes  iter  a^suiosas, 

Sive  facturus  per  irb"Ti'"Vni 
Caucasuni,  vel  qure  Inca  liiliulosus 
Lnnihit  Hydaspes. 
The  Noble  Translufor  h:ii!,  at  lirst.  laid  the  scene  of  these 
imagined  dangers  of  his  Man  of  Conscience  among  the  Pa 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


223 


~-^ 


*  For  instance,  I,  one  evening  late, 

Upon  a  gay  vacation  sally, 
Singing  tiie  praise  of  Church  and  State, 

Got  (God  knows  Jiovv)  to  Cranboume  Alley. 

\V'hen  lo !  an  Irish  Papist  darted 

Across  my  path,  gaunt,  grim,  and  big — 

I  did  but  frown,  and  off  he  started, 
Scared  at  me,  even  without  my  wig. 

*  Yet  a  more  fierce  and  raw-boned  dog 

Goes  not  to  mass  in  Dublin  City, 

Nor  shaltes  bis  brogue  o'er  Allen's  Bog, 

Nor  spouts  in  Catholic  Committee. 

*  Oh  !  place  me  midst  O'Rourkes,  O'TooIes, 

The  ragged  royal-blood  of  Tara ; 
Or  place  me  where  Dick  M — rt — n  rules 
The  houseless  wilds  of  Connemara ; 


1  warble  still 

M — rt — n's    self    should 


Of  Church  and  State  I' 

Though    ev'n   Dick 
grumble  ; 
Sweet  Church  and  State,  like  Jack  and  Jill 
So  lovingly  upon  a  hill — 

Ah  !  ne'er  like  Jack  and  Jill  to  tumble  ! 


pists  of  Spain,  and  had  translated  the  words  *'quffiloca/a&u- 
losus  lambit  Hydaspes"  thus — "The  fabling  Spaniard  licks 
the  French  ;"  but,  recollecting  that  it  is  our  interest  just  now 
to  be  re?itectful  to  Spanish  Catliolics,  (though  there  is  cer- 
tainly no  earthly  reason  for  our  being  even  commonly  civil  to 
Irish  ones,)  he  altered  the  passage  as  it  stands  at  present. 

1  Namque  nie  silva  hipus  in  Sabinft, 

Duni  meam  canto  Lalagen,  et  ultra 
Terminum  curis  vagor  expedills, 
Fugit  inermem. 

1  cannot  help  calling  the  reader's  attention  to  the  peculiar 
ingenuity  with  which  these  lines  are  paraphrased.  Not  to 
mention  the  happy  conversion  of  the  Wolf  into  a  Papist, 
(seeinir  that  Romulus  was  suckled  by  a  wolf,  that  Rome  was 
founded  by  Romulus,  and  that  the  Pope  has  always  reigned 
at  Rome,)  there  is  something  particularly  neat  in  supposing 
"u/(r(i  fcrminum"  to  mean  vacation-time:  and  then  the 
modest  consciousness  with  which  the  Noble  and  Le:irned 
Transltitor  has  avoided  touching  upon  the  words  "  curis  ez- 
peditis,"  (or.  as  it  has  been  otherwise  read,  "  causis  expedi- 
tis")  and  the  felicitous  idea  of  his  being  "  inerniis'*  when 
"  without  his  wig,"  are  altogether  the  most  delectable  speci- 
mens of  paraphnse  in  our  language. 

2  Qu'ile  portentum  neque  militaris 
Daunias  latis  alit  lesculetis, 
Nee  Juba;  lellus  generat  leonum 

Arida  nutrix. 


NEW  COSTUME  OF  THE  MINISTERS. 

Nova  monstra  creavit. 

Ovin.  Metamorpk.  \.  i.  v.  437. 

Having  sent  off  the  troops  of  brave  Major  Camac, 
With  a  swinging  horse-tail  at  each  valorous  back, 
And  such  helmets,  God  bless  us !  as  never  deck'd 

any 
Male  creature  before,  except  Signer  Giovanni — 
"  Let's  see,"  said  the  R — g — t,  (like  Titus,  perplex'd 
With  the  duties  of  empire,)  "  whom  shall  I  dress 

next?'' 

He  looks  in  the  glass — but  perfection  is  th*:-*, 
Wig,  whiskers,  and  chin-tufts  all  right  to  a  hair  ;" 
Not  a  single  ex-curl  on  his  forehead  he  ,  /ices — 
For  curls  are  like  Ministers,  strange  as  the  case  is, 
The  falser  they  are,  the  more  fii-m  in  tlieir  places. 
His  coat  he  next  views — but  the  coat  who  could 

doubt  ? 
For  his  Y — rm — th's  own  Frenchified  hand  cut  it  out ; 
Ever}'  pucker  and  seam  were  made  matters  of  slate, 
And  a  Grand  Houseliold  Council  was  held  on  each 

plait. 

Then  whom  shall  he  dress  ?  shall  he  new-rig  his 
brother, 
Great  C — mb — rl — d's  Duke,  with  some  kickshaw 
or  other  ? 


5  Pone  me  pigris  ubi  nulla  campis 

Arbor  rEstiva  recrcalur  aura : 
Quod  latus  ulundi,  nebula?,  malusque 
Jupiter  urset. 
I  must  here  remark,  that  the  said  Dick  M — rt — n  being  a 
very  good  fellow,  it  was  not  at  all  fair  lo  make  a  "  malua 
Jupiter"  of  him. 
*         Dulce  ridentem  Lalagen  amabo, 
Dulce  loquenlem. 
fi  There  cannot  be  imagined  a  more  happy  illustration  of 
the  inseparability  of  Church  and  State,  and  their  (whtit  is 
called)  "standing  and  falling  together,"  than  this  ancient 
apologue  of  Jack  and  Jill.    Jack,  of  course,  represents  the 
Slate  in  this  ingenious  little  Allegory. 
Jack  fell  down, 
And  broke  his  Crown, 
And  Jill  came  tumbling  after. 
8  That  model  of  Princes,  the  Empernr  Commodus,  was 
particularly  luxurious  in   the  dressing  and  omamenrtng  of 
his  hair.    His  conscience,  liowever,  would  not  suffer  him  to 
trust  himself  with  a  barber,  and  he  used,  acconiingly.  to 
burn   olf  his   beard — "  timore   tonsoris,"   says   Lampridius. 
{Hist.  Jiugust.  Scriptor.)     The  dissolute  ^lius  Verus.  too. 
was  equally  attentive  to  the  decoration  of  his  wig.     {See 
Jul.  Capitolin.) — Indeed,  this  was  not  the  only  princely  trail 
in  the  character  of  Verus,  as  he  had  likewise  a  mo-^t  hearty 
and   dignified   contempt   for  his  Wife.— See   his  insulting 
answer  to  her  in  Spartianus. 


224 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I    And  kindly  invent  him  more  Christian-like  shapes 
For  hill  ffulhcr-bod  neckcloths  and  pillory  capes. 

I    .\h  !  no — here  his  ardor  would  meet  with  delays, 
For  the  Dake  had  heen  lately  pack'd  up  in  new  Stays, 

I    So  complete  for  the  wiutcr,  he  saw  very  plain 
'Twould  be  devilish  hard  work  to  ><»pack  him  again. 

So,  what's  to  bo  done  ? — there's  the  Ministers,  bless 
'  'em  ! — 

]    As  he  made  the  puppets,  why  shouldn't  he  dress  'em  ? 
1    "  An  excellent  thought !.— call  the  tailors — be  nim- 
ble— 
I    "  lict  Cum  bring  his  spy-glass,  and  H — rlf — d  her 
;  thimble ; 

I    *'  While  Y — rm — tli  shall   give   us,   in   spite  of  all 

quizzors, 
'    *'  The  last  Paris  cut  with  his  true  Gallic  scissors." 

So  saying,  ho  calls  C — sll — r — gh,  and  the  rest 
[    Of  his  heaven-bom  statesmen,  to  come  and  he  dress' d. 
While  Y — rni — th,  with  snip-like  and  brisk  expedi- 
tion. 
Cuts  up,  all  at  once,  a  large  Catli'lic  Petition 
In  long  tailora'  measures,  (the  P — e  crjiug  "  Well- 

doue  I") 
And  first  puts  in  hand  ray  Lord  Chancellor  Eld — a. 


CORRESPONDENCE 

BETWEEN  A  LADY  AND  GENTLEMAN, 
UPON  THE  .VDVANTAGE  OF  (WHAT  IS  CALLED)  "  HAVING 

law'  ON  one's  side." 

The  Gentleman's  Proposal. 

"  Legge  Qurea, 
B'cl  place,  el  lice." 

Co.ME,  fly  to  these  arms,  nor  let  beauties  so  bloomy 

To  one  frigid  owner  be  tied ; 
Your  prudes  may  revile,  and  your  old  ones  look 
gloomy. 

But,  dearest,  we've  Law  on  our  side. 

Oh!  think  the  delight  of  two  lovers  congenial, 

Whom  no  dull  decorums  divide  ; 
Their  error  how  sweet,  and  tlmir  raptures  how  venial, 

When  once  they've  got  Law  on  their  side. 

'  In  Qlluslon  10  Lnrd  Ell— nl>— gh. 


'Tis  a  thing,  that  in  every  King's  reign  has  been 
done,  too ; 

Then  why  should  it  now  be  decried? 
If  the  Father  has  done  it,  why  shouldn't  the  Son,  too  ? 

For  so  argues  Law  on  our  side 

And,  ev'n  should  our  sweet  violation  of  duty 

By  cold-blooded  jurors  bo  tried. 
They  can  but  bring  it  in  "  a  misfortmic,"  my  beauty. 

As  long  as  we've  Law  on  our  side. 


The  Lady's  Answer. 

Hold,  hold,  my  good  sir,  go  a  little  more  slowly ; 

For,  grant  mo  so  faithless  a  bride. 
Such  sinners  as  we,  are  a  httle  too  lowly, 

To  hope  to  have  Law  on  our  side. 

Had  you  been  a  great  Prince,  to  whoso  star  shining 
o'er  'em 
The  people  -should  look  for  their  guide, 
Then  your  Highness   (and  welcome  I)  might  kick 
down  decorum — 
You'd  always  have  Law  on  your  side. 

Were  you  ev'n  an  old  Marquis,  in  mischief  grown 
hoary. 

Whose  heart,  though  it  long  ago  died 
To  the  pleasures  of  vice,  is  alive  to  its  glory — 

You  still  would  have  Law  on  your  side. 

But  for  you.  Sir,  Crim.  Con.  is  a  path  full  of  troubles ; 

By  my  advice  therefore  abide. 
And  leave  the  pursuit  to  those  Princes  and  Nobles 

Who  have  such  a  Imw  on  their  side 


OCCASIONAL  ADDRESS 

FOR  THE  OPENING  OF  THE  NEW  THE.WRE  OP 
ST.  ST— PH— N, 

LVTENDEU  TO  Ha'vE  BEEN  SrOKE.N  BY  THE  PROPRIETOR 
IN  FULL  COSTU.ME,  ON  THE  24tII  OF  NOVE.MBER, 
1812. 

This  day  a  New  House,  for  your  edification. 
We  open,  most  thinking  and  right-headed  nation  I 
Excuse  the  materials — though  rotten  and  bad, 
They're  the  best  that  for  money  just  now  could  be 

had  ; 
And,  if  eriw  the  charm  of  such  houses  should  bo 
You  will  find  it  shall  echo  my  speech  to  a  T. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


225 


As  for  aclors,  weVe  got  the  old  Company  yet, 
Tlie  same  motley,  odd,  tragi-comical  set ; 
And  eonsid'ring  they  all  were  but  clerks  t'other  day, 
It  is  truly  surprising  how  well  they  can  play. 
Our  iManager,'  (he,  who  in  Ulster  was  nursed, 
And  sung  Erin  go  Brah  for  the  galleries  first. 
But,  on  finding  P/M-interest  a  much  better  thing. 
Changed  his  note  of  a  sudden,  to  God  save  the  King,) 
Still  wise  as  he's  blooming,  and  fat  as  he's  clover, 
Himself  and  his  speeches  as  lengthy  as  ever. 
Here  offers  you  still  the  full  use  of  his  breath. 
Your  devoted  and  long-winded  proser  till  death. 

You  remember  last   season,  when    things  went 
perverse  on. 
Wo  had  to  engage  (as  a  block  to  rehearse  on) 
One  Jlr.  V — ns — tt — t,  a  good  sort  of  person. 
Who's  also  employ 'd  for  this  season  to  play. 
In  "  Raising  the  Wind,"  and  the  "  Devil's  to  Pay.''' 
AVe  e.xpect  too — at  least  we've  been  plotting  and 

planning — 
To  get  that  great  actor  from  Liveipool,  C — un — g  ; 
And,  as  at  the  Circus  there's  nothing  attracts 
Like  a  good  single  combat  brought  in  'twixt  the  acts. 
If    the    Manager    should,   with   the   help    of    Sir 

P — ph — m. 
Get  up  new  diversions,  and  C — nn — g  should  stop 

'era, 
AV'ho   knows   but   we'll  have  to  announce  in  the 

papers, 
"  Grand   fight — second   time — with   additional   ca- 
pers." 

Be  your  taste  for  the  ludicrous,  humdrum,  or  sad. 
There  is  plenty  of  each  in  this  House  to  be  had. 
Where  our  Manager  ruleth,  there  weeping  will  be. 
For  a  dead  hand  at  tragedy  always  was  he  ; 
And  there  never  was  dealer  in  dagger  and  cup, 
Who  so  smilingly  got  all  his  tragedies  up. 
His  powers  poor  Ireland  will  never  forget. 
And  the  widows  of  Walcheren  weep  o'er  them  yet. 

So  much  for  the  actors ; — for  secret  machinery. 
Traps,  and  deceptions,  and  sliifting  of  scenery, 
Y — rm — til  and  Cum  are  the  best  we  can  find, 
To  transact  all  that  trickery  business  behind. 
The  fonner's  employ'd  to  teach  us  French  jigs. 
Keep  the  whiskers  in  curl,  and  look  after  the  wigs. 

In  taking  my  leave  now,  I've  only  to  say, 
A  few  Seats  in  the  House,  not  as  yet  sold  away, 
May  be  had  of  the  Manager,  Pat  C— stl— r — gh. 


1  Lord  C— stl— r— gh. 

>  He  had  recently  been  appointed  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer. 


15 


THE  SALE  OF  THE  TOOLS. 

Instrumeiita  regni. — Tacitus. 

Here's  a  choice  set  of  Tools  for  you,  Ge'mmon 

and  Ladies, 
They'll  fit  you  quite  handy,  whatever  yom  trade  ie ; 
(E.xcept  it  be  Cabinet-making  ; — no  doubt, 
In  that  delicate  Service  they're  rather  worn  out ; 
Though  their  owner,  bright  youth  !  if  he'd  had  his 

own  will. 
Would   have    bungled    away   with    them  joyously 

still.) 
You  can  see  they've  been  pretty  well  hack'd — and 

alack  ! 
What  tool  is  there  job  after  job  will  not  hack  ? 
Their  edge  is  but  dullish,  it  must  be  confess'd, 
And  their  temper,  like   E ub'r li's,  none  of 

the  best ; 
But    you'll    find   them    good    hard-working    Tools, 

upon  trying, 
Wer't  but  for  their  brass,  they  are  well  worth  the 

buying ; 
They're   famous   for   making   blinds,  sliders,  and 

screens. 
And  are,  some  of  them,  excellent  turning  machines. 

The  first  Tool   I'll  put  up  (they  call  it  a  Chan- 
cellor) 
Heavy  concern  to  both  purchaser  and  seller. 
Though  made  of  pig  iron,  yet  worthy  of  note  'tis, 
'Tis  ready  to  melt  at  a  half  minute's  notice.' 
Wio    bids  ?    Gentle   buyer !  'twill    turn    as    thou 

shapest ; 
'Twill  make  a  good  thumb-screw  to  torture  a  Papist ; 
Or  else  a  cramp-iron,  to  stick  in  the  wall 
Of  some  church  that  old  women  are  fearful  will 

fall; 
Or  better,  perhaps,  (for  I'm  guessing  at  random,) 
A  heavy  drag-chain  for  some  Lawyer's  old   Tan- 
dem. 
Will  nobody  bid  ?  It  is  cheap,  I  am  srae.  Sir — 
Once,  twice, — going,   going, — thrice,   gone  ! — it   is 

yoiUB,  Sir. 
To  pay  ready  money  you  shan't  be  distress'd. 
As  a  bill  at  long  date  suits  the  Cliancellor  best. 

Come,  Where's   the  next   Tool  ? — Oh !  'tis  here 
in  a  trice — 
This  implement,  Ge'mmen,  at  iir-st  was  a  Vice ; 
(A  tenacious  and  close  sort  of  tool,  that  will  let 
Nothing  out  of  its  grasp  it  once  happens  to  get ;) 

s  An  allusion  to  Lord  Eld— u's  lachrymose  tendencies. 


226 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But  it  fiiiico  has  received  a  new  coating  of  Tin, 
Briplit  enough  for  a  Prince  to  behold  liimself  in. 
Come,  what  shall  wo  say  for  il  ?  briskly  !  bid  on, 
We'll  the  sooner  get  rid  of  it— going — (juite  gone. 
God  bo  with  it,  such  tools,  if  not  quickly  knock'd 

down, 
Might  at  last  cost  their  owner — how  much  ?  why, 

a  Crown ! 

The  next  Tool  I'll  set  up  has  hardly  had  handsel  or 
Trial  as  yet,  and  is  also  a  Chancellor — 
Such  dull  things  as  these  should  be  sold  by  the 


Yet,  dull  as  it  is,  'twill  be  found  to  shave  close, 
And   like   other  close   shavers,   some    courage  to 

gather. 
This  blade  first  began  by  a  flourish  on  leather.' 
You  shall  have  it  for  notliing — then,  marvel  with 

me 
At  the  terrible  tinkering  work  there  must  be. 
Where  a  Tool  such  as  this  is  (I'll  leave  you  to  judge 

it) 
Is  placed  by  ill  luck  at  the  top  of  the  Budget .' 


LITTLE  MAN  AND  LITTLE  SOUL. 


A   BALLAD. 


To  the  tune  of  "  There  teas  a  little  man,  and  he  woo'd  a  little 
maid." 


DBDICATED  TO  THE  RT.  HON.  CH BL S  ABB- 


Arcailes  anibo 
Et  canf-are  pares. 


There  was  a  hltlo  Man,  and  he  had  a  little  Soul, 
And  he  said,  ','  Little  Soul,  let  us  try,  try,  try, 

"  Whether  it's  within  our  reach 

"  To  make  up  a  little  Speech, 
"  .lust  between  little  you  and  littlo  I,  I,  I, 
"  Just  between  Uttle  you  and  littlo  1 1" — 

Then  said  his  little  Soul, 

Peeping  from  her  littlo  hole, 
"  I  protest,  little  Man,  you  are  stout,  stout,  stout, 

"  But,  if  it's  not  uncivil, 

"  Pray  tell  me  what  tho  devil 
"  Must  our  little,  little  speech  be  about,  bout,  bout, 
"  Must  our  little,  Uttle  speech  be  about  V 

*  *'  Of  the  taxes  proposed  by  Mr.  VnnsltL-irt,  Ihtit  princi- 
pally opposed  in  Purliument  was  the  additional  duty  on 
leallier."— .4«n.  Rcgiater. 


The  little  Man  look'd  big 
With  th'  assistance  of  his  wig, 
And  ho  call'd  his  little  Soul  to  order,  order,  order, 
Till  she  fcard  he'd  make  her  jog  m 
To  jail,  like  Thomas  Croggan, 
(As  she   wasn't   Duke   or   Earl)    to    reward   her, 
ward  h*,  ward  her. 
As  slie  wasn't  Duke  or  Earl,  to  reward  her. 

Tho  little  Man  tlien  spoke, 
"  Little  Soul,  it  is  no  joke, 
"  For  as  sure  as  J — cky  F — 11 — r  loves  a  sup,  sup, 
sup, 
"  I  will  tell  the  Prince  and  People 
"  What  I  think  of  Church  and  Steeple, 
"  And  my  little  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up,  up,  up, 
"  And  my  little  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up." 

Away  then,  cheek  by  jowl, 
Little  Man  and  Uttle  Soul 
Went  and  spoke  their  little  speech  to  a  tittle,  tittle, 
tittle, 
And  the  world  all  declare 
That  this  priggish  little  pair 
Never  yet  in  aU  their  lives  look'd  so  little,  Uttle, 
Uttle, 
Never  yet  in  aU  their  lives  look'd  so  little  ! 


REINFORCEMENTS 
FOR  LORD  WELLINGTON. 

Snosque  tibi  commendat  Troja  Penates 
IIos  cape  fatomm  comites.  Virqil. 

1813. 
As  recruits  in  these  times  are  not  easily  got. 
And    the    Marshal   must   have   them — pray,   why 

should  we  not, 
As  the  last  and,  I  grant  it,  the  worst  of  our  loans 

to  him. 
Ship  oS'  the  Ministry,  body  and  bones  to  him  ? 
There's  not  in  all  England,  I'd  ventiu'e  to  swear. 
Any  men  we  could  half  so  conveniently  spare  ; 
And,  though  they've  been  helpmg  the  French  for 

years  past, 
We  may  thus  make  them  useful  to  England  at  last 
C — stl — r — gh  in  our  sieges  might  save  some  dis- 
graces. 
Being  used  to  the  talting  and  keeping  of  places  ; 
And  Vohmteer  C — un — g,  still  ready  for  joining, 
Might  show  off  his  talent  for  sly  undermining. 
Could  the  Household  but  spare  us  its  glory  and  pride. 
Old  H — df — t  at  horn-works  again  might  be  tried, 


J 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


227 


Aiid  ih«  Ch — f  J — st — e  make  a  hold  charge  at  his 

side : 
While  V — ns — tt — t  could  victual  the  troops  upon 

tick. 


Nay,  I  do  not  see  why  tlie  great  R — g — t  himself 
Should,  in  times  such  as  these,  stay  at  home  on  the 

shelf: 
Though  through  narrow  defiles  he's  not  fitted  to  pass, 
Yet  who  could  resist,  if  he  bore  down  en  masse  ? 
Aud  though  oft,  of  an  evening,  perhaps  he  might 

prove. 
Like  our  Spanish  confed'rates,  "  unable  to  move,'" 
Yet  there's  one  thing  in  war  of  advantage  unbounded. 
Which  is,  that  he  could  not  with  ease  be  surrounded. 

In  my  next  I  shall  sing  of  their  arms  and  equip- 
ment ; 
At  present  no  more,  but — good  luck  to  the  shipment ! 


HORACE,  ODE  I.  LIB.  IIL 

A   FRAGMENT. 

Odi  profanum  valgus  et  arceo : 
Favete  lin;:iiis:  cannina  non  prius 
Audita  Musaniin  sacerdos 
Virginibus  piierisque  canto. 
Regum  Uinendorum  in  proprios  greges, 
Reges  in  ipsos  imperiuni  est  Jovis. 


1813. 


I  HATE  thee,  oh,  Mob,  as  my  Lady  hates  delf ; 
To  Sir  Francis  I'll  give  up  thy  claps  and  thy 
hisses. 
Leave  old  Magna  Charta  to  shift  for  itself. 

And,  like  G — dw — n,  write  books  for  young  mas- 
ters and  misses. 
Oh  !  it  is  not  high  rank  that  can  make  the  heart 
merry. 
Even  monarchs  themselves  are  not  free  from  mis- 
hap: 
Though  the  Lords  of  Westphalia  must  quake  before 
Jerr)^, 
Poor  Jerry  liimself  has  to  quake  before  Nap. 


1  The  character  given  lo  the  Spanish  soldier,  in  Sir  John 
Mufray's  memorabte  dispatch. 

2  The  Hteral  closeness  of  the  version  here  cannot  but  he 
admired.  The  Translator  has  added  a  long,  erudite,  and 
flowery  note  upon  Roses,  of  which  I  can  merely  give  a  speci- 
men at  present.  In  the  first  place,  he  ransaclts  the  Hosarittm 
Foliticitm  of  the  Persian  poet  Sadi,  with  the  hope  of  finding 
some  Political  Roses,  to  match  the  gentleman  In  the  test — 
bat  in  vain  :  he  then  tells  ns  that  Cicero  accused  Verres  of 
reposing  upon  a  cushion  "Melitensi  rosd  fnrtum,^'  which, 
from  the  odd  mixture  of  words,  he  supposes  to  be  a  kind  of 
Iriik  Bed  of  Koses,  like  Lord  CasUereagh's.    The  learned 


HORACE,  ODE  XXXVIU.  LIB   1. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

Persicos  odi,  puer,  atlparatas  ; 
Displicent  nexai  philyra  coronie  ; 
jMtttc  scctari^  Rosa  giio  locorum. 

Sera  vwretur. 

TRANSLATED    BY  A  TREASmiY    CLERK,  WHILE    WAITING 
DINNER  FOR  THE  RIGHT  HON.  G RGE  R SE. 

Boy,  tell  the  Cook  that  I  hate  all  nick-nackcries. 
Fricassees,  vol-au-vents,  puffs,  and  gim-crackeries — 
Si.K  by  the  Horse-Guards  ! — old  Georgy  is  late — 
But  come — lay  the  table-cloth — zounds  I  do  not  wait, 
Nor  stop  to  inquire,  while  the  dinner  is  staying. 
At  wliich  of  his  places  Old  R — e  is  delaying  I* 


IMPROMPTU. 

UPON  BEING  OBUGED  TO  LEAVE  A  PLEASANT  PARTY, 
FROM  THE  WANT  OF  A  PAIR  OF  BREECHES  TO  DRESS 
FOR  DINNER  IN. 

J'lO 

Between  Adam  and  me  the  great  diiference  is. 
Though  a  paradise  each  has  been  forced  to  resign, 

That  he  never  wore  breeches  till  turn'd  out  of  his. 
While,  for  want  of  my  breeches,  I'm  banish'd  from 


LORD  WELLINGTON  AND  THE 
MINISTERS. 

1813. 
So  gently  in  peace  Alcibiades  smiled, 

While  in  battle  he  shone  forth  so  terribly  grand. 

That  the  emblem  they  graved  on  his  seal,  was  a  child 

With  a  thunderbolt  placed  in  its  iimocent  hand. 

Oh  Wellington,  long  as  such  Ministers  wield 

Your  magniiicent  arm,  the  same  emblem  will  do ; 

For  while  they're  in  the  Council  and  you  in  the  Field, 
We've  the  babies  in  them  and  the  thunder  in  you  .' 

Clerk  next  favors  us  with  some  remarks  upon  a  well-knowr. 
punning  epitaph  nn  fair  Rosamond,  and  expresses  a  most 
loyal  hope,  that,  if  "  Rosa  munda'*  mean  "  a  Rose  with  clean 
hands,"  it  may  be  fotmd  applicable  to  the  Right  Honorable 
Rose  in  question.  He  then  dwells  at  some  length  upon  the 
"  Rosa  /ijircfl,"  which,  though  descriptive,  in  one  sense,  of 
the  old  Treasury  Statesman,  yet,  as  being  consecrated  and 
worn  by  the  Pope,  must,  of  course,  not  be  brought  into  the 
same  atmosphere  with  him.  Lastly,  In  reference  to  the 
words  "old  Rose,"  he  winds  up  with  the  pathetic  iMDienta- 
tion  of  the  Poet  "  consenuisse  Rosas."  The  whole  note, 
indeed,  shows  a  knowledge  of  Roses,  that  is  quite  edifying 


228 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


IRISH    MELODIES 


THE  MARCHIONESS  DOWAGER  OF 
DONEGAL. 

It  is  uow  many  years  since,  in  a  Letter  prefixed 
to  tlio  Tiiird  Number  of  the  Irisli  Melodies,  I  had 
the  pieasuro  of  inscribing  the  Poems  of  Ihat  work  to 
joiir  Ladyship,  as  to  one  wlioso  cliaracter  reflected 
lienor  on  tlio  country  to  which  they  relate,  and 
whose  friendship  had  long  been  the  pride  and  happi- 
ness of  their  Author.  AVith  the  same  feelings  of 
affection  and  respect,  confirmed  if  not  increased  by 
the  experience  of  every  succeeding  year,  I  now 
place  those  Poems  in  their  present  new  fomi  under 
voiu-  protection,  and  am, 

With  perfect  sincerity. 
Your  Ladyship's  ever  attached  Friend, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


PREFACE. 

TiiOLGii  an  edition  of  the  Poetry  of  the  Irish 
M<-lodies,  separate  from  the  Music,  has  long  been 
called  for,  yet,  having,  for  many  reasons,  a  strong 
objection  to  this  sort  of  divorce,  I  should  with  diffi- 
culty have  consented  to  a  disunion  of  the  words 
from  the  airs,  had  it  depended  solely  upon  me  to 
keep  ttieni  quietly  and  indissolubly  together.  But, 
besides  the  various  shapes  in  which  these,  as  well 
as  my  other  lyrical  writings,  have  been  published 
throughout  America,  they  are  included,  of  course, 
in  all  the  editions  of  my  works  printed  on  the 
Continent,  and  have  also  appeared,  in  a  volume  full 
of  typographical  errors,  in  Dublin.  I  have  there- 
fore readily  acceded  to  the  wish  expressed  by  the 
Pioprietor  of  'lie  Irish  Alelodies,  for  a  revised  and 
coni]ilete  edition  of  the  poetry  of  the  Work,  though 
well  aware  that  my  verses  must  lose  even  more  than 
the  "nninuc  dimidium"  in  being  detached  from  the 
beautiful  airs  to  which  it  was  their  good  fortune  to  be 
associated. 


The  Advertisements  wliich  were  prefixed  to  the 
different  numbers,  the  Prefatory  Letter  upon  Music, 
&.C.,  will  be  found  in  an  Appendix  at  the  end  of  the 
Melodies. 


IRISH  BIELODIES. 


GO  WHERE  GLORY  WAITS  THEE. 

Go  where  glory  waits  thee, 
But,  while  fame  elates  thee, 

Oh  !  still  remember  me. 
AVhen  the  praise  thou  meetest 
To  thine  ear  is  sweetest, 

Oh  !  then  remember  me. 
Other  anns  may  press  thee, 
Dearer  frieuds  caress  thee. 
All  tlio  joys  that  bless  thee, 

Sweeter  far  may  be  ; 
But  when  friends  are  nearest, 
And  when  joys  are  dearest, 

Oh !  then  remember  me ! 

When,  at  eve,  thou  fovest 
By  the  star  thou  lovest. 

Oh !  then  remember  me 
Tliink,  when  home  retiuiiing. 
Bright  we've  seen  it  burning, 

Oh  !  thus  remember  me. 
Oft  as  summer  closes, 
When  thine  eye  reposes 
On  its  ling'ring  roses, 

Once  so  loved  by  thee, 
Tliink  of  her  who  wove  them. 
Her  who  made  thee  love  them, 

Oh !  then  remember  me. 

When,  around  thee  dying. 
Autumn  leaves  are  lying. 
Oh !  then  remember  me. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


229 


And,  at  night,  when  gazing 
On  the  gay  hearth  hiazing, 

Oh !  still  remember  me. 
Then  should  music,  stealing 
All  the  soui  of  feeling. 
To  thy  heart  appealmg. 

Draw  one  tear  from  thee  ; 
Then  let  memory  bring  thee 
Strains  I  used  to  sing  thee, — 

Oh  1  then  remember  me. 


WAR     SONG. 

REMEMBER    THE    GLORIES   OF    BRIEN 
THE  BRAVE.' 

Remember  the  glories  of  Brien  the  brave, 

Tho'  the  days  of  the  hero  are  o'er ; 
Tho'  lost  to  Mononia,^  and  cold  in  the  grave, 

Ho  returns  to  Kinkora'  no  more. 
That  star  of  the  field,  which  so  often  hath  pour'd 

Its  beam  on  the  battle,  is  set ; 
But  enough  of  its  gloiT  remains  on  each  sword, 

To  light  us  to  victory  yet 

Mouonia  I  when  Nature  embcllisliM  the  tint 

Of  thy  fields,  and  thy  mountains  bo  fair. 
Did  she  ever  intend  that  a  tyrant  should  print 

The  footstep  of  slavery  there  ? 
No  I  Freedom,  whose  smile  we  shall  never  resign, 

Go,  tell  oiu'  mvaders,  the  Danes, 
That  'tis  sweeter  to  bleed  for  an  age  at  thy  shrine. 

Than  to  sleep  but  a  moment  in  chains- 
Forget  not  our  wounded  companions,  who  stood' 

In  the  day  of  distress  by  our  side ; 
While  the  moss  of  the  valley  grew  red  with  their 
btood. 

They  stirr'<l  not,  but  conquer'd  and  died. 
That  sun  which  now  blesses  our  arms  with  his  light. 

Saw  them  fall  upon  Ossory's  plain ; — 
Oh !  let  him  not  blush,  when  he  leaves  us  to-night. 

To  find  that  they  fell  there  in  vain. 

1  Brien  Borombe,  the  great  monarch  of  Ireland,  who  was 
killed  at  the  battle  of  Clontarf,  in  the  beginning  of  the  llth 
century,  after  having  defeated  the  Danes  in  twenty-five  en- 
gagements. 

'  Mnnster. 

3  The  palace  of  Brien. 

*  This  alludes  to  an  interesting  circumstance  related  of  the 
Dalgais.  the  favorite  troops  of  Brien,  w  hen  they  were  inter- 
rupted in  their  return  from  the  battle  of  Clontarf,  byFitzpat- 


ERIN !    THE  TEAR  AND  THE  SMILE  IN 
THINE  EYES. 

Erin,  the  tear  and  tho  smile  in  thine  eyes. 
Blend  like  the  rainbow  that  hangs  in  thy  skies  I 
Shining  through  sorrow's  stream. 
Saddening  through  pleasure's  beam. 
Thy  suns  with  doubtful  gleam, 
Weep  while  they  rise. 

Erin,  thy  silent  tear  never  shall  cease, 
Erin,  thy  languid  smile  ne'er  shall  increase, 

Till,  like  tlie  rainbow's  light, 

Thy  various  tints  mile. 

And  form  in  heaven's  sight 
One  arch  of  peace .' 


OH !   BREATHE  NOT  HIS  NAME. 

Oh  !  breathe  not  his  name,  let  it  sleep  in  the  shade, 
Where  cold  and  unhonor'd  his  relics  are  laid : 
Sad,  silent,  and  dark,  be  the  tears  that  we  shed. 
As  the  night-dew  that  falls  on  the  grass  o'er  his  head. 

But   the  night-dew  that  falls,  though  in  silence  it 

weeps. 
Shall  brighten  W'ith   verdure  the   grave   where  he 

sleeps ; 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it  rolls, 
Shall  long  keep  his  memory  green  in  our  souls. 


WHEN  HE,  WHO  ADORES  THEE. 

WnE.N  he,  who  adores  thee,  has  left  but  the  name 

Of  his  fault  and  his  sorrows  behind. 
Oh  !  say  wilt  thou  weep,  when  they  darken  the  fame 

Of  a  life  that  for  thee  was  resign'd  ? 
Yes,  weep,  and  however  my  foes  may  condemn. 

Thy  tears  shall  efface  their  decree ; 
For  Heaven  can  witness,  though  guilty  to  them, 

I  have  been  but  too  faithful  to  thee. 

rick,  prince  of  Os^ory.  The  wounded  men  entreated  that 
they  might  be  allowed  to  tight  with  tl^  rest.—"  Let  stakes 
(they  said)  be  stuck  in  the  /rrouitd,  ajid  suffer  each  af  us,  tied 
to  and  supported  by  one  of  these  stakes,  to  be  placed  in  his  rank 
by  the  side  of  a  sound  man."  "Between  seven  and  eight 
hundred  wounded  men,  (adds  O'Halloran,)  pale,  emaciated, 
and  supported  in  this  manner,  appeared  mixed  with  the  fore- 
most of  the  troops ;— never  was  such  another  sight  exhibit- 
ed."— History  of  Ireland,  book  xii.  chap.  i. 


230 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


With  thee  wore  tho  dreams  of  my  earliest  lovo  ; 

Ever)-  tlioiisht  of  my  reiison  was  thine  ; 
la  my  last  humble  prayer  to  the  Spirit  above, 

Thy  iiajne  shall  bo  mingled  with  mine. 
Oh  I  blest  are  the  lovers  and  friends  who  shall  live 

Tho  days  of  thy  glory  to  see  ; 
But  the  ne.\t  dearest  blessing  that  Heaven  can  give 

Is  the  pride  of  thus  dying  for  thee. 


THE  HARP  THAT  ONCE  THROUGH 
TARA'S  HALLS. 

TiiF.  liar])  that  once  through  Tara's  halls 

The  soul  of  music  shed, 
Now  hangs  as  mute  on  Tara'a  walls, 

.As  if  that  soul  were  fled. — 
So  sleeps  the  pride  of  fonner  days, 

So  glory's  thrill  is  o'er, 
And  hearts,  that  once  beat  high  for  praise. 

Now  feel  that  pulse  no  more. 

No  more  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright 

The  harp  of  Tara  swells  ; 
The  chord  alone,  that  breaks  at  night. 

Its  tale  of  ruin  tells. 
Thus  Freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes, 

The  only  tlirob  she  gives. 
Is  when  some  heart  indignant  breaks. 

To  show  that  stiU  she  lives. 


FLY  NOT  YET 

Fly  not  yet,  'tis  just  tho  hour. 
When  pleasure,  like  the  midnight  flower 
That  scorns  the  eye  of  vulgar  light, 
BegiiLS  to  bloom  for  sons  of  night. 

And  maids  who  love  the  moon. 
'Twas  but  to  bless  these  hours  of  shade 
That  l)eauly  and  the  moon  were  made; 
'Tis  then  their  fm(t  attractions  glowing 
Set  tho  tides  and  goblets  flowing. 

Oh  I  Blay^Oh  '.  slay,— 
Joy  BO  seldom  weaves  a  chain 
Like  this  to-night,  that  oh  !  'tig  pain 

To  break  its  links  so  soon. 


■  Soils  Fobs,  near  iho  Toinplc  of  .Ammon. 


Fly  not  yet,  the  fount  that  play'd 

In  times  of  old  tiirough  Ammon's  shade,* 

Though  icy  cold  by  day  it  ran. 

Yet  still,  like  souls  of  mirth,  began 

To  bum  when  night  was  near. 
And  thus,  should  woman's  heart  and  looks 
At  noon  be  cold  as  winter  brooks. 
Nor  kindle  till  the  night,  returning, 
Brings  their  geni  i\  hour  for  burning. 

Oh  .'  stay, — Oli  I  stay, — 
When  did  morning  ever  break. 
And  find  such  beaming  eyes  awake 

As  those  that  sparkle  here  ? 


OH !   THINK  NOT  MY  SPIRITS  ARE 
ALWAYS  AS  LIGHT. 

On  !  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light. 

And  as  free  from  a  pang  as  they  seem  to  you 
now ; 
Nor  e.xpcct  that  the  heart-beaming  smile  of  to-night 

Will  return  with  to-morrow  to  brighten  my  brow. 
No : — life  is  a  waste  of  wearisome  houre, 

Which  seldom  the  rose  of  enjoyment  adorns  ; 
And  the  heart  that  is  soonest  awake  to  the  flowers. 

Is  always  the  first  to  be  touch'd  by  the  thorns. 
But  send  round  the  bowl>  and  be  happy  awliile — 

May  we  never  meet  worse,  in  our  pilgrimage  here, 
Than  the  tear  that  enjoyment  may  gild  with  a  smile. 

And  the  smile  that  compassion  can  turn  to  a  tear. 

The   thread   of  our   life  would   be   dark.  Heaven 
knows  I 
If  it  were  not  with  friendship   and   love   inter- 
twined ; 
And  I  care  not  how  soon  I  may  sink  to  repose. 
When  these  blessings  shall  cease  to  be  dear  to  my 
mind. 
But  they  who  have  loved  the  fondest,  tho  purest. 

Too  often  have  wept  o'er  the  dream  they  believed ; 
And   the   heart   that   has   elumber'd   in   friendship 
securest. 
Is  happy  indeed  if  'twas  never  deceived. 
But  send  round  the  bowl ;  while  a  relic  of  truth 
Is    in    man    or  in   woman,   this  prayer  shall    be 
mine, — 
That  the  sunshine  of  love  may  illumine  om-  youth, 
And  the  moonlight  of  friendship  console  our  de- 
cline. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


231 


THO'  THE  LAST  GLIMPSE  OF  ERIN  WITH 
SORROW  I  SEE. 

Tiio'  Iho  last  glimpse  of  Erin  with  sorrow  I  see, 
Yet  wherever  tliou  art  shall  seem  Erin  to  ine  ; 
In  exile  thy  bosom  shall  still  be  my  home, 
And  thine  eyes  make  my  climate  wherever  we  roam. 

To  the  gloom  of  some  desert  or  cold  rocky  shore, 
Wiiere  the  eye  of  the  stranger  can  hannt  us  no  more, 
I  will  fly  with  my  Coulin,  and  think  tlie  rough  wind 
Less  rude  than  the  foes  we  leave  frowning  behind. 

And   I'll    gaze   on   thy   gold   hair   as   graceful   it 

wreaths, 
And  hang  o'er  thy  soft  harp,  as  wildly  it  breathes ; 
Nor  di'cad  that  the  cold-hearted  Saxon  will  tear 
One  chord  from  that  harp,  or  one  lock  from  that 

haii-.^ 


RICH  AND  RARE  WERE  THE  GEMS  SHE 
AVORE.^ 

Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore, 
And  a  bright  gold  ring  on  her  wand  she  bore  ; 
But  oh  !  her  beauty  was  far  beyond 
Her  sparkling  gems,  or  snow-white  wand. 

'*  Lady !  dost  thou  not  fear  to  stray, 

"  So  lone  and  lovely  through  this  bleak  way  ? 

"  iVre  Erin's  sons  so  good  or  so  cold, 

"  As  not  to  be  tempted  by  woman  or  gold  ?" 

"  Sir  Knight !  I  feel  not  the  least  alarm, 

"  No  son  of  Erin  will  offer  me  harm : — 

'*  For  tliough  they  love  woman  and  golden  store, 

'•  Sir  Knight !  they  love  honor  and  virtu©  more  1" 

>  "  In  the  twenty-eighth  year  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII., 
an  Act  was  made  respecting  the  haliils,  and  dress  in  general, 
of  the  Irish,  whereby  all  persons  were  restrained  from  being 
shorn  or  shaven  above  the  ears,  or  from  wearing  GUbbes,  or 
Coulins,  (long  locks,)  on  their  heads,  or  hair  on  their  upper 
lip,  called  Crommeal.  On  this  occasion  a  song  was  written 
by  one  of  our  bards,  in  which  an  Irish  virgin  is  made  to  give 
the  preference  to  her  dear  Coulin  (or  the  youth  with  the 
flowing  locics)  to  all  strangers,  {by  which  the  English  were 
meant,)  or  those  who  wore  tlieir  habits.  Of  this  song,  the 
air  alone  has  reached  us,  and  is  universally  admired."  — 
JValkcr's  Historical  Memoirs  of  frisk  Bards,  p.  134.  Mr. 
Walker  informs  us  also,  that,  about  the  same  period,  there 
were  some  harsh  measures  taken  against  the  Irish  Min- 
strels. 
3  This  ballad  is  founded  upon  the  following  anecdote: — 


On  she  went,  and  her  maiden  smile 
In  safety  lighted  her  round  the  Green  Isle ; 
And  blest  forever  is  she  who  relied 
Upon  Erin's  honor  and  Erin's  pride. 


AS  A  BEAM  O'ER  THE  FACE  OF  THE 
WATERS  MAY  GLOW. 

As  a  beam  o'er  the  face  of  tlie  waters  may  glow 
While  tlie  tide  runs  m  darkness  and  coldness  below, 
So  the  cheek  may  be  tinged  with  a  wann  sunny  smile, 
Though  the  cold  heart  to  ruin  runs  darkly  the  while. 

One  fatal  remembrance,  one  somrw  that  throws 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o'er  our  joys  ai\d  our  woes, 
To  which  life  nothing  darker  or  brigliter  can  bring, 
For  which  joy  has  no  balm  and  affliction  no  sting — 

Oh  I    this  thought  in  the  midst  of  enjoyment  will 

stay. 
Like  a  dead,  leafless  branch  in  tlie  summer's  bright 

ray; 
The  beams  of  the  warm  sun  play  round  it  in  vain, 
It  may  smile  in  his  hght,  but  it  blooms  not  again. 


THE  MEETING  OF  THE  WATERS.' 

There  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As   that  vale   in  whose   bosom  the  bright  waters 

meet  ;* 
Oh  !  the  last  rays  of  feeling  and  life  must  depart, 
Ere  the  bloom  of  that  valley  shall  fade  from  my 

heart. 

Yet  it  was  not  that  Nature  had  shed  o'er  the  scene 
Her  purest  of  crystal  and  brightest  of  green  ; 

'*The  people  were  inspired  with  such  a  spirit  of  honor,  vir 
tue,  and  religion,  by  the  great  example  of  Brien.  and  by  his 
excellent  administration,  that,  as  a  proof  of  it,  we  are  informed 
that  a  young  lady  of  great  beauty,  adorned  with  jewels  and 
a  costly  dress,  undertook  a  journey  alone,  from  one  end  of  the 
kingdom  to  the  other,  with  a  wand  only  in  her  hand,  at  the 
top  of  which  was  a  ring  of  exceeding  great  value;  and  such 
an  impression  had  the  laws  and  government  of  this  Monarch 
made  on  the  minds  of  all  the  people,  that  no  attempt  was 
made  upon  her  honor,  nor  was  she  robbed  of  her  clothes  or 
jewels." — fVamer's  History  of  Ireland,  vol.  i.,  book  x. 

3  "The  Meeting  of  the  Waters"  forms  a  part  of  that  beau- 
tiful scenery  which  lies  between  Rathdrum  and  Arklow,  in 
the  county  of  \V  icklow,  and  these  lines  were  suggested  by  a 
visit  to  this  romantic  spot,  in  the  summer  of  the  year  1807. 

*  The  rivers  Avon  and  Avoca. 


f 


232 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Twns  not  licr  soft  majjic  of  streamlet  or  hill, 
Oh :  no, it  WHS  somclhiiig  more  exquisite  still. 

'Tw'a»  that  friends,  the  beloved  of  my  bosom,  wore 
near, 

Who  made  every  dear  scene  of  enchantment  more 
dear. 

And  wlio  felt  how  tlie  best  charms  of  nature  im- 
prove. 

When  we  see  them  reflected  from  looks  that  we  love. 

Sweet  vale  of  Avoca  !  how  calm  could  I  rest 
In  tliy  bosom  of  shade,  with  the  friends  I  love  best, 
Where  the  storms  tliat  wo  feel  in  this  cold  world 

should  cease, 
And  oiu'  hearts,  like  thy  waters,  bo  mingled  in  peace. 


HOW  DEAR  TO  ME  THE  HOUR. 

How  dear  to  me  the  hour  when  daylight  dies, 
And  sunbeams  melt  along  the  silent  sea  ; 

For  tiien  sweet  dreams  of  other  days  arise, 
vVud  memory  breathes  her  vesper  sigh  to  thee. 

And,  as  I  watch  the  line  of  light,  that  plays 

Along  the  smootli  wave  tow'rd  the  burning  west, 

I  long  to  tread  that  golden  path  of  rays. 

And  think  'twould  lead  to  some  bright  isle  of  rest. 


TAKE   BACK   THE   VIRGIN   PAGE 

WRITTEN  OX   RETUR-M.NG  A  BLANK  BOOK. 

Take  back  the  virgin  page. 

White  and  unwritten  still  ; 
Some  hand,  more  calm  and  sage, 

The  leaf  must  till. 
Thoughts  come,  as  pure  as  light. 

Pure  OS  even  you  require : 
But,  oh  !  each  word  I  write 

Love  turns  to  fue. 

Yet  let  mo  keep  the  book : 

Oft  shall  my  heart  renew. 
When  on  its  leaves  I  look. 

Dear  thoughts  of  you. 
Like  you,  'tis  fair  and  bright ; 

Like  you,  too  bright  and  fair 
To  let  wild  passion  write 

Oue  wrong  wish  Uiere. 


Haply,  when  from  those  eyes 

Far,  far  away  I  roam. 
Should  calmer  thoughts  aiise 

Tow'rds  you  and  home  ; 
Fancy  ma)-  trace  some  line. 

Worthy  (hose  eyes  to  meet. 
Thoughts  that  not  bum,  but  shine, 

Pure,  calm,  and  sweet. 

And  as,  o'er  ocean  far, 

Seamen  their  records  keep, 
Led  by  some  hidden  star 

Througli  the  cold  deep ; 
So  may  the  words  I  write 

Tell  thro'  what  storms  I  stray — 
You  still  the  unseen  iglit. 

Guiding  my  way. 


THE  LEGACY. 

When  in  death  I  shall  calmly  recline, 

0  bear  my  heart  to  my  mistress  dear  ; 
Tell  her  it  lived  upon  smiles  and  wine 

Of  the  brightest  hue,  while  it  linger'd  here. 
Bid  her  not  shed  one  tear  of  sorrow 

To  sully  a  heart  so  brilliant  and  light ; 
But  balmy  drops  of  the  red  grape  borrow. 

To  bathe  the  relic  from  morn  till  night. 

When  tlie  light  of  my  song  is  o'er. 

Then  take  my  harp  to  your  ancient  hall ; 
Hang  it  up  at  that  friendly  door. 

Where  weary  travellers  love  to  call.' 
Then  if  some  bard,  who  roams  forsaken, 

Revive  its  soft  note  in  passing  along. 
Oh  !  let  one  tliought  of  its  master  waken 

Your  warmest  smile  for  the  child  of  sono'. 

Keep  this  cup,  which  is  now  o'erflowing. 

To  grace  your  revel,  when  I'm  at  rest ; 
Never,  oh  !  never  its  balm  bestowing 

On  lips  that  beauty  hath  seldom  bless'd. 
But  when  some  warm  devoted  lover 

To  her  he  adores  shall  bathe  its  brim. 
Then,  then  my  spirit  around  shall  hover. 

And  hallow  each  drop  that  foams  for  him. 


1  "  In  e\'ery  house  was  one  or  two  harps,  free  lo  all  tr.-iv- 
cllcrs.  who  were  the  more  caressed,  the  more  they  excelled 
in  music.*' — 0' Haltoran. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


233 


HOW  OFT  HAS  THE  BENSHEE  CRIED. 

How  oft  lias  tlie  Benslice  cried, 

How  oft  lias  deatli  untied 

Briglit  links  that  Glory  wove, 

Sweet  bonds  entwined  by  Love  I 
Peace  to  each  manly  soul  that  sleepeth ; 
Rest  to  each  faithful  oyo  that  weepeth  ; 

Long  may  the  fair  and  brave 

Sigh  o'er  the  hero's  grave. 

We're  fall'n  upon  gloomy  days !' 

Star  after  star  decays, 

Every  bright  name,  that  shed 

Light  o'er  the  land,  is  fled. 
Dark  falls  the  tear  of  him  who  mourneth 
Lost  joy,  or  hope  that  ne'er  returneth  ; 

But  brightly  flows  the  tear, 

Wept  o'er  a  hero's  bier. 

Quench'd  are  our  beacon  lights — 
Thou,  of  the  Hundred  Fights  !' 
Thou,  on  whose  burning  tongue 
Truth,  peace,  and  freedom  liimg  1' 

Both  mute, — bnt  long  as  valor  shineth, 

Or  mercy's  soul  at  war  repineth. 
So  long  shall  Erin's  pride 
Tell  how  they  lived  and  died. 


WE  MAY  ROAM  THROUGH  THIS 
WORLD. 

We  may  roam  tluough  this  world,  like  a  child  at  a 
feast. 
Who  but  sips  of  a  sweet,  and  then  flies  to  the 
rest ; 
And,  when  pleasure  begins  to  grow  dull  in  the  east. 
We  may  order  our  wings,  and  be  oflf  to  the  west ; 
But  if  hearts  that  feel,  and  eyes  that  smile, 

Ai'e  the  dearest  gifts  that  heaven  supplies, 
We  never  need  leave  our  own  green  isle, 

For  sensitive  hearts,  and  for  sun-bright  eyes. 
Then  remember,  wherever  your  goblet  is  crown'd, 
Thro'  this  world,  whether  eastward  or  westward 
you  roam, 

'  I  have  endeavored  here,  without  losing  that  Irish  char- 
acter which  it  is  my  object  to  preserve  throughout  this 
work,  to  aUutle  to  the  sad  and  ominous  Vitality,  by  which 
England  has  been  deprived  of  so  many  preat  and  good  men, 
at  a  moment  when  she  most  requires  all  the  aids  of  latent 
and  integrity. 

3  This  designation,  which  has  been  before  applied  to  LoBtt 


When  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes  round, 
Oh !    remember  the  smile  which   adorns  her  at 
home. 

In  England,  the  garden  of  Beauty  is  kept 

By  a  dragon  of  prudery  placed  within  call ; 
But  so  oft  this  unamiablc  dragon  has  slept. 

That  tlio  garden's  but  carelessly  watch'd  after  all. 
Oh  !  they  want  the  wild  sweet-briery  fence, 

Which  round  the  flowers  of  Erin  dwells ; 
Whicli  warns  tlio  touch,  while  winning  the  sense. 

Nor  charms  us  least  when  it  most  repels. 
Then  remembti,  wherever  your  goblet  is  crown'd. 

Thro'  this  world,  whether  eastward  or  westward 
you  roam, 
When  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes  round. 

Oh !  lemember  the  smile  that  adonis  her  at  home. 

In  France,  when  the  heart  of  a  woman  -eCfi  sail. 

On  the  ocean  of  wedlock  its  fortune  to  try. 
Love  seldom  goes  far  in  a  vessel  so  frail. 

But  just  pilots  lierofF,  and  then  bids  her  good-by. 
While  the  daughters  of  Erin  keep  the  boy. 

Ever  smiling  beside  his  faithful  oar. 
Through  billows  of  wo,  and  beams  of  joy. 

The  same  as  he  look'd  wlien  he  left  the  shore. 
Then  remember,  wherever  your  goblet  is  crown'd. 

Thro'  this  world,  whether  eastward  or  westward 
you  roam, 
AVlieu  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes  round. 

Oh !  remember  the  smile  that  adorns  her  at  home. 


EVELEEN'S  BOWER. 

On  !  weep  for  the  hour. 

When  to  Eveleen's  bower 
The  Lord  of  the  Valley  with  false  vows  came ; 

The  moon  hid  her  light 

From  the  heavens  that  night, 
And  wept  behind  her  clouds  o'er  the  maiden's  shame 

The  clouds  pass'd  soon 

From  the  chaste  cold  moon, 
And  heaven  smiled  again  with  her  vestal  flame  ; 

But  none  will  see  the  day. 

When  the  clouds  shall  pass  away, 
Wliich  tliat  dark  hour  left  upon  Eveleen's  fame. 

Nelson,  is  the  title  given  to  a  celebrated  Irish  Hero,  in  a 
Poem  by  O'Guive,  the  bard  of  O'Niel.  which  is  quoled  in  the 
"Philosophical  Survey  of  the  Scmth  of  Ireland,"  page  433. 
"Con,  of  the  Hundred  Fights,  sleep  in  thy  grass-grown  tomb, 
and  upbraid  notour  defeats  with  thy  victories." 
3  Fox,  "  Romanomm  ultimus." 


23J 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  white  snow  lay 

On  the  narrow  patli-way, 
When  the  Lord  of  the  Valley  cross'd  over  the  moor ; 

And  many  a  deep  print 

On  the  white  snow's  tint 
Show'd  the  track  of  his  footstep  to  Eveleen's  door. 

The  next  sun's  ray 

Soon  melted  away 
Every  trace  on  the  path  where  the  false  Lord  came  ; 

But  there's  a  li(i;ht  above 

Which  alone  can  remove 
That  stain  upon  the  snow  of  fair  Eveleen's  fame. 


LET  ERIN  REMEMBER  THE  DAYS  OF 
OLD. 

Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old, 

Ere  her  faithlegs  sous  betray 'd  her ; 
When  Malachi  wore  the  collar  of  gold,' 

Which  he  won  from  her  proud  invader. 
When  her  kin^,  with  standard  of  ^cen  imfurl'd, 

Led  the  Red-Branch  Knights  to  danger  ;^ — 
Ere  the  emerald  gem  of  the  western  world 

W'as  set  in  the  crown  of  a  stranger. 

On  Ijough  Neagh's  bank,  as  the  fisherman  strays, 

When  tlie  clear  cold  eve's  declining. 
He  sees  the  round  towers  of  other  days 

Li  the  wave  beneath  him  shining ; 
Tims  sliall  memory  often,  in  dreams  sublime, 

Catch  a  glimpse  of  the  days  that  are  over ; 
TJuis,  sighing,  look  through  the  waves  of  time 

For  the  long  faded  glories  they  cover.' 

I  "This  broufiht  on  nn  encounter  between  Maiachi  (the 
Monarch  of  Ireliind  In  the  tenth  century)  and  the  D.anes,  in 
which  Mulachl  defeated  two  of  their  champions,  whom  he 
encountered  successively,  hand  to  hand,  laliinc  a  collar  of 
cold  from  the  neck  of  one,  and  carrying  off  the  sword  of 
the  other,  as  trophies  of  hb  vlctorj'." —  IVamer^s  History  of 
Ireland,  vol.  i.  book  il. 

»  "  Military  orders  of  knlphts  were  ver>*  early  established 
In  Irelanii :  Ion?  before  the  liirth  of  Christ  we  find  an  hered- 
itary order  of  Chivalry  in  Ulster,  called  Curaidhe  na  Crai- 
ohhe  ruadh.  or  the  Knights  of  the  Red  Branch,  from  their 
chief  scat  in  Emanla,  adjoining  to  the  palace  of  the  Ulster 
kings,  called  Ttairh  na  Craiohhe  riuxdh,  or  the  Academy  of 
the  Red  Branch ;  and  contiguous  to  which  was  a  large  hos- 
pital, founded  for  the  sick  knights  and  soldiers,  called  Bron- 
ftAfarff,  or  the  House  of  the  Sorrowful  Soldier." — O' Hallo- 
ran  s  Introduction,  &■€.,  part  i.  chap.  5. 

3  It  was  an  old  tradition,  in  the  tinie  of  Giraldus,  that 
Lou;:h  Neagh  had  been  originally  a  fountain,  by  whose  sud- 
den overflowing  the  country  was  inundated,  and  a  whole 


THE  SONG  OF  FIONNUALA.* 

Silent,  oh  Moylc,  be  the  roar  of  thy  water. 

Break  not,  ye  breezes,  your  chain  of  repose, 
While,  mnimuring  mournfully,  Lir's  lonely  daugh- 
ter 

Tells  to  the  night-star  her  tale  of  woes. 
When  shall  the  swan,  her  death-note  singing, 

Sleep  with  ^vings  in  darkness  furl'd? 
When  will  heaven,  its  sweet  bell  ringing. 

Call  my  spirit  from  this  stonny  world? 

Sadly,  oh  Moyle,  to  thy  winter-wave  weeping. 

Fate  bids  me  languish  long  ages  away  ; 
Yet  still  in  her  darkness  dotli  Erin  lie  sleeping. 

Still  doth  the  pure  light  its  dawning  delay. 
When  will  that  day-star,  mildly  springing, 

Warm  our  isle  with  peace  and  love  ? 
When  will  heaven,  its  sweet  bell  r,;ging. 

Call  my  spirit  to  the  fields  above  ? 


COME,  SEND  ROUND  THE  WINE. 

Come,  send  round  tlie  wine,   and  leave  points  of 
belief 
To  sunpleton  sages,  and  reasoning  fools ; 
This  moment's  a  flower  too  fan  and  brief. 

To  be  wither'd   and  stain'd  by  the  dust  of  the 
schools. 
Your  glass  may  be  praplc,  and  mine  may  be  blue. 
But  while  they  are  fill'd  from  the  same  bright 
bowl. 
The  fool  who  would  quaiTel  for  diff 'rence  of  hue, 
Desen'es  not  the  comfort  they  shed  o'er  the  soui. 

region,  like  the  Atlantis  of  Plato,  overwhelmed.  He  says 
that  the  tishernicn,  in  clear  weather,  used  to  point  out  to 
strangers  the  tjill  ecclesiastical  towers  under  the  water. 
Piscatorcs  aqua-  itlius  turrcs  cccUsinstictis,  quii  more  patrice 
arcttS  sunt  et  allir,  nccnon  ct  Totundir,  sub  undis  maiiifcste 
sereno  tempore  conspiciunt,  et  eitrancis  transcuntibus,  reique 
eausas  admirantibus,  frequenter  ostendunt. — Topogr.  Hib. 
dist.  2,  c.  9. 

*  To  make  this  story  intelligible  in  a  song  would  require  a 
much  greater  number  of  verses  than  any  one  is  authorized  to 
inflict  upon  an  audience  at  once;  the  reader  must  therefore 
be  content  to  learn,  in  a  note,  that  Fionnuala.  the  daughter 
of  Lir,  was,  by  some  supernatural  power,  Iransfornicd  into  a 
swan,  and  condemned  to  wander,  for  many  hundred  years, 
over  certain  lakes  and  rivers  in  Ireland,  till  the  coming  of 
Chrislianily,  when  the  first  sound  of  the  niass-bell  was  to 
be  the  signal  of  her  release. — I  found  this  fanciful  fiction 
among  some  manuscript  translations  from  the  Irish,  which 
were  began  under  tlie  direction  of  that  enlightened  friend  of 
Ireland,  the  late  Countess  of  Moira. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


235 


Shall  I  ask  the  brave  soldier,  who  fights  by  my  side 

In  the  cause  of  mankind,  if  our  creeds  agree  ? 
Sliall  I  give  up  the  friend  I  liave  vahied  and  tried. 

If  lie  kneel  not  before  the  same  altar  with  mo  ? 
From  the  heretic  girl  of  my  soul  sliould  I  fl)', 

To  seek  somewhere  else  a  more  orthodox  kiss  ? 
No  :  perish  the  hearts,  and  the  laws  that  try 

Truth,  valor,  or  love,  by  a  standard  like  this  I 


SUBLIME  WAS  THE  WARNING. 

Sublime  was  the  warning  that  Liberty  spoke. 
And  grand  was  the  moment  when  Spaniards  awoke 

Into  life  and  revenge  from  the  conqueror's  chain. 
Oh,  Liberty  !  let  not  this  spirit  have  rest, 
Till  it  move,  like  a  breeze,  o'er  the  waves  of  the 

west — 
Give  the  light  of  your  look  to  each  sorrowing  spot. 
Nor,  oh,  be  the  shamrock  of  Erin  forgot 

AV'hile   you   add   to   your   garland  the  Olive  of 
Spain  ! 

If  the  fame  of  our  fathers,  bequeath'd  with,  their 

rights. 
Give  to  coimtry  its  charm,  and  to  home  its  delights. 

If  deceit  be  a  woimd,  and  suspicion  a  stain. 
Then,  ye  men  of  Iberia,  our  cause  is  the  same  ! 
And  oh !  may  his  tomb  want  a  tear  and  a  name. 
Who  would  ask  for  a  nobler,  a  holier  death, 
Than  to  turn  his  last  sigh  mto  victory's  breath, 

For  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  and  Olive  of  Spain  1 

Yo  Blakes  and  O'Dounels,  whose  fathers  resign'd 
The  green  hills  of  their  youth,  among  strangers  to 

find 
That  repose  which,  at  home,  they  had  sigli'd  for 

in  vain. 
Join,  join  in  our  hope  that  the  flame,  which  you 

light, 
May  be  felt  yet  in  Erui,  as  calm,  and  as  bright, 
And  forgive  even  Albion  while  blushing  she  draws. 
Like  a  truant,  her  sword,  in  the  long-slighted  cause 
Of  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  and  Olive  of  Spain  ! 

God  prosper  the  cause  ! — oh,  it  caimot  but  thrive. 
While  tlie  pulse  of  one  patriot  heart  is  alive. 

Its  devotion  to  feel,  and  its  rig'.ts  to  maintain  ; 
Then,  how  sainted  by  sorrow,  its  martjTS  will  die  ! 
The  finger  of  glory  shall  point  where  they  lie  ; 

>  The  inextinguishable  fire  of  St.  Bridget,  at  Kildare, 
which  Giraldus  mentions : — "  Apud  Kildariam  occurrit  ignis 
Sancts  Brigidx,  quern  ine.xtinguibilem  vocanl ;  non  quod  ex- 
tingui  non  possit,  sed  quod  tam  solicite  moaiales  et  sanctte 


While,  far  from  the  footstep  of  coward  or  slave. 
The    youtig   spirit    of   Freedom  shall  shelter  their 
grave 
Beneath  Shamrocks  of  Erin  and  Olives  of  Spain '. 


BELIEVE  ME,  IF  ALL  THOSE  ENDEAR- 
ING YOUNG  CHARMS. 

Believe  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young  channs, 

Which  i  gaze  on  so  fondly  to-day. 
Were  to  change  by  to-morrow,  and  fleet  in  my  arms. 

Like  fairy-gifts  fading  away, 
Thou  wouldst  still  be  adored,  as  this  moment  thou 
art. 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  will. 
And  around  the  dear  ruin  each  wish  of  my  heart 

Would  entwine  itself  verdantly  still. 

It  is  not  while  beauty  and  youth  are  thine  own, 

And  thy  cheeks  unprofaned  by  a  tear 
That  tlie  fervor  and  faith  of  a  soul  can  be  known. 

To  which  time  will  but  make  thee  more  dear  ; 
No,  the  heart  that  has  truly  loved  never  forgets. 

But  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close. 
As  the  sun-flower  turns  on  her  god,  when  he  sets. 

The  saute  look  wliich  she  turn'd  when  he  rose. 


ERIN,  OH  ERIN. 

Like  the  bright  lamp,  that  shone  in  Kildare's  holy 
fane,^ 

And  buni'd  thro'  long  ages  of  darkness  and  storm. 
Is  the  heart  that  sorrows  have  frown'd  on  in  vain, 

Whose  spirit  outlives  them,  imfading  and  warm. 
Erin,  oil  Erin,  thus  hriglit  thro'  tlie  tears 
Of  a  long  niglit  of  bondage,  tiiy  spirit  appeals. 

The  nations  have  fallen,  and  thou  still  art  young, 
Thy  sun  is  but  rising,  when  others  are  set ; 

And  tho'  slavery's  cloud  o'er  thy  morning  hath  hung. 
The  full  noon  of  freedom  shall  beam  round  thee 
yet. 

Erui,  oh  Erin,  tho'  long  in  the  shade, 

Thy  star  shall  shine  out  when  tlie  proudest  shall  fade. 

mnlieres  ignem,  suppetente  iiiatcria.  invent  et  niitrinnt.  ut  a 
tempore  virginis  per  tot  annonim  curi  tenia  seinl'ennaiisit  in- 
extinctus."— GiraW.  Camli.  dc  JUiralil.  Hibtrn.  dist.  2,  f.  34. 


236 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Unchill'd  by  Ihc  rain,  and  iinwaked  by  the  wind, 
Tlip  lily  lios  Bleeping  Ihro'  winter's  cold  liour, 

Till  Spring's  light  toiicli  her  fetters  unbind, 

Aiid  daylight  and  liberty  bless  the  young  flower.' 

Thus  Erin,  oh  Erin,  thy  winter  is  past, 

Aiid  the  hope  that  lived  thro'  it  shall  blossom  at  last 


DRINK  TO  HER 

t 

Drink  to  her,  who  long 

Ilath  waked  tlie  poet's  sigh, 
The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy. 
Oh  I  woman's  heart  was  made 

For  minstrel  hands  alone  ; 
By  other  fingers  play'd. 

It  ynelds  not  half  the  tone. 
Then  here's  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  si^, 
Tlie  girl,  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy. 

At  Beauty's  door  of  glass, 

When  Wealth  and  Wit  once  stood. 
They  ask'd  her,  "  which  might  pass  ?'* 

She  answer'd,  "  he,  who  could.'* 
With  golden  key  Wealth  thought 

To  pass — but  'twould  not  do  : 
While  Wit  a  diamond  brought. 

Which  cut  his  bright  way  through 
So  here's  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  tlio  poet's  sigh. 
The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 

W'hat  gold  could  never  buy. 

The  love  that  seeks  a  home 

Where  wealth  or  grandeur  shines, 
Is  like  tlie  gloomy  gnome, 

That  dwells  in  dark  gold  mines. 
But  oh  !  the  poet's  love 

Can  boast  a  brighter  sphere  ; 
Its  native  home's  above, 

Tlio'  woman  keeps  it  here. 

»  Mrs.  H.  Tighc,  ill  her  cxqtiisUo  lines  on  the  Lily,  has 
applied  thiii  irnafic  to  a  still  nioiv  important  object. 

5  Wc  may  suppose  this  apolof!)'  to  have  Iicen  uttered  by 
one  of  those  wandering  bards,  whom  Spenser  so  severely, 
and,  perhaps,  truly,  descrilies  in  his  Stale  of  Ireland,  and 
whose  poems,  he  tells  us,  "  were  sprinltled  with  some  pretty 
flowers  of  their  natural  device,  which  have  cood  price  and 
comeliness  unto  them,  tlio  which  it  is  jireat  pity  to  see 
abused  to  the  gracing  of  wicitedness  and  vice,  which,  with 
good  usage,  would  serve  to  adorn  and  beautify  virtue." 


Then  drink  to  her,  who  long 
Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh, 

The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 
What  gold  could  never  buy. 


OH!  BLAME  NOT  THE  BARD.' 

Oil !  blanie  not  the  bard,  if  he  fly  to  the  bowers. 

Where  Pleasure  lies,  carelessly  smiling  at  Fame ; 
He  was  born  for  mucli  more,  and  in-happier  hours 

His  soul  might  have  burn'd  with  a  holier  flame. 
The  string,  that  now  languishes  loose  o'er  the  lyre. 

Might  have  bent  a  proud  bow  to  the  warrior's 
dart ;' 
And  the  lip,  which  now  breathes  but  the  song  cf 
desire, 

Might  have  pour'd  the  full  tide  of  a  patriot's  heart. 

But  alas  for  his  country  I — her  pride  is  gone  by. 
And   that   spirit   is   broken,  which  never  would 
bend ; 
O'er  the  ruin  her  children  in  secret  must  sigh. 

For  'tis  treason  to  love  her,  and  death  to  defend. 
Unprized  are  her  sons,  till  they've  leam'd  to  betray  ; 
Undistinguish'd  they  live,  if  they  shame  not  their 
sires; 
And  the  torch,  that  would  light  them  thro'  dignity's 
way, 
Must  be  caught  from  the  pile,  where  their  country 
expires. 

Then  blame   not   the   bard,   if    in   pleasme's   soft 
dream. 
He  should  try  to  forget  what  he  never  can  lical : 
Oh  !  give  but  a  hope— let  a  vista  but  gleam 

Through  the  gloom  of  his  country-,  and  mark  how 
Iie'll  feel  ! 
That  instant,  his  heart  at  Iter  shrine  would  lay  down 

Every  passion  it  nursed,  every  bliss  it  adored  ; 
While  the  niyrllo,  now  idly  entwined  with  his  crown, 
Like  the  wreath  of  Harmodius,  should  cover  his 
sword.' 

'  It  Is  conjectured  by  Wormlus,  that  the  name  of  Ireland 
is  derived  from  Yr,  the  Runic  for  a  how,  in  the  use  of  which 
weapon  tlie  Irish  were  once  very  e.xpert.  This  derivation  is 
certainly  more  creditable  to  us  than  the  following  :  "  So  that 
Ireland,  called  the  land  of  Ire,  from  the  constant  broils 
therein  for  400  years,  was  now  become  the  land  of  con- 
cord."— IJoyd's  State  jrurthies,  art.  The  Lord  Grajidison, 

*  See  the  Hymn,  attribuled  to  Alctcus,  E^/iu/jron  kXq^i  to 
{|0O5  0i,p^j(j — "I  will  carry  my  sword,  hidden  in  myrtles, 
like  Harmodius,  and  Aristogiton,"  &c. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


237 


But  tho'  glory  be  gone,  and  tho'  hope  fade  away, 

Thy  name,  loved  Erin,  shall  live  in  his  songs ; 
Not  ev'n  in  the  hour,  when  his  heart  is  most  gay, 

Will  he  lose  the  remenihrance  of  thee   and  thy 
wrongs. 
The  stranger  shall  hear  thy  lament  on  his  plains  ; 

The  sigh  of  thy  harp  shaU  be  sent  o'er  the  deep, 
Till  thy  masters  themselves,  as  they  rivet  tliy  chains. 

Shall  pause  at  the  song  of  their  captive,  and  weep. 


WHILE  GAZING  ON  THE  MOON'S  LIGHT. 

While  gazing  on  the  moon's  light, 

A  moment  from  her  smile  I  tum'd. 
To  look  at  orbs,  that,  more  bright, 
In  lone  and  distant  glory  burn'd. 
But  too  far 
Each  proud  star, 
For  me  to  feel  its  wanning  flame ; 
Mucli  more  dear 
That  mild  sphere. 
Which  near  our  planet  smiling  came  ;' — 
Thus,  Mary,  be  but  thou  my  own ; 

While  brighter  eyes  unheeded  play, 
I'll  love  those  moonlight  looks  alone, 
That  bless  my  homo  and  guide  my  way 

The  day  had  sunk  in  dim  showers. 

But  midnight  now,  with  lustre  meet, 
Illummed  all  the  pale  flowers. 

Like  hope  upon  a  mourner's  cheek. 
I  said  (while 
The  moon's  smile 
Play'd  o'er  a  stream,  in  dimpling  bliss,) 
"  The  moon  looks  . 

,   "  On  many  brooks 
"  The  brook  can  see  no  moon  but  this ;'" 
And  thus,  I  thought,  our  fortunes  run, 

For  many  a  lover  looks  to  thee. 

While  oh  !  I  feel  there  is  but  ojie, 

One  Mary  in  the  world  for  me. 


ILL  OMENS. 

When  daylight  was  yet  sleeping  under  the  billow. 
And  stars  in  the  heavens  still  lingering  shone, 

1  "  Of  such  celestial  bodies  as  are  visible,  the  sun  excepted, 
ths  single  moon,  as  despicable  as  it  is  in  comparison  to  most 
of  the  others,  is  much  more  beneficial  than  they  all  put  to- 
gether."—  fVhiston's  Theory,  S-c. 

In  tho  Entretiens  tT^riste,  among  other  ingenious  em- 


Young  Kitty,  all  blushing,  rose  up  from  her  pillow. 

The  last  time  she  e'er  was  to  press  it  alone. 
For  the  youth  whom  she  treasured  lier  heart  and  her 
soul  in, 
Had  promised  to  Unk  tho  last  tie  before  noon  ; 
And,  when  once  the  young  heart  of  a  maiden  is 
stolen, 
The  maiden  herself  will  steal  after  it  soon. 

As  she  look'd  in    he  glass,  which  a  woman  ne'er 
misses. 

Nor  ever  wants  time  for  a  sly  glance  or  two, 
A  butterfly,^  fresh  from  the  night-flower's  kisses. 

Flew  over  tho  mirror,  and  sliaded  her  view. 
Enraged  with  the  insect  for  hiding  her  graces, 

She  brush'd  him — he  fell,  alas!  never  to  rise: 
"  Ah !  such,"  said  the   girl,  "  is  tho  pride   of  our 
faces, 

"  For  which  the  soul's  innocence  too  often  dies." 

While  she  stole  thro'  the  garden,  where  heart's-ease 
was  growing. 
She  cuH'd  some,  and  kiss'd  ofl'its  night-fall'n  dew : 
And  a   rose,  farther    .ai,    look'd   so    tempting   and 
glowing, 
That,  spite  of  her  haste,  she  must  gaflicr  it  too: 
But  while  o'er  the  roses  too  carelessly  leaning, 

Her  zone  flew  in  two,  and  the  heart's-ease  was 
lost: 
"  Ah  !  this  means,"  said  the  girl,  (and  she  sigh'd  at 
its  meaning,) 
"  That  love  is  scarce  worth  the  repose  it  will  cost !" 


BEFORE  THE  BATTLE. 

By  the  hope  within  us  springing. 

Herald  of  to-morrow's  strife  ; 
B}  that  sun,  whose  light  is  bringing 

Cliains  or  freedom,  death  or  life — 
Oh  I  remember  life  can  be 
No  charm  for  him,  who  lives  not  free  ! 

Like  tlie  day-star  in  the  wave, 

Sinks  a  hero  in  his  grave. 
Midst  the  dew-fall  of  a  nation's  tears. 

Happy  is  he  o'er  whose  decline 
Tho  smiles  of  home  may  soothing  shine, 
And  light  him  down  the  steep  of  years : — 

blems,  we  find  a  starry  sky  without  a  moon,  with  these 
words,  JVon  miiie.  quod  ahsens. 

3  This  image  was  sufrgested  by  the  following  thoupht, 
which  occurs  somewhere  in  Sir  VViiiiam  Jones's  works ; 
"The  moon  looks  upon  many  night-fiowers,  the  ni^ht-flower 
sees  but  one  moon."  ^  An  emblem  of  the  sotll. 


238 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But  oh,  how  West  they  sink  to  rest, 
Who  close  their  eyes  on  Victory's  breast .' 

O'er  liis  watch-fiio's  fading  embers 

Now  the  foeman's  checli  turns  white. 
When  liis  licart  tliat  field  rcmcrnbere, 

\\liero  we  tamed  his  tyrant  might 
Never  let  liim  bind  again 
A  chain,  like  tliat  we  broke  from  then. 

Hark  I  the  liom  of  combat  calls — 

Ere  the  golden  evenuig  falls. 
May  we  pledge  that  horn  in  triumph  round  I' 

Many  a  heart  that  now  beats  high, 
In  slnmber  cold  at  night  shall  lie. 
Nor  waken  even  at  Tictor)''s  sound : — 
But  oh,  how  blest  that  hero's  sleep, 
O'er  whom  a  wond'ring  world  shall  weep  I 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 

Night  closed  around  the  conqueror's  way, 

And  lightnings  show'd  the  distant  hill. 
Where  those  who  lost  that  di-eadful  day, 

Stood  few  and  faint,  but  fearless  still. 
Tile  soldier's  hope,  the  patriot's  zeal, 

Forever  dimm'd,  forever  cross' d — 
Oh  I  who  shall  say  what  heroes  feel. 

When  all  but  life  and  honor's  lost? 

Tlie  last  sad  hour  of  freedom's  dream, 

And  valor's  task,  moved  slowly  by. 
While  mute  they  watch'd,  till  morning's  beam 

Should  rise  and  give  tliem  light  to  die. 
There's  yet  a  world,  where  souls  are  free. 

Where  tyrants  taint  not  nature's  bliss  ; — 
If  death  that  world's  bright  opening  be. 

Oh  !  who  would  live  a  slave  in  this  ? 


'TIS  SWEET  TO  THINK. 

'Tis  sweet  to  think,  that,  where'er  wo  rove. 
We  are  sure  to  find  something  blissful  and  dear, 

>  "  The  Irish  Coma  was  not  entirely  devoted  to  ninr- 
liril  purposes.  In  the  Iicrolc  aces,  our  ancestors  qinutcd 
Meadh  oul  uf  tlieni,  as  the  Danisli  hunter:^  do  their  bcver- 
aile  at  this  day."— /fay Act. 

*  I  believe  it  is  Marmontel  who  says,  "  Qiuini/  on  n'a  pas 
te  que  t'tm  aime,  it  favt  aimer  ee  qye  Con  a." — There  are  so 
many  matlcr-of-fact  people,  who  xaka  such  jnij  il'csjiril  as 
this  defence  of  inconstancy,  to  be  llie  actual  and  genuine 


And  that,  when  we're  far  from  the  lips  we  love. 

We've  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  near.* 
The  heart,  like  a  tendril,  accustom'd  to  cling. 

Let  it  grow  where  it  will,  cannot  flourish  alone, 
But  will  lean  to  the  nearest,  and  loveliest  thing, 

It  can  twine  with  itself,  and  make  closely  its  own. 
Then  oh  !  what  pleasure,  where'er  we  rove. 

To  be  sure  to  find  something,  still,  that  is  dear. 
And  to  know,  when  far  from  the  ips  we  love. 

We've  but  to  make  love  to  the  Zips  we  are  near. 

'Twere  a  shame,  when  flowers  around  us  rise. 

To  make  light  of  the  rest,  if  the  rose  isn't  there  ; 
And  the  world's  so  rich  in  resplendent  eyes, 

'Twere  a  pity  to  limit  one's  love  to  a  pair. 
Love's  wing  and  the  peacock's  are  nea.'-ly  alike. 

They  are  both  of  them  bright,  but  they're  change- 
able too. 
And,  wherever  a  new  beam  of  beauty  can  strike. 

It  will  tincture  Love's  plume  with  a  dificreut  hue. 
Then  oh  !  what  pleasure,  where'er  we  rove. 

To  be  sure  to  find  something,  still,  that  is  dear, 
And  to  know,  when  far  from  the  hps  we  love. 

We've  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  near. 


THE  IRISH  PEASANT  TO  HIS  MISTRESS.' 

Thkohgh  grief  and  through  danger  thy  smile  hath 

cheer'd  my  way, 
Till  hope  seem'd  to  bud  from  each  thorn  that  round 

me  lay  ; 
The  darker  our  fortune,  the  brigliter  our  pure  love 

buru'd. 
Till  shame  into  glory,  till  fear  into  zeal  was  tum'd  ; 
Yes,  slave  as  I  was,  in  thy  arms  my  spirit  felt  free. 
And  bless'd  even  the  sorrows  that  made  me  more 

dear  to  thee. 

Thy  rival  was  honor'd,  while  thou  wert  wroug'd 

and  scom'd, 
Thy  crown  was  of  briers,  while  gold   her  brows 

adoni'd ; 

sentiments  of  liini  who  writes  them,  that  they  compel  one,  in 
self-defence,  tit  be  as  matter-of-fact  as  themselves,  and  to 
remind  them,  that  Dciilocrims  was  not  the  worse  physiolo 
gist,  for  having  playfully  cnnlendrd  lliat  snnw  was  black; 
nor  Erasmus,  in  any  degree,  the  ie^i  \u^e.  for  having  written 
an  ingenious  eucnmium  of  folly. 
^  Meaning,  allegoricnlly,  the  ancient  Church  of  Ireland. 


IRISH   MELODIES                                                 239 

She  woo'd  me  to  temples,  while  thou  lay'st  hid  in 

caves, 

IT    IS   NOT   THE   TEAR  AT   THIS    MO- 

Her friends  were  all  mastere,  while  thine,  alas  1  were 

MENT  SHED.' 

slaves ; 

Yet  cold  in  the  earth,  at  thy  feet,  I  would  rather 

It  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment  shed. 

bo, 

When  the  cold  turf  has  ju:;t  been  laid  o'er  him, 

Than  wed  %vhat  I  loved  not,  or  turn  one  thought 

That  can  tell  how  beloved  was  the  friend  that's  fled, 

from  thee. 

Or  how  deep  in  our  hearts  we  deplore  him. 

'Tis  the  tear,  thro'  many  a  long  day  wept. 

They  slander  thee  sorely,  who  say  thy  vows  are 

'Tis  life's  whole  path  o'ershaded  ; 

frail— 

'Tis  the  one  remembrance,  fondly  kept. 

Hadst  thou  been  a  false  one,  thy  cheek  had  look'd 

When  all  lighter  griefs  have  faded. 

less  pale. 

They  say,  too,  so  long  thou  hast  worn  those  Imger- 

Thus  ;'.»  memor)',  like  some  holy  light, 

ing  chains. 

Kept  alive  in  our  hearts,  will  improve  them. 

That  deep  in  thy  heart  they  have  printed  their  ser- 

For worth  shall  look  fairer,  and  truth  more  bright. 

vile  stains — 

When  we  think  how  he  lived  but  to  love  them. 

Oh  I  foul  is  the  slander, — no  chain  could  that  soul 

And,  as  fresher  flowers  the  sod  perfume 

subdue — 

Where  buried  saints  are  lying. 

Where  shineth  thy  spirit,  there  liberty  shineth  too  !' 

So  om"  hearts  shall  borrow  a  sweet'ning  bloom 
From  the  image  he  left  there  in  dying ! 

ON    MUSIC. 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  HARP. 

Whe.\  thro'  life  unblest  we  rove. 

'Tib  believed  that  this  Harp,  which  I  wake  now  for 

Losing  all  that  made  life  dear. 

thee. 

Should  some  notes  we  used  to  love. 

Was  a  Syren  of  old,  who  sung  under  the  sea  ; 

In  days  of  boyhood,  meet  our  ear. 

And  who  often,  at  eve,  thro'  the  bright  waters  roved. 

Oh  !  how  welcome  breathes  the  strain  ! 

To  meet,  on  the  green  shore,  a  youth  whom  she 

Wakening  thoughts  that  long  have  slept ; 

loved. 

Kindling  former  smiles  again 

In  faded  eyes  that  long  have  wept. 

But  she  loved  him  in  vain,  for  he  left  her  to  weep. 

And  in  tears,  all  the  night,  her  gold  tresses  to  steep  ; 

Like  the  gale,  that  sighs  along 

Till  heav'n  look'd  with  pity  on  true  love  so  warm. 

Beds  of  oriental  flowers. 

And  changed  to  this  soft  Harp   the   sea-maiden's 

Is  the  grateful  breath  of  song, 

form. 

That  once  was  heard  in  happier  hours : 

Fill'd  with  balm,  the  gale  sighs  on, 

Still  her  bosom  rose  fair — still  her  cheeks  smiled  the 

Though  the  flowers  have  simk  in  death  ; 

same — 

So,  when  pleasure's  dream  is  gone. 

While  her  sea-beauties  gracefully  form'd  the  light 

Its  mcmor)'  lives  in  Music's  breath. 

frame  ; 

And  her  hair,  as,  let  loose,  o'er  her  white  arm  it  fell. 

Music,  oh  how  faint,  how  weak, 

Was  changed  to  bright  chords  utt'ring  melody's  spell. 

Language  fades  before  thy  spell ! 

Why  should  Feeling  ever  speak. 

Hence  it  came,  that  this  soft  Harp  so  long  hath  been 

When  thou  canst  breathe  her  soul  so  well  ? 

known 

Friendship's  balmy  words  may  feign, 

To  mingle  love's  language  with  sorrow's  sad  tone ; 

Love's  are  ev'n  more  false  than  they  ; 

Till  thou  didst  divide  them,  and  teach  the  fond  lay 

Oh  !  'tis  only  music's  strain 

To  speak  love  when  I'm  near  thee,  and  grief  when 

Can  sweetly  sooth  and  not  betray. 

away. 

1  "Where  Ihe  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is,  there  is  liberty." — 

«  These  lines  were  occasioned  by  the  loss  nf  a  very  near 

SJ.  Paul,  3  Cor.  iii.  17. 

and  dear  relative,  who  had  died  lately  at  Madeira. 

240 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM. 

On  ;  tlio  (lays  aro  gone,  when  Beauty  bright 

My  Jieart's  chain  wove  ; 
When  my  dream  of  life,  from  morn  till  night, 
Was  love,  still  love. 
New  hope  may  bloom. 
And  days  may  come, 
Of  milder,  calmer  beam. 
But  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life. 

As  love's  yoangf  dream ; 
No,  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 
As  love's  young  dream. 

Though  the  bard  to  purer  fame  may  soar. 

When  wild  youth's  past ; 
Though  ho  win  the  wise,  who  frown'd  before, 
To  smile  at  last ; 
He'll  never  meet 
A  joy  so  sweet, 
In  all  his  noon  of  fame. 
As  when  first  he  sung  to  woman's  ear 

His  soul-felt  flame. 
And  at  every  close,  sho  blush'd  to  hear 
I'he  one  loved  name. 

No, — that  hallow 'd  form  is  ne'er  forgot 

A\'hich  first  love  traced  ; 
Still  it  lingeriug  haunts  the  greenest  spot 
On  memory's  waste. 
'Twas  odor  fled 
As  soon  as  shed  ; 
'Twas  mornmg's  winged  dream  ; 
'Twas  a  light  that  ne'er  can  shine  again 

On  life's  dull  stream ; 
Oh  !  'twi-is  light  that  ne'er  can  shine  again 
On  life's  dull  stream. 


•     THE  PRINCE'S  DAY.' 

Tiio'  dark  are  our  sorrows,  to-day  we'll  forget  them. 
And  smile  through  our  tears,  like  a  suuboani  in 
showers : 
There  never  were  hearts,  if  our  rulers  would  let 
them. 
More  form'd  to  be  grateful  and  blest  than  ours. 
But  just  when  the  chain 
Has  ceased  to  pain, 
And  hope  has  enwrcath'd  it  round  with  flowers, 

1  This  song  wns  writlei.  for  a  (Jtc  in  honor  of  the  Prince 
of  Wnlcs's  birthday,  given  by  my  Irioncl,  Major  Bryan,  al  his 
seat  in  the  county  of  Kilkenny. 


There  comes  a  new  link 
Our  spirits  to  sink — 
Oh  I  the  joy  that  we  taste,  like  the  light  of  the 
poles, 
Is  a  flash  amid  darkness,  too  brilliant  to  stay ; 
But,  though  'twere  the  last  little  spark  in  our  souls, 
We  must  light  it  up  now,  on  our  Prince's  Day. 

Contempt  on  the  minion,  who  calls  you  disloyal ! 
Tho'  fierce  to  your  foe,  to  your  friends  you  are 
true; 
And  the  tribute  most  high  to  a  head  that  is  royal. 
Is  love  from  a  heart  tliat  loves  liberty  too. 
While  cowards,  who  blight 
Your  fame,  your  right. 
Would  shrmk  from  the  blaze  of  the  battle  array. 
The  Standard  of  Green 
In  front  would  be  seen, — 
Oh,  my  life  on  your  faith  !  were  you  summon'd  tliis 
minute. 
You'd  cast  every  bitter  remembrance  away, 
And  show  what  the  arm  of  old  Erin  has  in  it. 
When  roused  by  tlie  foe,  on  her  Prince's  Day, 

He  loves  tho  Green  Isle,  and  his  love  is  recorded 

In  hearts  which  have  sufFer'd  too  much  to  forget ; 
And   hope   shall  be   crown'd,    and  attachment  re- 
warded. 
And  Erin  s  gay  jubilee  shine  out  yet. 
The  gem  may  be  broke 
By  many  a  stroke, 
But  nothing  can  cloud  its  native  ray  ; 
Each  fragment  will  cast 
A  light  to  the  last, — 
And  thus,  Erin,  my  countrj',  tho'  broken  thou  art, 

Tlicre's  a  lustre  within  tlice,  that  ne'er  will  decay  • 
A  spirit,  which  beams  through  each  suiFcring  ])art. 
And  now  smiles  at  all  pain  on  the  Prince's  Day. 


WEEP  ON,  WEEP  ON. 

Weep  on,  weep  on,  your  hour  is  past ; 

Your  dreams  of  pride  are  o'er ; 
The  fatal  chain  is  round  you  cast. 

And  you  are  men  no  more. 
In  vain  the  hero's  heart  hath  bled ; 

The  sage's  tongue  hath  wam'd  in  vain  ; 
Oh,  Freedom !  once  thy  flame  hath  fled. 

It  never  lights  again. 

Weep  on— perhaps  ui  after  days. 
They'll  learn  to  love  your  name ; 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


241 


Wlicii  many  a  deed  may  wake  in  praise 

That  long  hath  slept  in  blame. 
Aiid  when  they  tread  the  ruin'd  Isle, 

Where  rest,  at  length,  the  lord  and  slave, 
They'll  wond'rhig  ask,  how  hands  so  vile 

Could  conquer  hearts  so  brave  ? 

"  'Twas  fate,"  they'll  say,  "  a  wayward  fate 

"  Your  web  of  discord  wove  ; 
"  And  while  your  tyrants  joiu'd  in  hate, 

"  You  never  join'd  in  love. 
"  But  hearts  fell  off,  that  ought  to  twine, 

"  And  man  profaned  what  God  had  given  ; 
"  Till  some  were  heard  to  ciu^e  the  shrine, 

"  Where  others  knelt  to  heaven !" 


Who  can  tell  if  they're  design'd 

To  dazzle  merely,  or  to  wound  us  ? 
Pillow'd  on  my  Nora's  heart. 

In  safer  slumber  Love  reposes —  • 
Bed  of  peace  !  whose  roughest  part 
Is  but  the  crumpling  of  the  roses. 

Oh  !  my  Nora  Creina,  dear. 
My  mild,  my  artless  Nora  Creina ! 
Wit,  though  bright. 
Hath  no  such  hght. 
As  warms  your  eyes,  my  Nora  Creina 


LESBIA  HATH  A  BEAMING  EYE. 

Lesbia  hath  a  beaming  eye, 

But  no  one  knows  for  whom  it  beametb  ; 
Right  and  left  its  arrows  fly. 

But  what  they  aim  at  no  one  dreametli. 
Sweeter  'tis  to  gaze  upon 

My  Nora's  lid  that  seldom  rises ; 
Few  its  loolcs,  but  everj'  one, 

Like  unexpected  light,  surprises  1 

Oh,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear, 
My  gentle,  bashful  Nora  Creina, 
Beauty  Ues 
In  many  eyes, 
But  Love  in  yours,  my  Nora  Creina. 

Lesbia  wears  a  robe  of  gold, 

But  all  so  close  the  nymph  hath  laced  it, 
Not  a  charm  of  beauty's  mould 

Presumes  to  stay  where  nature  placed  it 
Oh  1  my  Nora's  gown  for  me. 

That  floats  as  wild  as  momitain  breezes. 
Leaving  every  beauty  free 

To  sink  or  swell  as  Heaven  pleases. 

Yes,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear, 

My  simple,  graceful  Nora  Creina, 

Nature's  dress 

Is  loveliness — 

The  dress  you  wear,  my  Nora  Creina. 

Lesbia  hath  a  wit  refined, 

But,  whfen  its  points  are  gleaming  round  us, 

1  I  have  here  made  a  feeble  efibrt  to  imitate  that  exqnisito 
inscription  of  Shenstone's,  "lieu!  quanto  minus  est  cum 
reliqais  versari  quani  meminisse  !" 

2  This  ballad  is  founded  upon  one  of  the  many  stories  re- 
lated of  St.  Kevin,  whose  bed  in  the  rock  is  to  be  seen  at 


I  SAW  THY  FORM  IN  YOUTHFUC  PRIME. 

I  s.vw  thy  form  in  youthful  prime. 

Nor  thought  that  pale  decay 
Would  steal  before  the  steps  of  Time, 

And  waste  its  bloom  away,  Marj- ! 
Yet  still  thy  features  wore  that  hght, 

Which  fleets  not  with  the  breath  ; 
And  life  ne'er  look'd  more  truly  bright 

Than  in  thy  smile  of  death,  Mary  ! 

As  streams  that  run  o'er  golden  mines. 

Yet  humbly,  calmly  glide. 
Nor  seem  to  know  the  wealth  that  shines 

Within  their  gentle  tide,  Mary  ! 
So  veil'd  beneath  the  simplest  guise, 

Thy  radiant  genius  shone, 
And  that,  which  charm'd  all  other  eyes, 

Seem'd  wortlJess  in  thy  own,  Mary  I 

If  souls  could  always  dwell  above. 

Thou  ne'er  hadst  loft  that  sphere  ; 
Or  could  we  keep  the  souls  we  love. 

Wo  ne'er  had  lost  thee  here,  Mary  ! 
Though  many  a  gifted  mind  we  meet. 

Though  fairest  forms  we  see, 
To  live  with  them  is  far  less  sweet. 

Than  to  remember  thee,  Maiy  I' 


BY  THAT  LAKE,  WHOSE  GLOOMY 
SHORE.= 

By  that  Lake,  whose  gloomy  shore 
Sky-lark  never  warbles  o'er,' 

Glendalougli,  a  most  gloomy  and  romantic  spot  in  the  county 
of  Wicklow. 

s  There  are  many  other  curious  traditions  concerning  this 
Lake,  which  may  be  found  in  Giraldus,  Colgan,  &.c. 


242 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Wiere  the  cliff  hangs  high  and  steep 
Young  Saint  Kevin  stole  to  sleep. 
"  Hero,  at  least,"  ho  calmly  said, 
"  VVoraap  ne'er  shall  find  my  bed." 
Ah  !  the  good  Saint  little  knew 
What  that  mly  sex  can  do. 

'Twas  from  Kathleen's  eyes  he  flew, — 
Eyes  of  most  unholy  blue  ! 
She  had  loved  him  well  and  long, 
Wish'd  him  hers,  nor  thought  it  wrong. 
Whercsoo'er  the  Saint  would  fly, 
Still  he  heard  her  light  foot  nigh  ; 
East  or  west,  where'er  he  turn'd. 
Still  her  eyes  before  him  bum'd. 

On  the  bold  clifl"s  bosom  cast, 
Tranquil  now  he  sleeps  at  last ; 
Dreams  of  heav'n,  nor  thinks  that  e'er 
Woman's  smile  can  haunt  him  there. 
But  nor  earth  nor  heaven  is  free 
From  her  power,  if  fond  she  be : 
Even  now,  while  calm  he  sleeps, 
Katlileen  o'er  him  leans  and  weeps. 

Fearless  she  had  track'd  his  feet 
To  tliis  rocky,  wild  retreat ; 
And  when  morning  met  his  view, 
Her  mild  glances  met  it  too. 
Ah,  your  Saints  have  cruel  hearts ! 
Sternly  from  his  bed  he  starts. 
And  with  rude  repulsive  shock. 
Hurls  her  from  the  beetling  rock. 

Glendalough,  thy  gloomy  wave 
Soon  was  gentle  Kathleen's  grave ! 
Soon  the  Saint,  (yet  ah  !  too  late,) 
Felt  her  love,  and  mouni'd  her  fate. 
When  he  said,  "  Heaven  rest  her  soul !" 
Round  the  Lake  light  music  stole  ; 
And  her  ghost  was  seen  to  glide. 
Smiling  o'o.-  tlie  fatal  tide. 


SHE  IS  FAR  FROM  THE  LAND. 

She  is  far   from  the  land  where   her   young  ncro 
8lee|», 

And  lovers  are  round  her,  sighing : 
But  coldly  she  turns  from  their  gaze,  and  weeps. 

For  her  heart  in  liis  grave  is  lying. 


She  sings  the  wild  song  of  her  dear  native  plains, 
Everj-  note  which  he  loved  awaking  ; — 

All !  little  they  think  who  delight  in  her  strains. 
How  the  heart  of  the  Minstrel  is  breaking. 

He  had  lived  for  his  love,  for  his  country  he  died. 
They  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwined  him  ; 

Nor  soon  shall  the  tears  of  his  country  be  dried. 
Nor  long  will  his  love  stay  behind  him. 

Oh  !  make  her  a  grave  where  the  sunbeams  rest. 
When  they  promise  a  glorious  morrow  ; 

They'll  shine  o'er  her  sleep,  like  a  smile  from  the 
West, 
From  her  own  loved  island  of  sorrow 


NAY,  TELL  ME  NOT,  DEAR. 

Nat,  tell  me  not,  dear,  that  the  goblet  drowns 

One  charm  of  feeling,  one  fond  regi-et ; 
Believe  me,  a  few  of  thy  angry  frowns 
Are  all  I've  sunk  in  its  bright  wave  yet. 
Ne'er  hath  a  beam 
Been  lost  in  the  stream 
That  ever  was  shed  from  thy  form  or  soul ; 
The  spell  of  those  eyes. 
The  balm  of  thy  sighs. 
Still  float  on  the  surface,  and  hallow  my  bowl. 
Then  fancy  not,  dearest,  that  wine  can  steal 
One  blissful  dream  of  the  heart  from  me  ; 
Like  founts  that  awaken  the  pilgrim's  zeal. 
The  bowl  but  brightens  my  love  for  thee. 

They  tell  us  that  Love  in  his  fairy  bower 

Had  two  blush-roses,  of  birth  divine  ; 
He  sprinlilcd  the  one  with  a  raiubow's  shower. 
But  bathed  the  other  with  mantling  wine. 
Soon  did  the  buds 
That  drank  of  the  floods 
Distill'd  by  tlie  rainbow,  decline  and  fade  ; 
AVhile  those  which  the  tide 
Of  ruby  had  dyed 
All  blush'd  uito  beauty,  like  thee,  sweet  maid  ! 
Then  fancy  not,  dearest,  that  wine  can  steal 
One  blissful  dream  of  the  heart  from  me ; 
Like  founts,  that  awaken  the  pilgrim's  zeal, 
The  bowl  but  brightens  my  love  for  thee. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


243 


AVENGING  AND  BRIGHT. 

Avenging  and  bright  fail  the  swift  sword  of  Erin* 
On  him  who  the  brave  sons  of  Usna  bctray'd  ! — 

For  every  fond  eye  he  hath  waken'd  a  tear  in, 
A  drop  from  his  heart-wounds  sliall  weep  o'er  her 
blade 

By   the    red    cloud    that    Imng   over  Conor's  dark 
dwollins;,'' 
When   Ulad's^  three  championa  lay  sleeping  in 
gore- 
By  the  billows  of  war,  which  so  often,  high  swelling, 
Have  wafted  these  heroes  to  victory's  shore — 

We  swear  to  revenge  them  I — no  joy  shall  be  tasted, 
The  harp  shall  be  silent,  the  maiden  unwed, 

Our   halls  sliall  be  mute,  and  our  fields  shall  He 
wasted, 
Till  vengeance  is  wreak'd  on  the  murderer's  head. 

Yes,  monarch  !  tho'  sweet  are  our  home  recollections, 
Though  sweet  are  the  tears  that  from  tenderness 
fall; 
Tiioug'n  sweet  are  our  friendships,  oxir  hopes,  our 
affections, 
Revenge  tn  a  tyi-ant  is  sweetest  of  all ! 


WHAT  THE  BEE  IS  TO  THE  FLOWERET. 

He. — What  the  bee  is  to  the  flow'ret, 
When  he  looks  for  honey-dew. 
Through  the  leaves  that  close  embower  it. 
That,  my  love,  I'll  be  to  you. 

She. — AVhat  the  bank,  with  verdure  glowing. 
Is  to  waves  that  wander  near 
Whisp'ring  kisses,  while  they're  gomg, 
That  I'll  be  to  you,  my  dear. 

(SAc— But  they  say,  the  bee's  a  rover,  * 

Who  will  fly,  when  sweets  are  gone  ; 

1  The  words  of  this  song  were  suggested  by  the  very  an- 
cient Irish  story  called  "  Deirdri,  or  the  Lamentable  Fate  of 
the  Sons  of  Usnach,"  which  has  been  translated  literally  (Vom 
theGiielic.by  Mr.  O'Flanagan.  (see  vol.  i.  of  Transactions  of 
the  Gaelic  Society  of  Dublin,)  and  wpon  which  it  appears 
that  the  "  Darthula  of  Macpherson"  is  founded.  The  treach- 
erj-  of  Conor,  King  of  Ulster,  in  putting  to  death  the  three 
sons  of  Usna,  was  the  cause  of  a  desolating  war  against 
Ulster,  which  terminated  in  the  destruction  of  Eraan.  "This 
story  (says  Rlr.  O'Flanagan)  has  been,  from  time  immemo- 
rial, held  in  high  repute  as  one  of  the  three  tragic  stories  of 
the  Irish.  These  are, '  The  death  of  the  children  of  Touran  ;' 
'The  death  of  the  children  of  Lear,'  (both  regarding Tuatha 


And,  when  once  the  kiss  is  over. 
Faithless  brooks  will  wander  on 

He. — Nay,  if  flowers  will  lose  their  looks. 

If  sunny  banks  toiU  wear  away, 

'Tis  but  right,  that  bees  and  brooks 

Should  sip  and  kiss  them  while  they  may. 


LOVE  AND  THE  NOVICE. 

"  Here  we  dwell,  in  holiest  bowers, 

"  Where  angels  of  light  o'er  our  orisons  bend  ; 
"  Wliere  sighs  of  devotion  and  breathings  of  flowers 
"  To  heaven  in  mingled  odor  ascend. 
"  Do  not  disturb  our  calm,  oh  Love  ! 
"  So  like  is  thy  form  to  the  cherubs  above, 
"  It  well  might  deceive  such  hearts  as  ours." 

Love  stood  near  the  Novice  and  listened, 

And  Love  is  no  novice  in  taking  a  hint ; 
His  laughuig  blue  eyes  soon  with  piety  glisten'd  ; 
His  rosy  wing  turn'd  to  heaven's  own  tint. 
"  Who  would  have  thought,"  tho  m-chin  cries, 
'*  That  Love  could  so  well,  so  gravely  disguise 
"  His  wandering  wings  and  wounding  eyes  ?"     * 

Love  now  warms  thee,  waking  and  sleeping. 
Young  Novice,  to  him  all  thy  orisons  rise. 
He  tinges  the  heavenly  fount  with  his  weeping, 
He  brightens  the  censer's  flame  with  his  sighs. 
Love  is  the  Saint  enshrined  in  thy  breast, 
And  angels  themselves  would    admit  sucli   a 
guest, 
If  he  came  to  them  clotiied  in  Piety's  vest 


THIS   LIFE   IS  ALL   CHECKER'D   WITH 
PLEASURES  AND  WOES. 

This  life  is  all  checkerM  with  pleasures  and  woes. 
That  chase  one  another  like  waves  of  the  deep, — 

de  Danans,)  and  this, '  The  death  of  the  children  of  Usnach,' 
which  is  a  Milesian  story.*'  It  will  be  recollected,  that,  in 
the  Second  Number  of  these  INlelodies,  there  is  a  ballad 
upon  the  story  of  the  children  of  Lear  or  Lir;  "Silent,  oh 
Moyle !"  &.C. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  those  sanguine  claims  to 
antiquity,  which  Mr.  O'Flanagan  and  others  advance  for  the 
literature  of  Ireland,  it  would  be  a  lasting  reproach  upon  our 
natiouality,  if  the  Gaelic  researches  of  this  gentleman  did  not 
meet  with  all  the  liberal  encounigenient  they  so  well  merit 

3  "Oh  Nasi  1  view  that  cloud  that  I  here  see  in  the  sky  I  I 
see  over  Eman-green  a  chilling  ciuud  of  blood-iinged  red."— 
Deirdri' a  Song.   -  ^  Ulster. 


244 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Each  brifjlitly  or  darkly,  as  onward  it  flow's, 

Reflecting  our  eyes,  as  tliey  E])arklo  or  weep. 
So  clo.sely  our  wliims  on  our  miseries  tread, 

Tliat  the  laugh  is  awaked  ero  the  tear  can  be 
dried ; 
And,  as  fast  as  the  rain-drop  of  Pity  is  shed. 

The  poose-plumago  of  Folly  can  turn  it  aside. 
But  pledge  mo  the  cup — if  exi-stenco  would  cloy. 

With  hearts  ever  happy,  and  heads  ever  wise. 
Be  oius  the  light  Sorrow,  half-sister  to  J'ly, 

-Vud  the  light,  brilliant  Folly  that  flaslies  and  dies. 

M'lien  Ilyl.'xs  was  sent  v.-ith  hi?  urn  to  tije  fount. 
Through  fields  full  of  light,  and  with  heart  full  of 
play, 
Light  rambled  the  boy  over  meadow  and  mount, 
And  neglected  his  task  for  the  flowers  on  the 
way.' 
Thus  many,  like  mc,  who  in  youth  should  have 
tasted 
The  fountain  that  nms  by  Philosophy's  slirine, 
Their  time  with  the  flowers  on  the   margin  have 
wasted. 
And  left  their  light  nms  all  as  empty  as  mine. 
But  pledge  mo  the  goblet ; — while  Idleness  weaves 
Tlie.se  flow'rets  together,  should  Wisdom  but  see 
One  bright  drop  or  two  that  has  fall'n  on  the  leaves, 
Fi8m  her  fountain  divine,  'tis  sufficient  for  me. 


OH  THE  SHAMROCK. 

Through  Erin's  Isle, 

To  sport  awhile. 
As  Love  and  Valor  Wander'd, 

With  Wit,  the  sprite, 

Whose  quiver  bright 
A  thousand  arrows  squandered. 

W^here'er  they  pass, 

A  triple  grass" 
Shoots  up,  with  dew-drops  streaming, 

As  softly  green 

As  emeralds  seen 
Through  purest  crj'stal  gleaming. 
Oh  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock 

Chosen  leaf. 

Of  Bard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock  '. 

'  "  Proposito  llorein  prxtnlit  officio." 

Propert.  lib.  i.  eleg.  20. 

'  II  Is  sill  lliat  St.  Patrick,  when  prciching  ihe  Trinity  to 
llie  Paga»  Irisli,  used  to  illuslrate  his  snbjoct  by  reference 


Says  Valor,  "  See, 

"  They  spring  for  me, 
"  Those  leafy  gems  of  morning  '." — 

Says  Love,  "  No,  no, 

"  For  vie  they  grow, 
"  My  fragrant  path  adorning." 

But  Wit  perceives 

The  triple  leaves. 
And  cries,  "  Oh  !  do  not  sever 

"  A  type,  that  blends 

"  Three  godlike  friends, 
'■  Love,  Valor,  Wit,  forever !" 
Oh  tlie  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock ! 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  Bard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  .Shamrock  ! 

So  firmly  fond 

May  last  the  bond 
They  wove  that  mom  together, 

And  ne'er  may  fall 

One  drop  of  gall 
On  Wit's  celestial  feather. 

May  Love,  as  twine 

His  flowers  divine. 
Of  thorny  falsehood  weed  'em  ; 

May  Valor  ne'er 

His  standard  rear 
Against  the  cause  of  Freedom  I 
Oh  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock  ! 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  Bard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock ! 


I 


AT  THE  MID  HOUR  OF  NIGHT. 

At  the  mid  hour  of  night,  when  stars  are  weepino-, 
I  fly 

To  the  lone  vale  we  loved,  when  life  shone  warm 
in  thine  eye  ; 
And  I  think  oft,  if  spirits  can  steal  from  the  re- 
gions of  air, 
To  revisit  past  scenes  of  delight,  (liou  wilt  come 
to  me  there, 

And  tell  me  our  love  is  remembcr'd,  even  in  the 
sky. 


Id  that  species  of  trefoil  called  in  Ireland  liy  llie  name  of  the 
Shamrock  ;  and  hence,  perhaps,  the  Island  of  Saints  adopted 
tliis  plant  as  her  national  emblem.  Hope,  among  the  ancients, 
was  sometimes  represented  as  a  beautiful  child,  standing  up- 
on tiptoes,  and  a  trefoil  of  three-colored  grass  in  her  hand. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


245 


Then  I  sing  the  wild  song  'twas  once  such  pleasure 

to  hear ! 
Wlien  our  voices  commingling,  breathed,  like  one, 

on  the  ear ; 
And,  as  Echo  far  off  tlirough  the  vale  my  sad 

orison  rolls, 
I  think,  oh  my  love !    'tis  thy  voice   from  the 

Kingdom  of  Souls,' 
Faintly  answering  still  the  notes  that  once  were  so 

dear. 


And  oh  !  may  our  life's  happy  measure 
Of  moments  like  this  be  made  up, 

'Twas  born  on  tl'.e  bosom  of  Pleasure, 
It  dies  'mid  the  tears  of  the  cup. 


ONE  BUMPER  AT  PARTING.      . 

O.sE  bumper  at  parting ! — though  many 

Have  circled  the  board  since  we  met, 
The  fullest,  the  saddest  of  any, 

Remains  to  be  crown'd  by  us  yet. 
Tlie  sweetness  that  pleasure  hath  in  it, 

Is  always  so  slow  to  come  forth. 
That  seldom,  alas,  till  the  minute 

It  dies,  do  we  know  half  its  worth. 
But  come, — may  oiu-  life's  happy  measure 

Be  all  of  such  moments  made  up ; 
They're  born  on  the  bosom  of  Pleasure, 

They  die  'midst  the  tears  of  the  cup. 

As  onward  we  journey,  how  pleasant 

To  pause  and  inhabit  awhile 
Those  few  sunny  spots,  like  the  present. 

That  'mid  the  dull  wilderness  smile ! 
But  Time,  like  a  pitiless  master,  ^ 

Cries  "  Onward  1"  and  spurs  the  gay  hours — 
Ah,  never  doth  Time  travel  faster. 

Than  when  his  way  lies  among  flowers. 
But  come, — may  our  hfe's  happy  measure 

Bo  all  of  such  moments  made  up  ; 
They're  bora  on  the  bosom  of  Pleasure, 

They  die  'midst  the  tears  of  tlie  cup. 

We  saw  how  the  sun  look'd  in  sinking, 

The  waters  beneath  him  how  bright ; 
And  now,  let  our  farewell  of  drinking 

Resemble  that  farewell  of  light 
You  saw  how  he  finish'd,  by  doxting 

His  beam  o'er  a  deep  billow's  brim — 
So,  fill  up,  let's  shine  at  our  parting. 

In  full  liquid  glorj",  like  him. 

1  "  There  .iie  coiintrics,"  says  Montaigne,  "  where  they 
Relieve  the  souls  ol'the  happy  live  in  all  manner  of  liberty, 
in  delightful  tielJs;  and  that  it  is  those  souls,  repeating  the 
words  we  utter,  wliich  we  call  Echo." 

2  '*  Steals  silently  to  Morna's  grove." — See,  in  Mr.  Bunting's 


'TIS  THE  LAST  ROSE  OF  SUMMER. 

'Tis  the  last  rose  of  iijnmer 

Left  blooming  alone  ; 
A.\\  her  lovely  companions 

-Vre  faded  and  gone  ; 
No  flower  of  her  kindred, 

No  rosebud  is  uigh. 
To  reflect  bacli  her  blushes. 

Or  give  sigh  for  sigh. 

I'll  not  leave  thee,  thou  lone  ore ' 

To  pine  on  the  stem  ; 
Since  the  lovely  are  sleeping. 

Go,  sleep  thou  with  them. 
Thus  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  the  bed. 
Where  thy  mates  of  the  garden 

Lie  scentless  and  dead. 

So  soon  may  /  follow. 

When  friendships  decay. 
And  from  Love's  shining  circle 

The  gems  drop  away. 
When  true  hearts  lie  wither'd, 

And  fond  ones  are  flown, 
Oh  '.  who  would  inhabit 

This  bleak  world  alone  1 


THE  YOUNG  MAY  MOON 

The  yomig  May  moon  is  beaming,  love. 
The  glow-worm's  lamp  is  gleaming,  love, 

How  sweet  to  rove 

Through  Morna's  grove,* 
When  the  drowsy  world  is  dreaming,  love  ! 
Then  awake  I — the  heavens  look  bright,  my  dear, 
'Tis  never  too  late  for  delight,  my  dear. 

And  the  best  of  all  ways 

To  lengthen  our  days. 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear ! 


collection,  a  poem  translated  from  the  Irish,  by  the  late  John 
Brown,  one  of  my  earliest  colle;;e  companions  and  friends, 
whose  death  was  as  singularly  melancholy  and  unfortunate 
as  his  life  had  been  amiable,  honorable,  and  exemplary. 


•'   I 


246 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Now  all  the  world  is  sleeping,  love, 

But  the  Sngo,  his  star-watch  Keeping,  love, 

And  I,  whoso  star, 

More  glorious  far, 
Is  the  eye  from  that  casement  peeping,  love. 
Then  awake  1 — till  rise  of  sun,  my  dear. 
The  Sage's  glass  we'll  shun,  my  dear. 

Or,  in  watchiuj  the  lliglit 

Of  bodies  of  light, 
I^  >  might  hajipen  to  take  thco  for  one,  my  dear. 


THE  MINSTREL  BOY. 

The  Minstrol  Boy  to  the  war  is  gone, 

In  the  ranks  of  death  you'll  fiud  him  ; 
His  father's  sword  he  has  girded  on, 

And  his  wild  liai-p  swung  behiud  him. — ■ 
"  Land  of  song  I"  said  the  warrior-bard, 

"  Though  all  the  world  betrays  thee, 
'•  One  sword,  at  least,  thy  riglits  shall  guard, 

'•  One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee!" 

The  Minstrel  fell ! — but  the  foeman's  chain 

Could  not  bring  his  proud  soul  under  ; 
The  harp  he  loved  ne'er  spoke  again, 

For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder ; 
And  said,  "  No  chains  shall  sully  thee, 

**  Thou  sold  of  love  and  bravery  ! 
*'  Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  pure  and  free, 

*'  They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery." 


THE  SONG  OF  O'RUARK, 

PRIXCE    OP    BREFFNI.* 

Thk  valley  lay  smiling  before  me, 

^\'here  lately  I  left  her  behind; 
Yet  I  trembled,  and  something  hung  o'er  me, 

That  saddcn'd  the  joy  of  my  mind. 


1  These  stanzas  are  founded  npon  an  event  of  most  mel- 
anchuly  importance  to  Irelnnd ;  If,  as  we  are  told  by  our 
Irish  historians,  it  gave  England  the  first  opportunity  of 
profiting  by  our  divisions  and  subiluing  us.  The  following 
are  the  circumstances  as  related  l»y  O'llalloran :— '"The 
kinf!  of  Lcinstcr  hud  long  conceived  a  violent  nfTcction  for 
Dearbhor^il,  daughter  to  the  king  of  Moath,  ami  though  she 
had  been  for  some  Ume  married  loO'Ruark.  prince  of  BretVni, 
yet  it  could  not  restrain  his  passion.  They  carried  on  a 
private  correspondence,  and  she  informed  him  that  O'Ruark 
intended  soon  to  go  on  a  pilgrimage,  (an  act  of  piety  frequent 
in  those  daj's,)  and  conjured  him  to  embrace  that  opporlu- 


I  look'd  for  the  lamp  which,  she  told  me, 
Should  shine,  when  her  Pilgrim  rctum'd ; 

But,  though  darkuess  began  to  infold  me. 
No  lamp  from  the  battlements  burn'd  ! 

I  flew  to  her  chamber — 'twas  lonely. 

As  if  the  loved  tenant  lay  dead  ; — 
Ah,  would  it  were  death,  and  death  only  I 

But  no,  the  young  false  one  had  fled. 
And  there  hung  the  lute  that  could  soften 

My  very  woret  pains  into  bliss ; 
While  the  hand,  that  had  waked  it  so  often, 

Now  throbb'd  to  a  proud  rival's  Itiss. 

There  was  a  tune,  falsest  of  women, 

When  BrefFni's  good  sword  would  have  sought 
That  man,  thro'  a  million  of  foemen. 

Who  dared  but  to  wrong  thee  in  thought! 
While  now — oh  degenerate  daughter 

Of  Erin,  how  fall'n  is  thy  fame  I 
And  tlirough  ages  of  bondage  and  slaughter, 

Our  country  shall  bleed  for  thy  shame. 

Already,  the  curse  is  upon  her. 

And  strangers  her  valleys  profane  ; 
They  come  to  divide,  to  dishonor. 

And  tyrants  they  long  will  remain. 
But  onward  ! — tlie  green  banner  rearing, 

Go,  flesh  every  sword  to  the  hilt. 
On  our  side  is  Virtue  and  Erin, 

On  theirs  is  the  Sa.xou  and  guilt. 


OH !  HAD  WE  SOME  BRIGHT  LITTLE 
ISLE  OF  OUR  OWN. 

On  !  had  we  some  bright  little  isle  of  our  own. 
In  a  blue  summer  ocean,  far  off  and  alone, 
Where  a  leaf  never  dies  in  the  still  blooming  bow- 
ers, 
And  the  bee  banquets  on  through  a  whole  year  of 
flowers : 


nity  of  conveying  her  from  a  husband  she  detested  to  a  lover 
she  adored.  Mac  Murchad  too  punctually  obeyed  the  sum- 
mons, and  had  the  lady  conveyed  to  his  capital  of  Ferns." 
The  monarch  Roderick  espoused  the  cause  of  O'Ruark, 
while  Mac  Murchad  fled  to  England,  and  obtained  the  as 
sistance  of  Henry  II. 

"  Such,"  adds  Giraldus  Cambrcnsls,  (as  I  find  him  in  an 
old  translation.)  "is  the  variable  and  fickle  nature  of  wo- 
man, by  whom  all  niischief  in  the  world  (for  the  most  part) 
do  happen  and  come,  as  may  appear  by  Marcus  Antunius, 
and  by  the  destrucUon  of  Troy." 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


247 


Where  the  sun  loves  to  pause 

With  so  fond  a  delay, 
That  the  night  only  draws 
A  thin  veil  o'er  the  day ; 
Where  simply  to  feel  that  we  breathe,  that  we  live. 
Is  worth  the  best  joy  that  life  elsewhere  can  give. 

There,  with  souls  ever  ai'dent  and  pure  as  the  clime, 
We  should  love,  as  they  loved  in  the  first  golden 

time ; 
The  glow  of  the  sunshine,  the  balm  of  the  air. 
Would  steal  to  our  hearts,  and  make  all  siunmer 
there. 

With  affection  as  free 

From  decline  as  the  bowers, 
And,  with  hope,  like  the  bee, 
Living  always  on  flowers, 
Our  life  should  resemble  a  long  day  of  light. 
And  our  death  come  on,  holy  and  calm  as  the  night. 


FAREWELL!— BUT  WHENEVER  YOU 
WELCOME  THE  HOUR. 

Farewell  ! — but     whenever    you     welcome    the 

hour. 
That  awakens    the  night-song  of    mirth    in   your 

bower. 
Then  think  of  the  friend  who  once  welcomed  it  too, 
And  forgot  his  own  griefs  to  be  happy  with  you. 
His  griefs  may  return,  not  a  hope  may  remain 
Of  the  few  that  have  brighteu'd  his  pathway  of 

pain. 
But  he  ne'er  will  forget  the  short  vision,  that  threw 
Its  enchantment  around  him,  while  ling'ring  with 

you. 

And  still  >.  i  that  evening,  when  pleasure  fills  up 
To  the  highest  top  sparkle  each  heart  and  each  cup. 
Where'er  my  path  lies,  be  it  gloomy  or  bright, 
My  soul,   happy  friends,  shall  be  with    you   that 

night ; 
Shall  join  in   your  revels,  your  sports,  and  your 

wiles, 
And   return  to   me,   beaming  all   o'er   with   your 

smiles — 
Too  blest,  if  it  tells  me  that,  'mid  the  gay  cheer. 
Some  kind  voice  had  inurmur'd,  "  I  wish  he  were 

here !" 

Let  Fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  joy. 
Bright  dreams  of  the  pa,st,  which  she  cannot  de- 
stroy; 


Which  come  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  and  care, 
And  bring  back  the  features  that  joy  used  to  wear. 
Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  sueli  memories  fill'd ! 
Like  the  vase,  in  which  roses  have  once  been  dis- 

tiU'd— 
You  may  break,  you  may  shatter  the  vase,  if  you 

wUl, 
But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  hang  round  it  still. 


OH!  DOUBT  ME  NOT. 

Oh  !  doubt  me  not — the  season 

Is  o'er,  when  Folly  made  me  rove. 
And  now  the  vestal,  Reason, 

Shall  watch  the  fire  awaked  by  Love. 
Although  this  heart  was  early  ;  ^wn. 

And  fairest  hands  disturb'd  the  tree, 
They  only  shook  some  blossoms  down. 
Its  fniit  has  all  been  kept  for  thee. 
Then  doubt  me  not — the  season 

Is  o'er,  when  Folly  made  me  rove, 
And  now  the  vestal.  Reason, 

Shall  watch  the  fire  awaked  by  Love. 

And  though  my  lute  no  longer 

May  sing  of  Passion's  ardent  spell, 
Yet,  trust  me,  all  the  stronger 
I  feel  the  bliss  I  do  not  tell. 
The  bee  through  many  a  garden  roves. 

And  hums  his  lay  of  courtship  o'er, 
But  when  he  finds  the  flower  he  loves. 
He  settles  there,  and  hums  no  more. 
Then  doubt  me  not — the  season 

Is  o'er,  when  Folly  kept  me  free. 
And  now  the  vestal.  Reason, 

Shall  guard  the  flame  awaked  by  thee. 


his 


YOU  REMEMBER  ELLEN.' 

You  remember  Ellen,  our  hamlet's  pride, 

How  meekly  she  bless'd  her  humble  lot. 
When   the  stranger,  William,   had  made  her 
bride. 

And  love  was  the  light  of  their  lowly  coL 
Together  they  toil'd  through  winds  and  rains, 

Till  William,  at  length,  in  sadness  said, 
"  We  must  seek  our  fortune  on  other  plains  ;" — 

Then,  sighuig,  she  left  her  lowly  shed. 


1  This  ballad  w.is  suggested  by  a  wcll-koon  n  and  interest- 
ing story  told  of  a  certain  noble  family  in  England. 


248 


MOCRE'S  WORKS. 


They  roam'd  a  long  and  a  weary  way, 

Nor  mucli  was  the  maiden's  heart  at  ease, 
When  now,  at  close  of  one  stormy  day, 

They  see  a  proud  castle  among  tho  trees. 
"  To-night,"  said  the  youth,  "  we'll  shelter  there ; 

"  Tlie  wind  hlows  cold,  the  hour  is  late :" 
So  he  blew  the  horn  with  a  chieftain's  air. 

And  the  Porter  bow'd,  a.s  they  pass'd  the  gate. 

"  Now,  welcome,"  Lady,  exclaim'd  the  youth, — 

"  This  castle  is  thine,  and  those  dark  woods  all !' 
She  believed  him  crazed,  but  his  words  were  truth, 

For  Ellen  is  Lady  of  Rosna  Ilall ! 
And  dearly  tho  Lord  of  Rosna  loves 

What  William,  the  stranger,  woo'd  and  wed ; 
And  the  light  of  bliss,  in  llicso  lordly  groves. 

Shines  pure  as  it  did  in  the  lowly  shed. 


I'D  MOURN  THE  HOPES. 

I'd  mourn  the  hopes  that  leave  me, 

If  thy  smiles  had  left  rae  too ; 
I'd  weep  when  friends  deceive  me. 

If  thou  wert,  like  them,  untrue. 
But  while  I've  thee  before  me. 

With  hearts  so  warm  and  eyes  so  bright, 
No  clouds  can  linger  o'er  me, 

Tliat  smile  turns  them  all  to  light. 

*Tis  not  in  fate  to  harm  me, 

While  fate  leaves  thy  love  to  mo ; 
'Tis  not  in  joy  to  charm  me. 

Unless  joy  be  shared  with  thee. 
One  minute's  dream  about  thee 

Were  worth  a  long,  an  endless  year 
Of  waking  bliss  without  thee. 

My  own  love,  my  only  dear  I 

And  though  the  hope  be  gone,  love. 

That  long  sparkled  o'er  our  way. 
Oh  I  we  shall  journey  on,  love. 

More  safely,  without  its  ray. 
Far  better  lights  shall  win  mo 

Along  tho  path  I've  yet  to  roam.- — 
The  mind  that  bums  within  me. 

And  pure  smiles  from  thee  at  home 

Thus  when  the  lamp  that  lighted 

The  traveller  at  first  goes  out, 
He  feels  awhile  benighted, 

.\nd  looks  round  in  foar  and  doubt. 


But  soon,  the  prospect  clearing, 
By  cloudless  starlight  on  he  treads. 

And  thinks  no  lamp  so  cheering 
As  that  light  which  Heaven  sheds. 


ClOME  O'ER  THE  SEA. 

Come  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden,  with  me. 
Mine  tlirough  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows  ; 

Seasons  may  roll. 

But  tlie  true  soul 
Bums  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 
Let  fate  ^-own  on,  so  we  love  and  part  not ; 
'Tis  life  where  tliou  art,  'tis  death  where  thou'rt  not. 

Then  come  o'er  the  sea. 

Maiden,  with  me, 
Come  wherever  the  wild  wind  blows ; 

Seasons  may  roll. 

But  the  true  soul 
Bums  the  same,  where'er  it  goes 

Was  not  the  sea 

Made  for  the  Free, 
Land  for  courts  and  chains  alone  ? 

Here  we  are  slaves. 

But,  on  the  waves. 
Love  and  Liberty's  all  our  own. 
No  eye  to  watch,  and  no  tongue  to  wound  us. 
All  earth  forgot,  and  all  heaven  around  us — 

Then  come  o'er  the  sea. 

Maiden,  with  me. 
Mine  tlirough  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows; 

Seasons  may  roll. 

But  the  tme  soul 
Bums  tho  same,  where'er  it  goes. 


HAS  SORROW  THY  YOUNG  DAYS 
SHADED. 

Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded. 

As  clouds  o'er  the  morning  fleet  ? 
Too  fast  have  those  young  days  faded. 

That,  cv'n  in  sorrow,  were  sweet ! 
Does  Time  with  his  cold  wing  witlier 

Each  feeling  tliat  once  was  dear? — 
Then,  child  of  misfortune,  come  hither, 

I'll  weep  with  thee,  tear  for  tear. 


I 


IRISH  MELODIES.                                                249 

Has  love  to  that  soul,  so  tender, 

Been  like  our  Lageniau  mine,' 

Where  sparkles  of  golden  splendor 

WHEN  FIRST  I  MET  THEE. 

All  over  the  surface  shine — 

But,  if  in  pursuit  wo  go  deeper. 

When  first  I  met  thee,  warm  and  young. 

Allured  by  the  gleam  that  shone, 

There  shone  such  truth  about  thee, 

Ah  !  false  as  the  dream  of  the  sleeper, 

And  on  thy  lip  such  promise  hung. 

Like  Love,  the  bright  ore  is  gone. 

I  did  not  dare  to  doubt  thee. 

I  saw  thee  change,  yet  still  relied, 

Has  Hope,  like  the  bird  in  the  story,' 

Still  clung  with  hope  the  fonder, 

That  flitted  from  tree  to  tree 

And  thought,  tliough  false  to  all  beside, 

With  the  talisman's  glittering  glory — 

From  me  thou  couldst  not  wander. 

Has  Hope  been  that  bird  to  thee  ? 

But  go,  deceiver !  go. 

On  branch  after  branch  alighting. 

The  heart,  whose  hopes  could  make  it 

The  gem  did  she  still  display, 

Trust  one  so  false,  so  low. 

And,  when  nearest  and  most  inviting, 

Deserves  that  thou  shouldst  break  it. 

Then  waft  the  fair  gem  away  ? 

When  every  tongue  thy  follies  named. 

If  thus  the  young  hours  have  fleeted. 

I  fled  the  unwelcome  story  ; 

When  sonow  itself  look'd  bright ; 

Or  found,  in  even  the  faults  they  blamed, 

If  thus  the  fair  hope  hath  cheated, 

Some  gleams  of  future  glory. 

That  led  thee  along  so  light ; 

/  still  was  true,  when  nearer  friends 

If  thus  the  cold  world  now  wither 

Conspired  to  wrong,  to  slight  tliee  ; 

Each  feeling  that  once  waa  dear  : — 

The  heart  that  now  thy  falsehood  rends 

Come,  child  of  misfortune,  come  hither. 

Would  then  have  bled  to  right  thee. 

I'll  weep  with  thee,  tear  for  tear. 

But  go,  deceiver  !  go, — 

Some  day,  perhaps,  thou'lt  waken 

From  pleasiu"e's  dream,  to  know 

The  grief  of  hearts  forsaken. 
Even  now,  though  youth  its  bloom  has  shed, 

No  lights  of  age  adorn  thee : 

The  few,  who  loved  thee  once,  have  fled. 

NO,  NOT  MORE  WELCOME. 

And  they,  who  flatter,  scorn  thee. 

J^o,  not  more  welcome  the  fairy  numbers 
Of  music  fall  on  the  sleepea's  ear. 

Thy  midnight  cup  is  pledged  to  slaves, 

No  genial  ties  enwreath  it ; 

When  half-awaking  from  fearful  slumbers. 

The  smiling  there,  like  light  on  graves, 

He  thinks  the  full  quire  of  heaven  is  near, — 

Has  rank  cold  hearts  beneath  it. 

Than  came  that  voice,  when,  all  forsaken. 

Go — go — though  worlds  were  thine, 

This  heart  long  had  sleeping  lain, 

I  would  not  now  smrender 

Nor  thought  its  cold  pulse  would  ever  waken 

One  taintless  tear  of  mine 

To  such  benign,  blessed  sounds  again. 

For  all  thy  guilty  spendor ! 

Sweet  voice  of  comfort !  'twas  like  the  stealing 

And  days  may  come,  thou  false  one !  yet. 

Of  sununer  wind  tl::rD'  somo  wreathed  shell — 

When  even  those  tics  shall  sever  ; 

Each  secret  winding,  each  inmost  feeling 

When  thou  wilt  call,  with  vain  regret. 

Of  all  my  soul  echoed  to  its  cpell. 

On  her  thou'st  lost  forever  ; 

'Twas  whisper'd  balm — 'twas  sunshine  spoken  I — 

On  her  who,  in  thy  fortune's  fall. 

I'd  live  j'ears  of  grief  and  pain 

With  smiles  had  still  received  thee. 

To  have  my  long  sleep  of  sorrow  broken 

And  gladly  died  to  prove  thee  all 

By  such  benign,  blessed  sounds  again. 

Her  fancy  first  believed  thee. 

'  Our  Wicklow  Gold  Mines,  lo  which  this  verse  alludes, 

the  talisman  in  his  mouth.    The  princedrewnenril,  hnplng 

deserves,  I  fear,  but  too  well  the  character  here  given  of  them. 

it  would  drop  it ;  but,  as  he  approached,  the  bird  look  wing, 

»  "  The  bird,  having  got  its  prize,  settled  not  far  olT,  with 

and  settled  a^ain,"  Ut:.— Arabian  J'TigUs. 

250 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Go — ffo — "tis  vain  to  cui-se, 
'Tis  weakness  to  upbraid  thee ; 

Ilato  cannot  wisli  thee  worse 
Thau  guilt  and  shame  liave  made  thee. 


WHILE  HISTORY'S  MUSE. 

While  History's  Muse  the  memorial  was  keeping 

Of  all  tliat  the  dark  hand  of  Destiny  weaves, 
Beside  her  the  Genius  of  Erin  stood  weeping, 

For  her's  was  the  story  that  blotted  the  leaves. 
But  oil !  Iiow  tlie  tear  in  her  eyelids  grew  bright, 
When,  after  whole  pages  of  sorrow  and  shame, 
She  saw  History  write. 
With  a  pencil  of  light 
That  illumed  the  whole  volume,  her  Wellington's 
name. 

"  Hail,  Star  of  my  Isle  !"  said  the  Spirit,  all  spar- 
kling 
With  beams,  such  as  break  from  her  own  dewy 
skies — 
"  Through  ages  of  sorrow,  deserted  and  darkling, 

"  I've  watch'd  for  some  glory  like  thiue  to  arise. 
"  For,  though  Heroes  I've  number'd,  unblest  was 

their  lot, 
"  And  unhallow'd  they  sleep  in  the  crossways  of 
Fame ; — 

"  But  oh  !  tliere  is  not 
"  One  dishonoring  blot 
•'  On   the  wreath   that  encircles   my  Wellington's 
name. 

"  Yet  still  the  la.st  crown  of  thy  toils  is  remaining, 
"  Tho  grandest,  the  purest,  ev'n  thou  hast  yet 
known  ; 
"  Though  proud  was  thy  task,  other  nations  un- 
chaining, 
"  Far  prouder  to  heal  the  deep  wounds  of  thy 
own. 
"  At  tho  foot  of  that  throne  for  whose  weal  thou 

hast  stood, 

*'  Go,  plead  for  tho  land  that  first  cradled  thy  fame, 

"  And,  brigli   o'er  the  lood 

"  Of  her  teara  and  her  blood, 

"  Let   the   rainbow   of  Hope  be   her  Wellington's 

name  I'* 

'  This  alludes  lo  a  kind  of  Irish  falrj-,  which  is  to  be  met 
with,  they  say,  in  the  (iclds  at  dusk.  .As  long  as  you  keep 
your  eyes  upon  him,  he  is  fixed,  and  in  your  power;— but 
the  moment  you  look  away  (and  he  Is  insrnious  In  furnish- 
ing some  iaduccnicnlj  he  vanishes.    I  had  thought  that  this 


THE  TIME  I'VE  LOST  IN  WOOING 

The  time  I've  lost  in  wooing. 
In  watching  and  pursuing 

The  light,  that  lies 

In  woman's  eyes. 
Has  been  my  heart's  undoing. 
Thougli  Wisdom  oft  has  sought  me, 
I  scom'd  the  lore  she  brought  me, 

My  only  books 

Were  woman's  looks. 
And  folly's  all  they've  taught  me. 

Her  smile  when  Beauty  granted, 
I  hung  \yith  gaze  enchanted. 

Like  him  the  sprite,' 

Whom  maids  by  night 
Oft  meet  in  glen  that's  haunteo. 
Like  him,  too,  Beauty  won  me. 
But  while  her  eyes  were  on  me, 

If  once  their  ray 

Was  turn'd  away, 
O !  winds  could  not  outrim  me. 

And  are  those  follies  going? 
And  is  my  proud  heart  growing 

Too  cold  or  wise 

For  brilliant  eyes 
Again  to  set  it  glowing  ? 
No,  vain,  alas  I  th'  endeavor 
From  bonds  so  eweet  to  sever ; 

Poor  Wisdom's  chance 

Against  a  glance 
Is  now  as  weak  as  ever. 


WHERE  IS  THE  SLAVE. 

On,  Where's  the  slave  so  lowly, 
Condemn'd  to  chains  unholy. 

Who,  could  he  burst 

His  bonds  at  first. 
Would  pine  beneath  them  slowly  ? 
What  soul,  wlioso  wrongs  degrade  it 
'Vould  wait  till  time  decay'd  it, 

When  thus  its  wing 

At  once  may  sprintr 
To  the  throne  of  Him  who  made  it  ? 

was  the  sprite  which  \\c  call  the  Leprechaun;  tut  a  high 
aulhorily  upon  such  sul>jocls,  Lady  Morgan,  (in  a  note  upon 
her  national  and  inlero>tii)g  novel,  O'Donnel,)  has  given  a 
very  different  account  of  that  goblin. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


251 


Farewell,  Eriu, — fare\Tell,  all, 
Who  live  to  weep  our  fall ! 

Less  dear  the  laurel  growing, 
Alive,  untouchM  and  blowing, 

Tliau  that,  whose  braid 

Is  pluck'd  to  shade 
The  brows  witli  victory  glowing. 
We  tread  the  land  that  bore  \is. 
Her  green  Hag  glitters  o'er  us. 

The  friends  we've  tried 

Are  by  our  side. 
And  the  foe  we  hate  before  us. 

Farewell,  Erin, — farewell,  all, 
Who  live  to  weep  our  fall ! 


COME,  REST  IN  THIS  BOSOM. 

Come,  rest  in  this  bosom,  my  own  stricken  deer. 
Though  the  herd  have  fled  from  thee,  thy  home  is 

still  here  ; 
Here  still  is  the  smile,  that  no  cloud  can  o'ercast, 
Aud  a  heart  and  a  hand  all  thy  own  to  the  last. 

Oh  I  what  was  love  made  for,  if  'tis  not  the  same 
Throughjoy  and  through  torment,  through  glory  and 

shame  ? 
I  know  not,  I  ask  not,  if  guilt's  in  that  heart, 
I  but  know  that  I  love  thee,  whatever  thou  art. 

Thou  hast  call'd  me  thy  Angel  in  mompnts  of  bliss. 
And  thy  Angel  I'll  be,  'mid  tlie  horrors  of  this, — 
Through  the  furnace,  unshrinking,  thy  steps  to  pur- 
sue. 
And  shield  thee,  and  save  thee, — or  perish  there 
too! 


'TIS  GONE,  AND  FOREVER. 

'Ti3  gone,  and  forever,  the  light  we  saw  breaking. 
Like  Heaven's  first  dawn  o'er  the  sleep  of  the 
dead — 
When  Man,  from  the  slumber  of  ages  awaking, 
Look'd  upward,  and  bless'd  the  pure  ray,  era  it 
fled. 


'Tis  gone,  and  the  gleams  it  has  left  of  its  burning 
But  deepen  the  long  night  of  bondage  and  moumuig. 
That  dark  o'er  the  kingdoms  of  earth  is  retiu-ning, 
And  darkest  of  all,  liapless  Erin,  o'er  thee. 

For  high  was  thy  hope,  when  those  glories  were 
darting 
Around  thee,  through  all  the  gross  clouds  of  the 
world ; 
When  Truth,  from  her  fetters  indignantly  starting. 
At  once,  like  a  Sun-burst,  her  banner  unfiul'd.* 
Oh  I  never  shall  earth  see  a  moment  so  splendid  I 
Then,  then — had  one  Hymn  of  Dehverance  blended 
The  tongues  of    all  nations  —  how  sweet  had  as- 
cended 
The  first  note  of  Liberty,  Erin,  from  thee  ! 

But,  shame  on  those  tyrants,  who  envied  the  bless- 
ing ! 

And  shame  on  the  light  race,  unworthy  its  good. 
Who,  at  Death's  reeking  altar,  like  fiu-ies,  caressing 

The  young  hope  of  Freedom,  baptized  it  in  blood. 
Then  vanish'd  forever  that  fair,  sunny  vision, 
Which,  spite  of  the  slavish,  the  cold  heart's  derision. 
Shall  long  be  remember'd,  pure,  bright,  and  elysian 

As  first  it  arose,  my  lost  Erin,  on  thee. 


I  SAW  FROM  THE  BEACH. 

I   SAW  from   the   beach,  when   the   morning   was 
shining, 
A  bark  o'er  the  watere  move  gloriously  on  ; 
I  came  when  the  sun  o'er  that  beach  was  declining. 
The  bark  was  still  there,  but  the  waters  were 
gone. 

And  such  is  the  fate  of  our  life's  early  promise, 
So  passing  the  spnng-tide  of  joy  we  have  known  ; 

Each  wave,  that  we  danced  en  at  morning,  ebbs 
from  us, 
And  leaves  us,  at  eve,  on  the  bleak  shore  alone. 

Ne'er  tell  me  of  glories,  serenely  adorning 

The  close  of  our  day,  the  calm  eve  of  om  night ; — 
Give  me  back,  give  me  back  the  wild  freshness  of 
Morning, 
Her  clouds   and   her   tears  are  worth  Evenmg's 
best  light. 

1  "The  Son-burst"  was  Iho  fanciful  name  given  by  the 
ancient  Irish  to  the  Royal  Banner. 


252                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Oh,  wlio  would  not  welcome  that  moment's  retum- 

But  oh  his  joy,  when,  round 

'"!,'' 

The  halls  of  Heaven  spying. 

When  passion  fust  waked  a  new  life  through  his 

Among  the  stars  he  found 

frame, 

A  bowl  of  Bacehus  lying  ! 

And  liis  soul,  like  the  wood,  that  grows  precious  in 

burning. 

Some  drops  were  in  that  bowl, 

Gave  out  all  its  sweets  to  love's  exquisite  flame. 

Remains  of  last  night's  pleasure, 

With  which  the  Sparks  of  Soul 

Mix'd  their  burning  treasure. 

Hence  the  goblet's  shower 
Hath  such  spells  to  win  us  ; 

Hence  its  mighty  power 

O'er  that  flame  within  us. 

FILL  THE  BUMPER  FAIR- 

Fill  the  bumper  fair ! 

Every  drop  wo  sprinkle 

Fii.L  the  bumper  fair! 

O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 

O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 

Wit's  electric  tlamo 
Ne'er  so  swiftly  passes, 

As  when  through  the  frame 

It  shoots  from  brimming  glasses. 

Fill  (lie  bumper  fair! 

DEAR  HARP  OF  MY  COUNTRY. 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 

O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Dear  Harp  of  my  Country  1  in  darkness  I  found 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 

thee, 

The  cold  chain  of  silence  had  hung  o'er  thee  long,' 

Sages  can,  they  say, 

When  proudly,  my  own  Islaud  Harp,  I  unbound 

Grasp  the  lightning's  pinions, 

thee. 

And  bruig  down  its  ray 

And  gave  all   thy  chords  to  light,  freedom,  and 

From  the  starr'd  dominions: — 

song ! 

So  we,  Sages,  sit, 

The  warm  lay  of  love  and  the  light  note  of  gladness 

And,  'mid  bumpers  bright'ning, 

Have  waken'd  tiiy  fondest,  thy  liveliest  thrill ; 

From  the  Heaven  of  Wit 

But,  so  oft  hast  thou  echo'd  the  deep  sigh  of  sad- 

Draw down  all  its  lightning. 

ness. 

That  ev'n  in  lliy  mirth  it  will  steal  from  theo  still. 

Wouldst  thou  know  what  first 

Made  our  souls  inherit 

Dear  Harp  of  my  Country !  farewell  to  thy  niun- 

This  ennobling  thirst 

bers. 

For  wine's  celestial  spirit? 

This  sweet  wreath  of  song  is  the  last  we  shall 

It  chanced  upon  that  day. 

twine  ! 

When,  as  bards  infonii  us, 

Go,  sleep  with  the  sunshine  of  Fame  on  thy  .slum- 

Prometheus stole  away 

bers. 

The  living  fires  that  warm  us : 

Till   touch'd  by  some  hand  less  unworthy  than 

mine  ; 

The  careless  Youth,  when  up 

If  the  pulse  of  the  patriot,  soldier,  or  lover. 

To  Glory's  fount  a.<piri;ig. 

Have  throbb'd  at  our  lay,  'tis  thy  glory  alone  ; 

Took  nor  urn  nor  cup 

I  was  but  as  tlie  wind,  passing  heedlessly  over. 

To  hide  the  pilfer'd  fire  in. — 

Aud  all  the  wild  sweetness  I  waked  was  thy  own. 

'  In  that  r('\)clllous  lull  lienulifiil  son;,  "  When  Erin  first 

hrated  contention  for  precedence  between  Finn  and  Gaul, 

•  rosp,"  there  is,  if  I  recollect  right,  the  following  lino;— 

near  Finn's  palace  at  Alnihaiin,  wlicre  the  attending  Bards, 

"  The  dark  chnin  of  Silence  was  thrown  o'er  the  deep." 

anxious,  if  possible,  to  produce   a  cessation  of  hostilities, 

shook  the  chain  of  Silence,  and  llung  themselves  among  the 

The  chain  of  Silence  was  a  sort  of  practical  figure  of  rhet- 

ranks."    pee  also  the  Ode  to  Gaul,  the  Son  of  Mortii,  m 

oric  among  the  ancient  Irish     Walker  tells  us  of  "  a  ccle- 

Miss  Brooke's  Reliques  of  Iris/i  Poetry. 

IRISH  MELODIES. 


253 


MY  GENTLE  HARP. 

My  gentle  Harp,  once  more  I  waken 

The  sweetness  of  thy  slumb'ting  strain  ; 
In  tears  our  last  farewell  was  taken, 

And  now  in  tears  we  meet  again. 
No  light  of  joy  hath  o'er  thee  broken, 

But,  like  tliose  Harps  whose  heav'nly  skill 
Of  slavery,  dark  as  thine,  hath  spoken, 

Thou  hang'st  upon  the  willows  still. 

And  yet,  since  last  thy  chord  resounded. 

An  hour  of  peace  and  trimnph  came, 
And  many  an  ardent  bosom  bounded 

With  hopes — that  now  are  tiu-n'd  to  shame 
Yet  even  then,  while  Peace  was  siuging 

Her  halcyon  song  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Though  joy  and  hope  to  others  bringing, 

S!ie  only  brought  new  tears  to  thee. 

Then,  who  can  ask  for  notes  of  pleasure. 

My  drooping  Harp,  from  chords  like  thine  1 
Alas,  the  lark's  gay  morning  measure 

As  ill  would  suit  the  swan's  decline  1 
Or  how  shall  I,  who  love,  who  bless  thee, 

Invoke  thy  breath  for  Freedom's  strains, 
When  ev'u  the  wreatlis  in  which  I  dress  thee. 

Are  sadly  mix'd — half  flow'rs,  half  cliains  ? 

But  come — if  yet  thy  frame  can  borrow 

One  breath  of  joy,  oh,  breathe  for  me. 
And  show  the  world,  in  chains  and  sorrow. 

How  sweet  thy  music  stUl  can  be  ; 
How  gayly,  ev'u  mid  gloom  surrounding. 

Thou  yet  canst  wake  at  pleasure's  thrill — 
Like  Memnou's  broken  image  sotmding, 

'Mid  desolation  tuneful  still  I' 


IN  THE  MORNING  OF  LIFE. 

In  the  morning  of  life.  Then  its  cares  are  imknown. 

And  its  pleasures  in  o.i  their  new  lustre  begin, 
When  we  live  in  a  bright-beaming  world  of  our 
own, 
And   the    light    tliat   surroimds   us   is   all   from 
within ; 
Oh  'tis  not,  believe  me,  ui  that  happy  time 

We  can  love,  as  in  hours  of  less  transport  we 
may  ;— 

1  Dimidio  magicfe  resonant  ubi  Memnone  chorda:. — Juvenal. 


Of  our   smiles,  of  our  ho])es,  'tis   the  gay  sunny 
prime. 
But  afToction  is  truest  when  these  fade  away 

When  we  see  the  first  glory  of  youth  pass  us  by, 

Like  a  leaf  on  the  stream  that  will  never  return  ; 
When  our  cup,  which  had  sparkled  with  pleasure  so 
high. 

First  tastes  of  the  other,  the  dark-flowing  urn  ; 
Then,  then  is  the  time  when  affection  holds  sway 

With  a  depth  and  a  tenderness  joy  never  knew  ; 
Love,  nursed  among  pleasures,  is  faitliless  as  they. 

But  the  Love  bom  of  Sorrow,  like  Sorrow,  is  true. 

In   climes   full   of  sunshine,   thougli   splendid   tlie 
flowers, 
Their  sighs   have   no   freshness,   their   odor   no 
worth  ; 
'Tis    the   cloud   and  the  mist  of  our  own  Isle  of 
showers, 
That  call  the  rich  spirit  of  fragrancy  forth 
So  it  is  not  mid  splendor,  prosperity,  mirth. 

That   the  depth  of    Love's   generous   spuit    ap 
pears  ; 
To  the  sunshine  of  smiles  it  may  first  owe  its  birth, 
But  the  soul  of  its  sweetness  is  drawn  out  by 
tears. 


AS  SLOW  OUR  SHIP. 

As  slow  our  ship  her  foamy  track 

Against  the  wind  was  cleaving. 
Her  trembling  pennant  still  look'd  back 

To  that  dear  Isle  'twas  leaving. 
So  loath  we  part  from  all  we  love, 

From  all  the  links  that  bind  us ; 
So  turn  our  hearts  as  on  we  rove, 

To  those  we've  left  behind  us. 

When,  roimd  the  bowl,  of  vanish'd  years 

We  talk,  with  joyous  seeming, — 
With  .smiles  that  might  as  well  be  tears. 

So  faint,  so  sad  their  beaming  ; 
While  mem'ry  brings  us  back  again 

Each  early  tie  that  twined  us, 
Oh,  sweet's  the  cup  that  circles  then 

To  those  we've  left  behind  us. 

And  when,  in  other  climes,  we  meet 
Some  isle,  or  vale  enchanting. 

Where  all  looks  flovv'ry,  wild,  and  sweet, 
And  naught  but  love  is  wanting  ; 


254 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Wc  think  how  {rrcat  had  been  our  bliss, 
If  Heiiv'n  Jiad  but  assign 'd  us 

To  live  and  die  in  scenes  like  this, 
With  some  we've  left  behind  us  ! 

As  trav'letB  ofl  look  back  at  eve. 

When  eastward  darkly  going, 
To  gaze  upon  that  light  they  leave 

Still  faint  behind  tliein  glowing, — 
So,  when  the  close  of  pleasure's  day 

To  gloom  hath  near  consign'd  us, 
We  turn  to  catch  one  fading  ray 

Of  joy  that's  left  behind  us. 


WHEN  COLD  IN  THE  EARTH. 

Whkn  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  thou  hast 
loved. 
Be  his  faults  and  his  follies  forgot  by  thee  then  ; 
Or,  i(  from  their  sUunber  the  veil  be  removed, 

\\  eep  o'er  them  in  silence,  and  close  it  again. 
And  oh  !  if  'lis  pain  to  remember  how  far 

From  the  pathways  of  light  he  was  tempted  to 
roam. 
Be  it  bliss  to  remember  that  thou  wert  the  star 
That   arose   on   his   darkness,   and   guided   him 
home. 

From  thee  and  thy  innocent  beauty  first  came 
The   revealings,  that  taught   him  true   love   to 
adore, 
To   feel   the   bright  presence,  and  turn  him  with 
sliamc 
From  the  idols  he  blindly  had  kn  lit  to  before. 
O'er  the  waves  of  a  life,  long  benighted  and  wild. 
Thou  cam'st,  like   a   soft  golden  cahn  o'er  the 
sea  ; 
And.  if  ha'ppincss  purely  and  glowingly  smiled 
On  his  ev'ning  horizon,  the  light  was  from  thee. 

And  though,  sometimes,  the  shades  of  past  folly 
might  rise, 
And  though  falsehood  again  would  allure  liim  to 
stray, 
He  but  turn'd  to  the  glory  that  dwelt  in  those  eyes. 
And  the  folly,  the  falsehood,  soon  vanish'd  away. 
As  the  Priests  of  the   Sun,  when  their  altar  grew' 
dim. 
At  the  day-beam  alone  could  iLs  lustre  repair, 
So,  if  virtue  a  moment  grew  languid  in  him, 

He  but  flew  to  that  smile,  and  rekindled  it  there. 


REMEMBER  THEE. 

Remeiiber  thee  ?  yes,  while  there's  life  in  this  heart. 
It  shall  never  forget  thee,  all  lorn  as  thou  art ; 
More   dear   in    thy   sorrow,   thy   gloom,   and   thy 

showers. 
Than  the  rest  of  the  world  in  their  sunniest  hours. 

Wert  thou  all  that  I  wish  thee,  great,  glorious,  and 

free. 
First  flower  of  the  earth,  and  first  gem  of  the  sea, 
I  might  hail  thee  with  prouder,  With  happier  brow, 
But  oh  !  could  I  love  thee  more  deeply  than  now  ? 

No,  thy  chains  as  they  tsua'/s,  thy  blood  as  it  nnis. 
But  make  thee  more  painfully  dear  to  thy  sons — 
Whose  hearts,  like  the  young  of  the  desert-bird's 

nest. 
Drink  love  in  each  life-drop  that  flows  from    by 

breast 


WREATH  THE  BOWL. 

Wreath  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul. 
The  brightest  Wit  can  find  us ; 

We'll  take  a  flight 

Tow'rds  heaven  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 

Should  Love  amid 

The  wreaths  be  hid. 
That  Joy,  th'  enchanter,  brings  us, 

No  danger  fear, 

^Vhile  wine  is  near. 
We'll  drown  him  if  he  stings  us  ■ 

Then,  wreath  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul. 
The  briglite?t  Wit  can  find  us ; 

We'll  talve  a  flight 

Tow'rds  heaven  to-night. 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 

'Twas  nectar  fed 

Of  old,  'tis  said, 
Their  Junes,  Joves,  Apollos  ; 

And  man  may  brew 

His  nectar  too. 
The  rich  receipt's  as  follows. 

Take  wine  like  this. 

Let  looks  of  blifs 
Around  it  well  be  blended. 


IRISH   MELODIES. 


255 


Then  bring  Wit's  beam 
To  warm  the  stream, 

And  there's  your  nectar,  splendid ! 
So  wreath  the  bowl 
With  flowers  of  soul. 

The  brightest  Wit  can  find  lis  ; 
We'll  take  a  flight 
Tow'rds  heaven  to-night, 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 

Say,  why  did  Time, 

His  glass  sublime, 
Fill  up  with  sands  unsightly. 

When  wine,  he  knew, 

Runs  brisker  through 
And  sparkles  far  more  brightly  ? 

Oh,  lend  it  us. 

And,  smiling  thus. 
The  glass  in  two  we'll  sever, 

Make  pleasure  glide 

In  doable  tide. 
And  fill  both  ends  forever  ! 

Then  wreath  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul. 
The  brightest  Wit  can  find  us  ; 

We'll  take  a  flight 

Tow'rds  heaven  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 


WHENE'ER  I  SEE  THOSE  SMILING  EYES. 

Whene'er  I  see  those  smiling  eyes, 

So  full  of  hope,  and  joy,  and  light, 
As  if  no  cloud  could  ever  rise. 

To  dim  a  heav'n  so  purely  bright — 
I  sigh  to  think  how  soon  that  brow 

In  grief  may  lose  its  every  ray, 
And  that  light  heart,  so  joyous  now. 

Almost  forget  it  once  was  gay. 

For  time  will  come  with  all  its  blights. 

The  ruin'd  hope,  the  friend  unkind. 
And  love,  that  leaves,  where'er  it  lights, 

A  chill'd  or  burning  heart  behind : — 
While  youth,  that  now  like  snow  appears, 

Ere  sullied  by  the  dark'ning  rain. 
When  once  'tis  touch'd  by  sorrow's  tears 

(^au  never  shine  so  bright  again. 


IF  THOU'LT  BE  MINE. 

If  thou'lt  be  mine,  the  treasures  of  air. 
Of  earth,  and  sea,  shall  lie  at  thy  feet ; 

Whatever  in  Fancy's  eye  looks  fair. 

Or  in  Hope's  sweet  music  sounds  7nost  sweet, 
Shall  be  ours — if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love ! 

Bright  flowers  shall  bloom  wherever  we  rove, 
A  voice  divine  shall  talk  in  each  stream  ; 

The  stars  shall  look  like  worlds  of  love. 
And  this  earth  be  all  one  beautiful  dream 
In  our  eyes — if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love ! 

And  thoughts,  whose  source  is  hidden  and  high. 
Like  streams,  that  come  from  heaven-ward  hills. 

Shall  keep  our  hearts,  like  meads,  that  lie 
To  be  bathed  by  those  eternal  rills. 

Ever  green,  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love  ! 

All  this  and  more  the  Spirit  of  Love 

Can  breatiie  o'er  them,  who  feel  his  spells ; 

That  heaven,  which  forms  his  home  above. 
Ho  can  make  on  earth,  wherever  he  dwells. 
As  thou'lt  owS, — if  thou  wilt 'be  mme,  love ! 


TO  LADIES'  EYES. 

To  Ladies'  eyes  around,  boy. 

We  can't  refuse,  we  can't  refuse, 
Tliough  bright  eyes  so  abound,  boy, 

'Tis  hard  to  choose,  'tis  hard  to  choose. 
For  thick  as  stars  that  lighten 

Yon  airy  bow'rs,  yon  airy  bow'rs, 
The  countless  eyes  that  brighten 

This  earth  of  ours,  tliis  earth  of  ours. 
But  fill  the  cup — where'er,  boy. 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall. 
We're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy. 

So  driidi  them  all  I  so  diink  them  all ! 

Some  looks  there  are  so  holy. 

They  seem  but  giv'n,  they  seem  but  giv'n, 
As  shining  beacons,  solely. 

To  light  to  heav'n,  to  light  to  heav'n. 
Wliile  some — oh  I  ne'er  believe  them — 

With  tempting  ray,  with  tempting  ray. 
Would  lead  us  (God  forgive  them  0 

The  other  way,  the  other  way. 


256 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But  fill  the  cup — where'er,  boy, 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall, 
We're  sure  to  find  Lovo  there,  boy, 

So  drink  them  all !  so  drink  them  all  ! 

In  some,  as  in  a  mirror. 

Love  seems  portray 'd,  Love  soems  portray "d. 
But  shun  the  flaft'rin^  error, 

"fis  bnt  his  shade,  'tis  but  his  shade. 
Himself  ha-s  fix'd  liis  dwelling 

In  eyes  wo  know,  in  eyes  we  know, 
And  lips — but  this  is  telling — 

So  hero  they  go  !  so  here  they  go  ! 
Fill  up,  fill  up — where'er,  boy, 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall, 
AN'e're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy, 

So  drink  them  all  !  so  drink  them  all  I 


FORGET  NOT  THE  FIELD 

Forget  not  the  field  where  they  perish'd, 

Tiio  truest,  the  last  of  the  brave, 
All  gone — and  the  bright  hope  we  cherish 'd 

Gone  with  them,  and  quench'd  in  their  grave  I 

Oil  I  could  we  from  death  but  recover 
Those  hearts  as  they  bounded  before. 

In  the  face  of  high  heav'n  to  fight  over 
Tliat  combat  for  freedom  once  more  : — 

Could  the  chain  for  an  instant  be  riven 
Which  Tyranny  flung  round  us  then. 

No,  'tis  not  in  Man,  nor  in  Heaven, 
To  let  Tyranny  bind  it  again  ! 

But  'tis  past — and,  tho'  blazon'd  in  story 

The  name  of  our  Victor  may  be, 
.\ceursed  is  tho  march  of  that  glorj- 

Which  treads  o'er  the  hearts  of  the  free 

Far  dearer  the  grave  or  the  prison, 

Illumed  by  one  patriot  name, 
Than  tho  trophies  of  all,  who  have  risen 

On  Liberty's  ruins  to  fame. 


»  Tons  !es  habitaiis  de  Mcrcure  sont  vifs.— P/uraiiW  iu 
Mondes. 
>  La  Icrrc  pourra  ttre  ponr  V6nuj  I'StolIe  da  bcrger  et  la 


THEY  MAY  RAIL  AT  THIS  LIFE. 

They  may  rail  at  this  life — from  the  hour  I  began 
it, 

I  found  it  a  life  full  of  kindness  and  bliss ; 
And,  until  they  can  show  me  some  happier  planet. 

More  social  and  bright,  I'll  content  mo  with  this. 
As  long  as  tho  world  has  such  lips  and  such  eyes. 

As  before  me  this  moment  enraptured  I  see. 
They  may  say  what  they  will  of  their  orbs  in  the 
skies. 

But  this  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love,  and  me. 

In  Mercury's  star,  where  each  moment  can  bring 
them 

New  sunshine  and  wit  from  the  fountain  on  high, 
Though  the  njiiiphs  may  have  livelier  poets  to  sing 
them,' 

They've  none,  even  there,  more  enamor'd  than  I. 
And,  as  long  as  this  harp  can  be  waken'd  to  love, 

And  that  eye  its  divine  inspu-ation  shall  be. 
They  may  talk  as  they  will  of  their  Edens  above. 

But  this  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love,  and  me. 

In  that  star  of  the  west,  by  whose  shadowy  splendor, 
At  twilight  so  often  we've  roam'd  through  the 
dew. 
There  are  maidens,  perhaps,  who  have  bosoms  as 
tender. 
And  look,  in  their  twilights,  as  lovely  as  you.' 
But  tho'  they  were  even  more  bright  than  the  queen 

Of  that  isle  they  inhabit  in  heaven's  blue  sea. 
As  I  never  those  fair  young  celestials  have  seen, 
Why — this  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love,  and 
me. 

As  for  those  chilly  orbs  on  the  verge  of  creation, 

Where  sunshine  and  smiles  must  be  equally  rare. 

Did  they  want  a  supply  of   cold  hearts  for  that 

station, 

Heav'n  knows  we  have  plenty  on  earth  we  could 

spare. 

Oh  !  thmk  what  a  world  we  should  have  of  it  here, 

If  the  haters  of  peace,  of  affection,  and  glee, 
AVere  to  fly  up  to  Saturn's  comfortless  sphere, 
And  leave  earth  to  such  spirits  as  yon,  love,  and 
me. 


m^re  des  amours,  commc  VC-nus  Test  pour  nous.'-PhiraUU 
des  Mondcs. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


257 


OH  FOR  THE  SWORDS  OF  FORMER 
TIME! 

Oil  for  the  swords  of  former  time  I 

Oil  for  the  men  wlio  bore  tlicm, 
When  arm'd  for  Right,  tliey  stood  sublime, 

And  tyrants  crouch'd  before  them ; 
When  free  yet,  ere  courts  began 

With  honors  to  enslave  him, 
The  best  honors  worn  by  Man 

Were  those  which  Virtue  gave  liim 
Oil  for  the  swords,  &c.,  &c. 

Oh  for  the  Kings  who  flourish'd  then  ! 

Oh  for  the  pomp  that  crown'd  them. 
When  hearts  and  hands  of  fiecboru  men 

Were  all  the  ramparts  round  them. 
When,  safe  built  on  bosoms  true, 

The  throne  was  but  the  centre, 
Round  which  Love  a  circle  di-ew, 

That  Treason  durst  not  enter. 
Oh  for  the  Kings  who  flourish'd  then ! 

Oh  for  the  pomp  that  crown'd  them, 
When  hearts  and  hands  of  freebom  men 

Were  all  the  ramparts  round  them  I 


ST.  SENANUS  AND  THE  LADY 

ST.  SENANUS.' 

"  Oil !  haste  and  leave  this  sacred  isle, 
"  Unholy  bark,  ere  morning  smile  ; 
"  For  on  thy  deck,  though  dark  it  be, 

"  A  female  form  I  see ; 
"  And  I  have  sworn  this  sainted  sod 
"  Shall  ne'er  by  woman's  feet  be  trod." 

THE  LAUY. 

"  Oh  1  Father,  send  not  hence  my  bark, 
"  Througli  wintry  winds  and  billows  dark . 
"  I  como  with  humble  heart  to  share 
"  Thy  morn  and  evening  prayer  ; 
"  Nor  mine  the  feet,  oh  I  holy  Saint, 
"  The  brightness  of  thy  sod  to  taint." 

1  In  a  metrical  life  of  St.  Scnanus,  wliich  is  talton  from  an 
old  Killicnny  MS.,  and  maybe  found  among  llie  Jleta  Sanc- 
lorum  Hibcrnitr,  we  are  told  of  llis  flight  to  the  island  of  Scat- 
tcry,  and  his  resolulion  not  to  admit  any  woman  of  the  par- 
ly; and  that  he  refused  to  receive  even  a  sister  saint,  St. 
Canncra,  whom  an  angel  had  taken  to  the  island  for  the  ei- 
press  purpose  of  introducing  her  to  him.  The  following  was 
the  ungracious  answer  of  Senanus.  according  to  his  poetical 
biographer ; 


17 


The  Lady's  prayer  Senanus  spum'd  ; 
The  winds  blow  fresh,  the  bark  return'd  ; 
But  legends  hint,  that  had  tlie  maid 

Till  morning's  light  delay'd  ; 
And  giv'n  the  saint  one  rosy  smile, 
She  ne'er  had  left  his  lonely  isle. 


NE'ER  ASK  THE  HOUR. 

Ne'er  ask  the  hour — what  is  it  to  us 

How  Time  deals  out  his  treasures  ? 
The  golden  moments  lent  us  thus, 

Are  not  his  coin,  but  Pleasure's. 
If  counting  them  o'er  could  add  to  their  blisses, 

I'd  number  each  glorious  second: 
But  moments  of  joy  are,  like  Lcsbia's  kisses. 

Too  quick  and  sweet  to  be  reckon'd. 
Then  fill  the  cup — what  is  it  to  us 

How  Time  his  circle  measures  ? 
The  fairy  hours  we  call  up  thus, 

Obey  no  wand,  but  Pleasure's. 

Young  Joy  ne'er  thought  of  counting  hours, 

Till  Care,  one  smiimer's  morning. 
Set  up,  among  his  smiling  flowers, 

A  dial,  by  way  of  warning. 
But  Joy  loved  better  to  gaze  on  the  sun. 

As  long  as  its  light  was  glowing. 
Than  to  watch  with  old  Care  how  the  shadow  stole 
on. 

And  how  fast  that  light  was  going. 
So  fill  the  cup — what  is  it  to  iiB 

How  Time  his  ckcle  measures? 
The  fairy  hours  we  call  up  thus, 

Obey  no  wand,  but  Pleasure's. 


SAIL  ON,  SAIL  ON 

Sail  on,  sail  on,  tlion  fearless  bark — 
Wherever  blows  the  welcome  wind, 

It  cannot  lead  to  scenes  more  dark, 
More  sad  than  those  we  leave  behind. 


Cui  PrtEsul^  quid fwmims 
Commune  est  cvm  monachis  ? 
.Vcc  te  nee  Tdlam  aiiam 
AdmiUemus  in  insulam. 
See  the  .Icta  Sanct.  Hii.,  page  CIO. 
According  to  Dr.  I..edHich,  St.  Scnnniis  was  no  less  a  per- 
sonage than  the  river  Shannon  ;  but  O'Connor  and  olher 
antiquarians  deny  Iho  metamorphose  indignantly. 


258 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Each  wave  that  passes  seems  to  say, 

"  Tlioiij;h  death  beneath  our  smile  may  be, 

"  Lets  cold  we  are,  less  false  than  they, 

"  Whose  smiling  wreck'd  thy  hopes  and  thee." 

Sail  on,  sail  on, — through  endless  space — 

Throufjh  calm — ttirough  tempest — stop  no  more 
The  stormiest  sea's  a  resting-place 

To  him  who  leaves  such  hearts  on  shore. 
Or — if  some  desert  land  we  meet. 

Where  never  yet  false-hearted  men  ^ 

Profaned  a  world,  that  else  were  sweet, — 

Then  rest  thee,  bark,  but  not  till  then. 


THE  PARALLEL. 

Yes,  sad  one  of  Sion,'  if  closely  resembling. 

In  shame  and  in  sorrow,  thy  wither'd-up  heart — 

If  drinking  deep,  deep,  of  the  same  "cup  of  trem- 
bling," 
Could  make  us  thy  children,  our  parent  tliou  art 

Iiiko  thee  doth  our  nation  lie  conquer'd  and  broken. 
And  fall'n  from  her  head  is  the  once  royal  crown  ; 

In  her  streets,  in  her  halls,  Desolation  hath  spoken, 
And  "  while  it  is  day  yet,  her  sun  hath  gone 
down."^ 

Like  thine  doth  her  exile,  'mid  dreams  of  returning, 
Die  far  from  the  home  it  were  life  to  behold ; 

Liiko  thine  do  her  sons,  in  the  day  of  their  mourning ; 
Remember  the  bright  things  thatbless'd  them  of  old. 

Ah,  well  may  we  call  her,  like  thee, "  the  Forsaken,'" 
Her   boldest    are    vanquish'd,    her    proudest    are 
slaves ; 
And  the  harps  of  her  minstrels,  when  gayest  they 
waken. 
Have  tones  'mid  their  mirth  like  the  wind  over 
graves! 

Yet  hadst  thou  thy  vengeance — yet  came  there  the 
morrow. 
That  shines  out,  at  la.st,  on  the  longest  dark  niTht, 
When  the  sceptre,  that  smote  thee  with  slaverj'  and 
sorrow. 
Was  shiver" d  at  once,  like  a  reed,  iu  thy  sight 

'  These  verses  were  written  after  the  perusal  of  n  treatise 
by  Mr.  Hanilltnn,  professing  to  prove  that  Die  Irish  were 
orlgiually  Jews. 

*  "  I!cr  sua  Is  gone  down  while  it  was  yet  day," — Jfr. 
XV  0. 

'  "Thou  shalt  no  more  be  termed  Forsaken." — Isaiah 
Ixii  4 


When  that  cup,  which  for  others  the  proud  Golden 

City' 
Had  brimm'd  full  of  bitterness,  drench'd  her  own 

lips; 
And  the  world  slie  had  trampled  on  heard,  without 

pity. 

The  howl  in  her  halls,  and  the  crj'  from  her  ships 

When  the  curse  Heaven   keeps  for  the  haughty 
came  over 

Her  merchants  rapacious,  her  rulers  unjust. 
And,  a  ruin,  at  last,  for  the  earthworm  to  cover," 

The  Lady  of  Kingdoms"  lay  low  in  the  dust 


DRINK  OF  THIS  CUP. 

Drink  of  tliis  cup ;  you'll  find  there's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality ; 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen ! 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 
Would  you  forget  the  dark  world  we  are  in. 

Just  taste  of  the  bubble  that  gleams  on  the  top  of 
it; 
But  would  you  rise  above  earth,  till  akin 

To  Immortals  themselves,  you  must  drain  every 
drop  of  it ; 
Send  round  the  cup — for  oh,  there's  a  spell  in 

Its  everj'  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality  ; 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen  ! 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 

Never  was  philter  form'd  with  such  power 

To  charm  and  bewilder  as  this  we  are  quaffing ; 
Its  magic  began  when,  in  Autumn's  rich  hour, 

A  han'cst  of  gold  in  the  fields  it  stood  laughing 
There  having,  by  Nature's  enchantment,  been  fill'd 

Witli  the  balm  and  the  bloom  of  her  kindliest 
weather. 
This  wonderful  juice  from  its  core  was  distill'd 

To  enliven  such  hearts  as  are  here  brought  to- 
gether. 
Then  drink  of  the  cup — you'll  find  there's  a  spell  iu 

lis  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality ; 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen ! 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 

*  "  How  liath  the  oppressor  ceased  !  the  golden  city 
ceased  I" — Isaiah,  siv.  4. 

^  "  Thy  pomp  is  brought  down  to  the  grave and 

the  wnnns  cover  thee."— /sainA,  xiv.  11. 

0  "  Thou  shalt  no  more  be  called  the  Lady  of  Kingdoms.* 
— Isaiah,  xlvii.  5. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


259 


Aiid  though,  perhaps — ^but  breathe  it  to  no  one — 

Like  liquor  the  witch  brew  s^t  midniglit  so  awfiJ, 
This  philter  in  secret  was  iirsl  taught  to  flow  on, 

'Vet  'tis  n't  less  potent  for  being  unlawful. 
And,  ev'n  though  it  taste  of  the  smoke  of  that  flame. 

Which  in  sileuce  extracted  its  virtue  forbidden- 
Fill  up — tliere's  a  fire  in  some  hearts  I  could  name, 

Wliich  may  work  too  its  charm,  though  as  law- 
less and  hidden. 
So  drinli  of  the  cup — for  oh  there's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality  ; 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen  1 

Her  cup  wa3  a  fiction,  but  tliis  is  reality. 


THE  FORTUNE-TELLER. 

Down  in  tho  valley  come  meet  me  to-night. 

And  I'll  tell  you  your  fortune  truly 
As  ever  was  told,  by  the  new-raoou's  light, 

To  a  young  maiden,  shining  as  newly. 

But,  for  tho  world,  let  no  one  be  nigh. 
Lest  haply  the  stars  should  deceive  me ; 

Such  secrets  between  you  and  me  and  the  sky 
Should  never  go  farther,  believe  me. 

If  at  that  hour  the  heav'ns  be  not  dim, 
M)'  %rience  shall  call  up  before  you 

A  male  apparition, — the  image  of  him 
Whose  destiny  'tis  to  adore  you. 

And  if  to  that  phantom  you'll  be  kind, 

So  fondly  around  you  he'll  liover. 
You'll  hardly,  my  dear,  any  difference  find 

'Twixt  him  and  a  true  living  lover. 

Down  at  your  feet,  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
He'll  kneel,  with  a  warmth  of  devotion — 

An  ardor,  of  which  such  an  innocent  sprite 
You'd  scarcely  believe  had  a  notion. 

Wliat  other  thoughts  and  events  may  arise. 
As  in  destiny's  book  I've  not  seen  them. 

Must  only  be  left  to  the  stars  and  your  eyes 
To  settle,  ere  morning,  between  them. 

'  Paul  Zealand  mentions  that  there  is  a  mountain  in  some 
pari  of  Ireland,  where  the  ghosts  of  persons  who  have  died 
in  foreign  lands  walk  about  and  converse  with  those  they 
meet,  like  living  people.  If  asked  why  they  do  not  return  to 
their  homes,  they  say  they  are  obliged  to  go  to  iMount  Hecla, 
and  disappear  immediately. 

»  The  parliculars  of  the  tradition  respecting  O'Donohue 
and  his  White  Horse,  may  be  found  in  Mr.  Weld's  Account 
of  Killarney,  or  more  fully  de.ailed  in  Derrick's  Letters.  For 
many  years  after  his  death,  the  spirit  of  this  hero  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  seen  on  the  morning  of  May-day,  gliding 


OH,  YE  DEAD! 

On,  yo  Dead  1  oh,  ye  Dead  !'  whom  we  know  by 

the  light  you  give 
From  your  cold  gleaming  eyes,  though  you  move 
like  men  who  live. 

Why  leave  you  thus  your  graves 
In  far-off  fields  and  waves, 
Where  the  worm  and  the  sea-bird  only  know  your 
bed. 

To  haunt  this  spot  where  all 
Those  eyes  tiiat  wept  your  fall, 
Atid  the  hearts  that  wail'd  you,  like  your  own,  lie 
dead? 

It  is  true,  it  is  true,  we  are  shadows  cold  a.  d  van ; 
And  the  fair  and  the  brave  whom  we  loved  or  earth 
are  gone  ; 

But  still  thus  ev'n  in  death, 
So  sweet  the  living  breath 
Of  the  fields  and  the  flow'rs  in  our  youth  we  wan- 
der'd  o'er, 

That  ere,  condemn'd,  we  go 
To  freeze  'mid  Hecla's  snow. 
We  would  taste  it  awhile,  and  think  we  live  once 
more  ! 


O'DONOHUE'S  MISTRESS. 

Of  all  the  fair  months,  that  round  the  sun 
In  light-link'd  dance  their  circles  run. 

Sweet  May,  shiiie  thou  for  me  ; 
For  still,  when  thy  earliest  beams  arise, 
That  youth,  who  beneath  the  blue  lake  lies, 

Sweet  May,  returns  to  me. 

Of  all  the  bright  haunts,  where  daylight  leaves 
Its  lingering  smile  on  golden  eves. 

Fair  Lake,  thou'rt  dearest  to  mo  ; 
For  when  the  last  April  sun  grows  dim, 
Thy  Naiads  prepare  his  steed''  for  him 

Who  dwells,  bright  Lake,  in  thee. 

over  the  lake  on  his  favorite  white  horse,  to  the  sound  of 
sweet  unejirlhly  music,  and  preceded  by  groups  of  youths 
and  maidens,  who  flung  wreaths  of  delicate  spring  flowers 
in  his  path. 

Among  other  stories,  connected  with  this  Legend  of  the 
Lakes,  it  is  said  that  there  was  a  young  and  beautiful  girl 
whose  imagination  was  so  impressed  with  the  idea  of  this 
visionary  chieftiiin,  that  she  fancied  herself  in  love  with 
him,  and  at  last,  in  a  fit  of  insanity,  on  a  May-morning  threw 
herself  into  the  lake 


260 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Of  all  the  proud  steeds,  tliat  ever  Ijore 
Yoiinj  plumed  Chiefs  on  sea  or  shore, 

While  Steed,  most  joy  to  thee  ; 
Who  still,  with  the  first  young  glance  of  spring, 
From  under  that  glorious  lake  dost  bring 

My  love,  my  chief,  to  me. 

\\'hile,  white  as  the  sail  some  bark  nufurls, 
When  newly  lamichM,  thy  long  mane'  curls, 

Fair  Steed,  as  white  and  free ; 
And  spirits,  from  all  the  lake's  deep  bowers. 
Glide  o'er  the  blue  wave  scattering  flowers, 

Around  my  love  and  thee. 

Of  all  the  sweet  deaths  that  maidens  die, 
Whose  lovers  beneath  the  cold  wave  lie, 

Most  sn-eet  that  death  will  be, 
A\'hich,  under  the  next  May  evenmg's  light, 
When  thou  and  thy  steed  are  lost  to  sight. 

Dear  love,  Fll  die  for  thee. 


ECHO. 


How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  makes 

To  music  at  night, 
Wien,  roused  by  lute  or  horn,  she  wakes. 
And  far  away,  o'er  lawns  and  lakes, 

Goes  answering  light. 

Yet  Love  hatli  echoes  truer  far. 

And  far  more  sweet, 
Than  e'er  beneath  the  moonlight's  star, 
Of  horn,  or  lute,  or  soft  guitar, 

The  songs  repeat. 

'Tls  when  the  sigh,  m  youth  sincere, 

And  ouly  then, — 
The  sigh  that's  breathed  for  one  to  hear, 
Is  by  that  one,  that  only  dear, 

Breathed  back  again ! 


OH  BANQUET  NOT. 

On  banquet  not  in  those  shining  bowers. 
Where  Youth  resorts,  but  come  to  mo : 

For  mine's  a  garden  of  faded  tlowers, 
More  fit  for  sorrow,  for  age,  and  thee. 

'  The  bontnicn  Ht  Killarney  call  those  waves  which  come 
on  a  windy  iliiy,  crested  with  foani,  "0'Doaoh':c's  white 
horses.'' 


And  there  we  shall  have  our  feasts  of  tears, 
And  many  a  cup  in  silence  pour  ; 

Our  guests,  the  shades  of  fonner  years. 
Our  toasts,  to  lips  that  bloom  no  more. 

There,  while  the  mjTtle's  withering  boughs 

Their  lifeless  leaves  around  us  shed, 
We'll  brim  the  bowl  to  broken  vows. 

To  friends  long  lost,  the  changed,  the  dead. 
Or.  while  some  blighted  laurel  waves 

Its  branches  o'er  the  dreary  spot, 
We'll  drink  to  those  neglected  graves, 

Where  valor  s.'eeps,  unnamed,  forgot. 


THEE,  THEE,  ONLY  THEE. 

Thg  dawning  of  morn,  the  daylight's  sinking, 
The  iiiglit's  long  hours  still  find  mo  tliinking 

Of  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
When  friends  are  met,  and  goblets  crown'd. 

And  smiles  are  near,  that  once  enchanted, 
Unreach'd  by  all  that  sunsliiiio  round. 
My  soul,  like  some  dark  spot,  is  haunted 
By  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 

Whatever  in  fame's  high  path  could  waken 
My  spirit  once,  is  now  forsaken 

For  thee,  thee,  ouly  thee. 
Like  shores,  by  which  some  headlong  bark 

To  th'  ocean  hurries,  resting  never, 
Life's  scenes  go  by  me,  bright  or  dark, 
I  know  not,  heed  not,  hasteumg  ever 
To  thee,  thee,  ouly  thee. 

I  have  not  a  joy  but  of  thy  bringing. 

And  pain  itself  seems  sweet  when  springing 

From  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
Like  spells,  that  naught  on  earth  can  break, 

Till  lips,  that  know  the  charm,  have  spoken. 
This  heart,  howe'er  the  world  may  wake 
Its  grief,  its  scorn,  can  but  be  broken 
By  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 


SHALL  THE  HARP,  THEN,  BE  SILENT. 

Shall  the  Harp,  then,  be  silent,  when  he  who  first 
gave 
To  ovu:  country  a  name,  is  withdrawn  from  all 
eyes? 


IRISH  MELODIES.                                              261 

Shall  a  Minstrel  of  Erin  stand  mute  by  the  grave, 

1 
In  tho  calm  of  retreat,  in  the  grandeur  of  Btrifc, 

Where  tlie  first — where  the  last  of  her  Patriots 

Whether  shining  or  clouded,  still  high  and  the 

lies? 

same. — 

No — fair,  tlio'  tlie  death-song  may  fall  from  his  lips, 

Oh  no,  not  a  heart,  that  e'er  knew  him,  but  mounts 

Tho'  his  Harp,  like  his  soul,  may  with  shadows 

Deep,  deep  o'er  the  grave,  where  such  glory  is 

be  crjss'd. 

shrined — 

'    Yet,  yet  shall  it  sound,  'mid  a  nation's  eclipse. 

O'er  a  monument  Fame  will  preserve,  'mong  the 

And   proclaim    to   the   world  what   a  star  hath 

lUHS 

been  lost  ;* — 

Of  the  wisest,  the  bravest,  the  best  of  mankind  ! 

What  a  union  of  all  the  alFections  and  powers 
By  which  life  is  exalted,  embellish'd,  refined. 

Was  embraced  in  that  spirit — whose  centre  was  ours. 

While  its  mighty  circumference  circled  mankind. 

OH,  THE  SIGHT  ENTRANCING. 

Oh,  who  that  loves  Erui,  or  who  that  can  see. 

On,  the  sigiit  entrancing, 

Through  the  waste  of  her   annals,  that  epoch 

AVhen  morning's  beam  i.s  frlaucing 

sublkne — 

O'er  files  array 'd 

Like  a  pyramid  raised  in  the  desert — where  he 

With  helm  and  blade, 

And  his  glory  stand  out  to  the  eyes  of  all  time ; 

And  plumes,  in  the  gay  wind  dancing ! 

When  hearts  are  all  high  beating. 

That  one  lucid  interval,  snafch'd  from  the  gloom 

And  the  trumpet's  voice  repeating 

And  the  madness  of  ages,  when  filfd  with  his  soul, 

That  song,  whose  breath 

A  Nation  o'erleap'd  the  dark  bounds  of  her  doom. 

Jlay  lead  to  death. 

And  for  one  sacred  instant,  touch'd  Liberty's  goal  ? 

But  never  to  retreating. 

Oh  the  sight  entrancing. 

Who,  that  ever  hatn    heard    him — hath   dnmk  at 

When  morning's  beam  is  glancing 

the  source 

O'er  files  array'd 

Of  that  wonderful  eloquence,  all  Erin's  own. 

With  helm  and  blade. 

In  whose  higli-thoughfcd  daring,  the  fire,  and  the 

And  plumes,  in  the  gay  wind  dancing 

force. 

And  the   yet    untamed  spring  of  her  spirit  are 

Yet,  'tis  not  hehn  or  feather — 

shown  : 

For  ask  yon  despot,  whether 

His  plumed  bands 

An  eloquence  rich,  wheresoever  its  wave 

Could  bring  such  hands 

Wander'd    free    and  triumphant,    with  thonghts 

And  hearts  as  ours  together. 

that  shone  through. 

Leave  pomps  to  those  who  need  'em — 

As  clear  as  tlie  brook's  '*  stone  of  lustre,''  and  gave. 

Give  man  but  heart  and  freedom, 

With  the  flash  of  the  gem,  its  solidity  too. 

And  proud  he  braves 

The  gaudiest  slaves 

Who,  that  ever  approaeh'd  him,  wlien  free  from 

That  crawl  where  monarchs  lead  'em. 

the  crowd. 

The  sword  may  pierce  the  beaver, 

In  a  home  full  of  love,  ho  delighted  to  tread 

Stone  walls  in  time  may  sever, 

■Jlong  the  trees  which   a  nation  had  given,  and 

'Tis  mind  alone, 

which  bow'd. 

Worth  steel  and  stone. 

As  if  each  brought  a  new  civic  crown  for  his 

That  keeps  men  free  forever. 

head — 

Oh  that  sight  entrancing. 

When  the  morning's  beam  is  glancing, 

Is  tliero  one,  who  hath  thus,  through  his  orbit  of  life 

O'er  files  array'd 
With  helm  and  blade. 

But   at   distance  observed    him — through   glory. 

through  blame. 

And  in  Freedom's  cause  advancing ! 

*  These  lines  were  written  on  the  death  of  our  pif'at  pa- 

iriijt,  Grattaii,  in  the  year  ISiiO.     It  is  only  tlic  two  tirst 

vcr.;es  that  are  cither  intended  or  fitted  to  be  sung. 

262                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

When,  lost  in  the  future,  his  soul  wanders  on, 

SWEET  INNISFALLEN. 

^Vnd  all  of  this  life,  but  its  sweetness,  is  gone. 

SwECT  Innisfallen,  f:uo  thee  well, 

The  wild  notes  he  beard  o'er  the  water  were  those 

May  calm  and  simsliinc  long  be  thine  ! 

Ho  had  taught  to  slug  Erin's  dark  bondage  and  woes, 

How  fair  thou  art  lot  otht^re  tell, — 

And  the  breath  of  the  bugle  now  wafted  them  o'er 

To  fcrl  how  fair  shall  long  be  mine. 

From  Dinis'  green  isle,  to  Glenil's  wooded  shore. 

Sweet  Inuisfullen,  long  shall  dwell 

He  lislen'd — while,  high  o'er  the  eagle's  rude  nest. 

In  memory's  dream  that  sunny  smile, 

The  lingering  sounds  on  their  way  loved  to  rest ; 

Which  o'er  thee  on  that  evening  fell, 

And  the  echoes  sung  back  from  their  full  mountain 

When  first  I  saw  thy  fairy  islo. 

quire. 

As  if  loath  to  let  song  so  enchanting  expire. 

'Twas  light,  indeed,  too  blest  for  one, 

Who  bad  to  turn  to  paths  of  care — 

It  seem'd  as  if  ev'ry  sweet  note,  that  died  here. 

Through  crowded  haunts  again  to  run, 

Was  again  brought  to  life  in  some  airier  sphere. 

And  leave  thee  bright  and  silent  there ; 

Some  heav'u  in  those  hills,  where  the  soul  of  the 

strain 

No  more  unto  thy  shores  to  come. 

That  had  ceased  upon  earth  was  awaking  again ! 

But,  on  the  world's  rude  ocean  toss'd. 

Dream  of  thee  sometimes,  as  a  home 

Oh    forgive,    if,    while    list'ning    to    music,    whose 

Of  sunshine  he  had  seen  and  lost. 

breath 

Seem'd  to  circle  his  name  with    a  cb.arm  against 

Far  better  in  thy  weeping  hours 

death. 

To  part  from  thee,  as  I  do  now, 

He  should  feel  a  proud  Spirit  within  him  proclaim, 

When  mist  is  o'er  thy  blooming  bowers. 

"  Even  so  shalt  thou  live  in  tlie  echoes  of  Fame : 

Like  sorrow's  veil  on  beauty's  brow. 

"  Even  so,  tho'  thy  mem'ry  should  now  die  away, 

For,  though  unrivall'd  still  thy  grace. 

"  'Twill  be  caught  up  again  in  some  happier  day. 

Thou  dost  not  look,  as  then,  too  blest. 

"  And  the  hearts  and  the  voices  of  Erin  prolong. 

But  thus  in  shadow,  scem'st  a  place 

"  Through  the  answering  Future,   thy  name  and 

Where  erring  man  might  hope  to  rest — 

thy  song." 

flight  hojie  to  rest,  and  find  in  thee 

A  gloom  like  Eden's,  on  the  day 
He  left  its  shade,  when  every  tree, 

Liko  thine,  hung  weeping  o'er  his  way 

Weeping  or  smiling,  lovely  isle  ! 

FAIREST!    PUT  ON  AWHILE. 

And  all  the  lovelier  for  thy  tears — 

For  though  but  rare  thy  sunny  smile. 

Fairest  !  put  on  awhile 

'Tis  hcav'n's  own  glaiico  when  it  appears. 

These  pinions  of  light  I  bring  thee, 

And  o'er  thy  own  Green  Isle 

Like  feeling  hearts,  whose  joys  are  few. 

In  fancy  let  me  wing  thee. 

But,  when  indeed  they  come,  divine — 

Never  did  Ariel's  plume. 

The  brightest  light  the  sun  e'er  threw 

At  golden  sunset  hover 

Is  lifeless  to  one  gleam  of  thine  I 

O'er  scenes  so  full  of  bloom. 

As  I  shall  w-aft  thee  over. 
Fields,  where  the  Spring  delays. 

'TWAS  ONE  OF  THOSE  DREAMS.' 

And  fearlessly  meets  the  ardor 

'TwAS  one  of  those   dreams,  that  by  music   are 

Of  the  wann  Summer's  gaze. 

brought. 

With  only  her  tears  to  guard  her. 

Liko  a  bright  sunnner  liaze,  o'er  tho  poet  s  warm 

Rocks,  through  myrtle  boughs 

thought — 

In  grace  majestic  frowning ; 

Like  some  bold  warrior's  brows 

'  Written  during  a  visit  to  Lord  Kennmre,  nt  Killarnoy. 

That  Love  hath  just  been  crowning. 

«— . ~- 

IRISH  MELODIES. 


263 


Islets,  so  freshly  fair, 

That  never  hath  bird  come  nigh  them, 
But  from  liis  course  tlirough  air 

He  hath  been  won  down  by  them ;' — 
Types,  sweet  maid,  of  thee, 

Whose  look,  whose  blush  invitmg. 
Never  did  Love  yet  see 

From  Heav'n,  without  alighting 

Lakes,  where  the  pearl  lies  hid," 

And  caves,  where  the  gem  is  sleepmg, 
Bright  as  the  tears  thy  hd 

Lets  fall  in  lonely  weeping. 
Glens,'  where  Ocean  comes, 

To  'scape  the  wild  wind's  rancor, 
And  Harbors,  worthiest  homes, 

Where  Freedom's  fleet  can  anchor. 

Then,  if,  while  scenes  so  grand, 

So  beautil'nl,  shine  before  thee. 
Pride  for  thy  own  dear  land 

Should  haply  be  stealing  o'er  thee. 
Oh,  let  grief  come  first. 

O'er  pride  itself  victorious — 
Thinking  how  man  hath  cursed 

What  Heaven  had  made  so  glorious ! 


QUICK  !  WE  HAVE  BUT  A  SECOND. 

Quick  I  we  have  but  a  second. 

Fill  round  the  cup,  while  you  may ; 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd. 

And  we  must  away,  away  ! 
Grasp  the  pleasure  that's  flying. 

For  oh,  not  Orplieus'  strain 
Could  keep  sweet  hours  from  dying. 
Or  charm  them  to  Ufe  again. 

Then,  quick  I  we  have  but  a  second. 

Fill  round  the  cup,  while  you  may ; 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd, 
.\nd  we  must  away,  away ! 

Seo  the  glass,  how  it  flushes. 

Like  some  young  Hebe's  Up. 
And  half  meets  thine,  and  blushes 

That  thou  shouldst  delay  to  sip. 

I  In  describing  the  Skeligs,  (islands  of  the  Barony  of 
Forth,)  Dr.  Keating  says,  "  There  is  a  certain  attractive  vir- 
tue in  the  soil  which  draws  down  all  the  birds  that  attempt 
to  fly  over  it,  and  obliges  them  to  light  upon  the  rock." 

*  "  Nennius,  a  British  writer  of  the  ninth  century,  men- 
tions the  .-ibundance  of  pearls  in  Ireland.  Their  princes,  he 
says,  hung  them  behind  their  ears ;  and  this  we  find  con- 
firmed by  a  present  made  A.  C.  1094,  by  Gilbert,  Bishop  of 


Shame,  oh  shame  unto  thco, 
If  ever  thou  seest  that  day. 
When  a  cup  or  lip  shall  woo  thee, 
And  turn  untouch'd  away ! 

Then,  quick  !  we  have  but  a  second, 

Fill  round,  fill  round,  while  you  may  ; 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd. 
And  we  must  away,  away  I 


AND  DOTH  NOT  A  MEETING  LIKE  THIS. 

And  doth  not  a  meeting  like  this  make  amends, 

For  all  tlie  long  years  I've  been  wand'ringaway — 
To  see  thus  around  me  my  youth's  early  friends. 

As  smihug  and  kind  as  in  that  happy  day  ? 
Though  haply  o'er  some  of  your  brows,  as  o'er  mine, 

The  snow-fall  of   time   may  bo   steaUng — what 
then  ? 
Like  Alps  in  the  sunset,  thus  liglited-by  wine. 

We'll  wear  the  gay  tinge  of  youth's  roses  again 

What  Boften'd  remembrances  come  o'er  the  heart, 

In  gazing  on  those  we've  been  lost  to  so  long ! 
The  sorrows,  the  joys,  of  which  once  they  were  part, 

Still  round  them,  like  visions  of  yesterday,  throng. 
As  letters  some  hand  hath  invisibly  traced. 

When  held  to  tlie  flame  will  steal  out  on  the  sight, 
So  many  a  feeling,  that  long  seem'd  eff"aced. 

The  warmth  of  a  moment  like  this  bruigs  to  light 

And  thjis,  as  in  memory's  bark  we  shall  glide, 

To  visit  the  scenes  of  our  boyhood  anew, 
Thought  oft  we  may  see,  looking  down  on  the  tide. 

The  wreck  of  full  many  a  hope  shining  through  ; 
Yet  still,  as  in  fancy  we  point  to  the  flowers. 

That  once  made  a  garden  of  all  the  gay  shore. 
Deceived  for  a  moment,  we'll  think  them  still  ours. 

And  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  life's  morning  once 
more.' 

So  biief  our  existence,  a  glimpse,  at  the  most, 
Is  all  we  can  have  of  the  few  we  hold  dear ; 

And  oft  even  joy  is  imheeded  and  lost, 

For  want  of  some  heart,  that  could  echo  it,  near. 

Limerick,  to  Anselni,  Archbishop  of  Canterburj',  of  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  Irish  pearls." — O'Haitoran. 
s  Glengaritr. 

*  Jonrs  charmans.  quand  je  songe  a  vos  heureui  in-  ."ans, 
Jc  pensc  remonler  Ic  fleuve  de  mes  ans  ; 
Et  moQ  c(Eur,  enchants  sur  sa  rive  fleurie. 
Respire  encore  fair  pur  du  matin  de  la  vie. 


264 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Ah,  well  may  wo  hope,  when  this  ehort  life  is  gone, 
To  meet  in  some  world  of  more  permanent  bliss, 

For  a  smile,  or  a  grasji  of  the  hand,  liast'ning  on, 
Is  all  wo  enjoy  of  each  other  in  this.' 

But,  come,  the  more  rare  such  delights  to  the  heart, 
The  more  we   should  welcome  and  bless  them 
the  more ; 
They're  ours,  when  we  meet, — they  are  lost  when 
wo  part. 
Like  birds  that  bring  smnmer,  and  fly  when  'tis 
o'er. 
Thus  circling  the  cup,  hand  in  hand,  ere  we  drink, 
Let  Sympathy  pledge  us,  thro'  pleasure,  thro'  pain, 
That,  fast  as  a  feeling  but  touches  one  link, 
Her  magic  shall  send  it  direct  tliro'  the  chain. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SPRITE. 

I.\  yonder  valley  there  dwelt,  alone, 

A  youth,  whose  moments  had  calmly  flown. 

Till  spells  came  o'er  him,  and,  day  and  night, 

He  was  haunted  and  watch'd  by  a  Mountain  Sprite. 

As  once,  by  moonlight,  he  wander'd  o'er 
The  golden  sands  of  that  island  shore, 
A  foot-print  sparkled  before  his  sight — 
'Twas  the  fairy  loot  of  the  Mountain  Sprite ! 

Beside  a  fouutaiuj  one  sunny  day. 

As  bending  over  the  stream  he  lay, 

There  peep'd  down  o'er  him  two  eyes  of  light. 

And  ho  saw  in  that  mirror  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

He  tum'd,  but,  lo,  like  a  startled  bird. 

That  spirit  fled ! — and  the  youth  but  heard 

Sweet  music,  such  as  marlvs  the  flight 

Of  some  bird  of  song,  froi-j  tlie  Mountain  Sprite. 

Ono  night,  still  haunted  by  that  bright  look, 

The  boy,  bcwilder'd,  his  pencil  took, 

And,  guided  only  by  memory's  light. 

Drew  the  once-seen  form  of  the  Moimtaiu  Sprite. 

"  Oh  thou,  who  lovcst  tho  sliadow,"  cried 
A  voice,  low  whisp'ring  by  his  side, 

1  Ttie  snmo  thought  has  liccn  hnppily  o xprcsseil  hy  my 
friend  Mr.  Washington  Irving,  in  his  Ilraccbridge  Nail,  vol. 
i.  p.  213.— The  sincere  pleasure  ivhlcli  1  feel  in  calling  this 
gentlcm.in  my  friend,  is  much  enhanced  by  tho  reflection  tlmt 
he  is  too  good  an  American,  to  have  admitted  nie  so  readily 
to  such  a  distinction,  if  he  had  not  known  that  my  feelings 
towards  the  great  and  free  country  that  gave  liim  birth,  have 
been  long  such  us  every  real  lover  of  the  liberty  and  happi- 
ness of  the  human  race  must  enteruiin. 

*  '•  Thomas,  the  heir  of  the  Desmond  family,  had  acci- 


"  Now  turn  and  see," — here  the  youth's  delight 
Seal'd  tho  rosy  lips  of  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

"  Of  all  the  Spirits  of  land  and  sea," 

Then  rapt  he  munnur'd,  "  there's  none  like  thee, 

"  And  oft,  oh  oft,  may  thy  foot  thus  light 

"  In  this  lonely  bower,  sweet  Mountain  Sprite  !" 


AS  VANQUISH'D  ERIN. 

As  vauquish'd  Erin  wept  beside 

The  Boyne's  ill-fated  river. 
She  saw  where  Discord,  in  the  tide, 

Had  dropp'd  his  loaded  quiver. 
'•  Lie  hid,"  she  cried,  "  ye  veuom'd  darts, 

"  Where  mortal  eye  may  shun  you ; 
"  Lie  hid — tho  stain  of  manly  hearts, 

"  That  bled  for  me,  is  on  you." 

But  vain  her  wish,  her  weepmg  vain,^ 

As  Time  too  well  hath  taught  her — 
Each  year  the  Fiend  returns  again, 

And  dives  into  that  water ; 
And  brings,  triumphant,  from  beneath 

His  shafts  of  desolation. 
And  sends  them,  wing'd  with  worse  than  dea;ii, 

Through  all  her  madd'ning  nation. 

Alas  for  her  who  sits  and  mourns, 

Ev'n  now,  beside  that  river — 
Unwearied  still  the  Fiend  returns, 

And  stored  is  still  his  quiver. 
"  \\Tien  will  this  end,  ye  Powers  of  Good?" 

She  weeping  asks  forever ; 
But  only  hears,  from  out  that  flood. 

The  Demon  answer,  "  Never !" 


DESMOND'S  SONG." 

By  the  Feal's  wave  benighted. 
No  star  in  the  skies, 

dentally  been  so  engaged  in  the  chase,  thnt  he  was  benighted 
near  Tralee,  and  obliged  to  take  shelter  at  the  Abbey  of 
Fcal,  in  the  house  of  one  of  his  dependents,  called  Mac 
Cormac.  Catherine,  a  beautiful  daughter  of  his  host,  in- 
stantly inspired  the  Earl  with  a  violent  passion,  which  he 
could  not  subdue.  He  married  her.  and  by  this  inferior  al- 
liance alienated  his  followers,  whose  brutal  pride  regardtJ 
this  indulgence  of  his  love  as  an  unpardonable  degradaliou 
of  his  famUy." — Lctand^  vol.  ii. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


265 


To  thy  door  by  Ijove  lighted, 

I  fii-st  saw  those  eyes. 
Some  voice  wliisper'd  o'er  me, 

As  tlio  tlireshold  I  cross'd, 
Tliere  was  ruin  before  mo, 

If  I  lo%'ed,  I  was  lost 

Love  came,  and  brougiit  sorrow 

Too  soon  in  his  train  ; 
Yet  so  sweet,  that  to-morrow 

'Twcre  welcome  again. 
Tliough  misery's  full  measure 

jMy  portion  should  be, 
1  would  drain  it  with  pleasiu'e, 

I!'  pour'd  out  by  thee. 

You,  who  call  it  dishonor 

To  bow  to  tliis  flame, 
If  you've  eyes,  look  but  on  her, 

Aiid  blush  while  you  blame. 
Hath  the  pearl  less  w^hiteuess 

Because  of  its  birth  ? 
Hath  the  violet  less  brightness 

For  growing  near  earth  ? 

No — Man  for  his  glory 

To  ancestry  flies  ; 
But  Woman's  bright  story 

Is  told  in  her  eyes. 
While  the  Monarch  but  traces 

Througli  mortals  his  line, 
Beauty,  born  of  the  Graces, 

Ranks  next  to  Divine  ! 


THEY  KNOW  NOT  MY  HEART. 

They  know  not  my  heart,  who  believe  there  can  be 
One  stain  of  this  earth  in  its  feelings  for  thee  ; 
'Who  think,  wliile  I  see  thee  in  beauty's  young  hour. 
As  pure  as  tlie  morning's  first  dew  on  the  flow'r, 
I   could  harm  what  I  love, — as  the  sun's  wanton 

ray 
But  smiles  on  the  dew-drop  to  waste  it  away. 


1  These  verses  are  meant  to  allude  to  that  ancient  haunt 
ofsuiierstitiun,  called  Patrick's  Purgatory.  "In  the  midst  of 
these  gloomy  regions  of  Donegall  (says  Dr.  Campbell)  lay  a 
lalic  which  was  to  become  the  mystic  theatre  of  this  fabled 
and  intermediate  state.  In  the  lajie  were  several  islands ; 
but  one  of  them  was  dignified  with  that  called  the  Mouth 
of  Purgatory,  which,  during  the  dark  ages,  attracted  the 
notice  of  all  Christendom,  and  was  the  resort  of  penitents 
and  pilgrims  from  almost  every  country  in  Europe." 


No— beaming  with  light  as  those  young  features 

are, 
There's  a  light  roiuid  thy  heart  which   is  lovelier 

far: 
It  is  not  that  cheek — 'tis  tlie  soul  dawning  clear 
Thro'  its  innocent  blush  makes  thy  beauty  so  dear  ; 
As  the  sky  we  look  up  to,  though  glorious  and  fair, 
Is  look'd  up  to  the  more,  because  Heaven  lies  there ! 


I  WISH  I  WAS  BY  THAT  DIM  LAKE. 

I  WISH  I  was  by  that  dim  Lalie,' 
Where  sinful  souls  their  farewell  take 
Of  this  vain  world,  and  half-way  lie 
In  dcatli's  cold  shadow,  ere  they  die. 
There,  there,  far  from  thee. 
Deceitful  world,  my  home  should  bo  ; 
Where,  come  what  might  of  gloom  and  pair, 
False  hope  should  ne'er  deceive  again. 

The  lifeless  sky,  the  mournful  sound 

Of  unseeu  waters  falling  round  ; 

The  dry  leaves,  quiv'ring  o'er  my  head, 

Like  man,  unquiet  ev'n  when  dead  ! 

These,  ay,  these  shall  wean 

My  soul  from  life's  deluding  scene. 

And  turn  each  thought,  o'ercharged  with  gloom, 

Like  willows,  downward  tow'rds  the  tomb. 

As  they,  who  to  their  couch  at  night 
Would  win  repose,  first  quencit  the  light, 
So  must  the  hopes,  that  keep  this  breast 
Awake,  be  quench'd,  ere  it  can  rest. 
Cold,  cold,  this  heart  must  grow, 
Unmoved  by  either  joy  or  wo. 
Like  freezing  founts,  where  all  that's  thrown 
Within  their  current  turns  to  stone. 


SHE  SUNG  OF  LOVE. 

She  sung  of  Love,  while  o'er  her  lyre 
The  rosy  rays  of  evening  fell. 


"  It  was,"  as  the  same  writer  teils  us,  "  one  of  the  most 
dismal  and  dreary'  spots  in  the  North,  almost  inaccessiiile, 
through  deep  glens  and  rugged  mountains,  frighiful  with 
impending  rocks,  and  the  hollow  murnuirs  of  the  western 
winds  in  dark  caverns,  peopled  only  with  such  fantastic 
beings  as  the  mind,  however  gay,  is,  from  strange  associa- 
tion, wont  to  appropriate  to  such  gloomy  scenes. "~5tWct«rrt 
on  the  Ecclesiastical  and  Literary  History  of  Ireland. 


266 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


A«  if  to  feed,  with  their  soft  fire, 

Tlie  soul  wilhiu  that  trembling  shell. 

Tlio  same  rich  light  hung  o'er  her  cheek, 
Anil  (ilay'd  around  tliose  lips  that  sung 

And  spoke,  as  flowers  would  sing  and  speak, 
If  Love  could  lend  tlicir  leaves  a.  tongue. 

But  soon  the  West  no  longer  bum'd, 

Kacli  rosy  ray  from  heav'u  withdrew  ; 
And,  when  to  gaze  again  I  turn'd, 

Tlie  minstrel's  form  seem'd  fading  too. 
As  if  her  light  and  hcav'n's  were  one, 

The  glory  all  had  left  that  frame  ; 
And  from  her  glimmering  lips  the  tone. 

As  from  a  parting  spirit,  came.* 

Who  ever  loved,  but  bad  the  thought 

That  he  and  all  he  loved  must  part  ? 
Fill'd  with  this  fear,  I  flew  and  caught 

The  faditig  image  to  my  heart — 
And  cried,  "  Oh  Love  !  is  this  thy  doom  ? 

"  Oil  light  of  youth's  resplendent  day  ! 
"  Must  ye  then  lose  your  golden  bloom, 

"  And  thus,  hke  sunshine,  die  away  ?" 


SING— SING— MUSIC  WAS  GIVEN. 

Sing — sing — ISIusic  was  given. 

To  brighten  tlie  gay,  and  kindle  the  loving  ; 
Souls  here,  like  planets  in  Heaven, 

By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving. 
Beauty  may  boast  of  her  eyes  and  her  cheeks. 

But  Love  from  the  hps  bis  true  archery  wings  ; 
And   she,   who   but   feathers   the   dart  when   she 
speaks. 
At   once  seeds  it  home  to  the  heart  when  she 
sings. 
Then  sing — sing — Music  was  given. 

To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the  loving ; 
Souls  here,  like  planets  in  Heaven, 

By  harmony's  laws  alono  are  kept  moving. 

When  Love,  rock'd  by  bis  mother, 

Lay  sleeping  as  calm  as  slumber  could  make  him, 
"  Ilusb,  bush,"  said  Venus,  "  no  other 

"  Sweet  voice  but  his  own  is  worthy  to  wake 
him." 

1  The  Ihoucht  here  was  sujigeslcd  by  some  Iwautiful  lines 
in  Mr.  Rogers's  Poem  nf  JIuman  Life,  beginning — 

"  Now  in  Ihe  gti[umerin|;,  (lying  iiglit  she  grows 
Less  anil  less  eartlily." 
I  would  quote  Ihc  enlire  passnco,  did  I  not  fc.ir  to  put  my 
own  humblo  Imitation  of  it  out  of  countenance. 


Dreaming  of  music  he  slumbei'd  the  while 

Till  faint  from  his  lip  a  soft  melody  broke, 
And  Venus,  enchanted,  look'd  on  with  a  smile. 
While  Love  to  his  own  sweet  singing  awoke. 
Then  sing — sing — music  was  given, 

To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the  lov- 
ing ; 
Souls  bore,  like  planets  in  Heaven, 

By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving. 


THOUGH  HUMBLE  THE  BANQUET. 

Though   humble   the   banquet   to  which   I   in\'ile 
thee, 
Thou'lt  find  there  the  best  a  poor  bard  can  com- 
mand : 
Eyes,  beaming  with  welcome,  shall  throng  romid, 
to  light  thee. 
And  Love  ser^•e  the  feast  with  his  own  willing 
hand. 

And  though  Fortime  may  seem  to  have  turn'd  from 
the  dwelling 
Of  him  thou  regardest  her  favoring  ray, 
Thou  wilt  find  there  a  gift,  all  her  treasiu-ea  excel- 
ling. 
Which,  proudly  he  feels,  hath  ennobled  his  way. 

'Tis   that    freedom    of  mind,  which   no  vulgar  do- 
minion 
Can  turn  from  the  path  a  pure  conscience  ap- 
proves ; 
Which,  with  hope  in  the  heart,  and  no  chain  on  the 
pinion. 
Holds  upwards  its  coitrse  to  the  light  which  it 
loves. 

'Tis  this  makes  the  pride  of  his  humble  retreat. 
And,  with  this,  though  of  all  other  treasures  be- 
reaved. 
The  breeze  of  his  garden  to  him  is  more  sweet 
Than  the  costliest  incense  that   Pomp   e'er  re- 
ceived. 

Then,    come, — if    a    board    so    mitempting    hath 
power 
To  wm  thee  from   grandeur,  its   best   shall   be 
thine  ; 
And  there's  one,  long  the  light  of  the  bard's  happy 
bower, 
Wio,  smiling,  will  blend  her  bright  welcome  with 
mine. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


267 


SING,  SWEET  HARP. 

SiNC,  Bweet  Harp,  oh  sing  to  me 

Some  song  of  ancient  days, 
Wliose  sounds,  in  this  sad  mcmorj'. 

Long  buried  dreams  sliall  raise  ; — 
Some  lay  that  tells  of  vanish'd  fame, 

Whose  light  ouce  round  us  shone  ; 
Of  noble  pride,  now  turu'd  to  shame, 

And  hopes  forever  gone. — 
Sing,  sad  Harp,  thus  sing  to  me ; 

Alike  our  doom  is  cast, 
Both  lost  to  all  but  memory, 

'We  live  but  in  the  past. 

How  mournfully  the  midnight  air 

Among  thy  chords  doth  sigh. 
As  if  it  sought  some  echo  there 

Of  voices  long  gone  by  ; — 
Of  Chieftains,  now  forgot,  wko  seem'd 

The  foremost  then  in  fame  ; 
Of  Bards  who,  once  immortal  decm'd, 

Now  sleep  without  a  name. — 
In  vain,  sad  Harp,  the  midnight  air 

Among  thy  chords  doth  sigh  ; 
In  vain  it  seeks  an  echo  there 

Of  voices  long  gone  by. 

Couldst  thou  but  call  those  spirits  round, 

Who  once,  in  bower  and  hall, 
Sat  listening  to  thy  magic  sound. 

Now  mute  and  mould'ring  all ; — 
But,  no  ;  they  would  but  wake  to  weep 

Their  children's  slavery ; 
Then  leave  them  in  their  dreamless  sleep, 

The  dead,  at  least,  are  free ! — 
Hush,  hush,  sad  Harp,  tliat  dreary  tone, 

That  knell  of  Freedom's  day  ; 
Or,  listening  to  its  death-like  moan. 

Let  me,  too,  die  away. 


SONG  OF  THE  BATTLE  EVE. 
Time — the  Ninth  Century. 

To-MORROW,  comrade,  we 
On  the  battle-plain  must  be. 

There  to  conquer,  or  both  lie  low  ! 
The  morning  star  is  up, — 
But  there's  wine  still  in  the  cup. 

And  we'll  take  another  quaif,  ere  we  go,  boy, 

go; 

We'll  take  another  quaff,  ere  we  go. 


*Tis  true,  in  manliest  eyes 
A  passing  tear  will  rise, 

When  wo  think  of  the  friends  we  leave  lone  ; 
But  what  can  wailing  do  ? 
See,  our  goblet's  weeping  loo  I 

With  its  tears  we'll  chase  away  our  own,  boy, 
our  own ; 

With  its  tears  we'll  chase  away  our  own. 

But  daylight's  stealing  on  ; — 
The  last  that  o'er  us  shone 

Saw  our  children  around  us  play  ; 
The  next — ah  !  where  shall  we 
And  tliose  rosy  urchins  be  ? 

But — no  matter — grasp  thy  sword  and  away, 
boy,  away  ; 

No  matter — grasp  thy  sword  and  away  I 

Let  those,  who  brook  the  chain 
Of  Saxon  or  of  Dane, 

Ignobly  by  their  firesides  stay  ; 
One  sigli  to  home  be  given, 
One  heartfelt  prayer  to  heaven, 

Then,  for   Erin   and  her  cause,    boy,    hurra  ! 
hurra  !  hurra  ! 

Then,  for  Erin  and  her  cause,  hmra ! 


11^ 


THE  WANDERING  BARD. 

What  life  like  that  of  the  bard  can  be, — 
The  wandering  bard,  who  roams  as  free 
As  the  mountain  lark  that  o'er  him  sings, 
And,  like  that  lark,  a  music  brings 
Within  liim,  where'er  he  comes  or  goes, — 
A  fount  that  forever  flows  I 
The  world's  to  him  like  some  play-ground. 
Where  fairies  dance  their  moonlight  round ; 
If  dimm'd  the  turf  where  late  they  trod, 
The  elves  but  seek  some  greener  sod ; 
So,  when  less  bright  his  scene  of  glee. 
To  another  away  flics  he ! 

Oh,  what  would  have  been  young  Beauty's  doom. 

Without  a  bard  to  fix  her  bloom  ? 

They  tell  us,  in  the  moon's  bright  round, 

Things  lost  in  this  dark  world  are  found  ; 

So  charms,  on  earth  long  pass'd  and  gone, 

In  the  poet's  lay  live  on. — 

Would  ye  have  smiles  that  ne'er  grow  dim '( 

You've  only  to  give  them  all  to  him. 

Who,  with  but  a  touch  of  Fancy's  wand, 

Can  lend  them  life,  this  life  beyond, 

And  fix  them  liigh,  in  Poesy's  sky,— 

Young  stars  that  never  die  ! 


268 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  .,  welcome  the  bard,wlicie'er  ho  comes,- 
Kor,  lliough  he  hatli  countless  airy  homes, 
To  which  his  wing  excursive  roves, 
Yet  still,  from  time  to  time,  he  loves 
To  lijjht  upon  earth  and  find  such  cheer 
.\s  bri};lilens  our  banque't  here. 
No  mailer  how  far,  how  fleet  he  flies, 
You've  only  to  lij^ht  up  kind  young  eyes, 
Sucli  signal-fires  as  here  are  given, — 
And  down  ho'll  droj)  from  Fancy's  heaven, 
The  minute  such  call  to  love  or  mirth 
Proclaims  he's  wanting  on  earth ! 


ALONE  IN  CROWDS  TO  WANDER  ON. 

Aix)NK  in  crowds  to  wander  on, 

And  frel  that  all  the  charm  is  gone 

NViiich  voices  dear  and  eyes  beloved 

Sl-.ed  round  us  once,  where'er  wo  roved — 

This,  this  the  doom  must  be 

Of  all  who've  loved,  and  lived  to  see 

The  few  bright  things  they  thought  would  stay 

Forever  near  them,  die  away. 

Tho'  fairer  forms  around  us  throng, 

Tlieir  smiles  to  others  all  belong, 

And  want  that  charm  which  dwells  alone 

Round  those  tho  fond  heart  calls  its  own. 

Where,  where  tho  sunny  brow  ? 

The  long-known  voice — where  are  they  now  ? 

Thus  ask  I  still,  nor  a^k  in  vain, 

The  silence  answers  all  too  plain. 

Oh,  what  is  Fancy's  magic  worth. 

If  all  her  art  cannot  call  forth 

One  bliss  like  those  wo  felt  of  old 

From  lips  now  mute,  and  eyes  now  cold  ? 

No,  no, — her  epcU  is  vain, — 

.\s  soon  could  she  bring  back  again 

Those  eyes  themselves  from  out  tho  grave, 

\e  wake  agaui  one  bliss  they  gave. 


I'VE  A  SECRET  TO  TELL  THEE 

I've  a  secret  to  tell  thee,  hut  hush  !  not  here, — 
Oh  I  not  where  the  world  ils  vigil  keeps : 

'  The  God  of  Silence,  thus  piclurcd  bj-  the  Egyptians. 
2  "  Milcsius  remembered  the  reiniirkitlilc  prcijictiun  of  ihe 
lirincl|]ttl  Druiil,  who  furcluld  thai  Iho  posterity  of  Gadclus 


I'll  seek,  to  whi.sper  it  in  thine  ear. 

Some  shore  where  the  Spirit  of  Silence  sleeps ; 
Where  summer's  wave  unnuirm'ring  dies, 

Nor  fay  can  hear  the  fountain's  gush  ; 
Where,  if  but  a  note  lier  night-bird  sighs. 

The  rose  saith,  chidingly,  "  Hu6<i,  sweet,  hushl" 

There,  amid  the  deep  silence  of  that  hour. 

When  stars  can  be  heard  in  ocean  dip, 
Thyself  shall,  under  some  rosy  bower, 

Sit  mute,  with  thy  finger  on  thy  lip : 
Like  him,  the  boy,'  who  bora  among 

The  flowers  that  on  the  Nde-stream  blush, 
Sits  ever  thus, — his  only  song 

To  earth  and  heaven,  "  Hush,  all,  hush  !" 


SONG  OF  INNISFAIL. 

TuEY  came  from  a  land  beyond  tho  sea. 

And  now  o'er  the  western  main 
Set  sail,  in  their  good  ships,  gallantly, 

From  the  sunny  land  of  Spain. 
"  Oh,  Where's  the  Isle  we've  seen  in  dreams, 

"  Our  destined  home  or  grave  f*'^ 
Thus  sung  they  as,  by  the  morning's  beams. 

They  swept  the  Atlantic  wave. 

And,  lo,  where  afar  o'er  ocean  shines 

A  sparkle  of  radiant  green. 
As  thougi\  in  that  deep  lay  emerald  mines, 

Whose  light  through  the  wave  was  seen. 
"  'Tis  Innisfail'— 'tis  Imiisfail !" 

Rings  o'er  the  echoing  sea  ; 
While,  bonding  to  licav'n,  the  warriors  hail 

That  homo  of  the  brave  and  free. 

Then  tnrn'd  they  unto  the  Eastern  wave, 

Where  now  their  Day-God's  eye 
A  look  of  such  sunny  omen  gave 

As  lighted  up  sea  and  sky. 
Nor  frown  was  seen  through  sky  or  sea. 

Nor  tear  o'er  leaf  or  sod, 
When  first  on  their  Isle  of  Destiny 

Our  great  forefathers  trod. 


should  obtiin  the  possession  g'  a  Western  Island,  (ulilch 
was  Irel.md,')  and  Ihere  Inhabll."— A'ea(ni/r. 

'  Tlie  Island  of  Destiny  one  of  the  ancient  naiues  of  Ire- 
land 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


269 


THE  NIGHT  DANCE. 

Strike  the  gay  harp  I  see  the  moon  is  on  higli, 

And,  as  true  to  her  beam  as  tlie  tides  of  the  ocean. 
Young  hearts,  when  they  feel  tlie  soft  Ught  of  her 
eye, 
Obey  the  mute  call,  and  lieave  into  motion. 
Then,  sound  notes — the  gayest,  tlie  liglitcst. 

That  ever  took  wing,  when  heav'n  look'd  bright- 
est! 

Again  I  Again  I 
Oh  I  could  such  heart-stirring  music  be  heard 

In  that  City  of  Statues  described  by  romancers, 
So  wak'ning  its  spell,  even  stone  would  bo  stirr'd, 
And  statues  themselves  all  start  into  dancers  I 

Wliy  then  delay,  with  sucli  somids  in  our  ears. 

And  the  flowerof  Beauty's  own  garden  before  us, — 
While  stars  overhead  leave  the  song  of  their  spheres, 

And  listening  to  ours,  hang  wondering  o'er  us  ? 
Again,  that  strain  ! — to  hear  it  thus  sounding 
Miglit  set  even  Death's  cold  pulses  bounding — 
Again !  Again ! 
"h,  what  delight  when  the  youthful  and  gay. 
Each  with  eye  like  a  sunbeam  and  foot  like  a 
feather. 
Thus  dance,  like  the  Hours  to  the  music  of  May, 
And  mingle  sweet  song  and  sunshine  together ! 


THERE  ARE  SOUNDS  OF  MIRTH. 

There  are  sounds  of  mirth  in  the  night-air  ringing. 

And  lamps  from  every  casement  shown  ; 
While  voices  blithe  witliiu  are  singing. 

That  seem  to  say  "  Come,"  in  every  tone. 
Ah  I  once  how  light,  in  Life's  young  season. 

My  heart  had  leap'd  at  that  sweet  lay  ; 
Nor  paused  to  ask  of  greybeard  Reason 

Should  I  the  syren  call  obey. 

And,  see — the  lamps  still  livelier  glitter. 

The  s)Ten  lips  more  fondly  sound ; 
No,  seek,  ye  nymphs,  some  victim  fitter 

To  sink  in  your  rosy  bondage  bound. 


1  The  Rocking  Stones  of  the  Druids,  some  of  which  no 
force  is  able  to  dislodge  from  their  stations. 

3  "  The  inhaljitants  of  Arranmore  are  still  persuaded  that, 
in  a  clear  day,  they  can  see  from  this  coast  Hy  Brysail,  or 


Shall  a  bard,  whom  not  the  world  in  arms 
Could  bend  to  tyranny's  rude  «;ontrol, 

Thus  quail,  at  sight  of  woman's  charms. 
And  yield  to  a  smile  his  freeborn  soul  ? 

Thus  sung  the  sago,  wliile,  slyly  stealing, 

The  nymphs  theU'  fetters  around  him  cast. 
And, — tlieir  laughing  eyes,  the  while,  concealing,— 

Led  Freedom's  Bard  their  slave  at  last. 
For  the  Poet's  heart,  still  prone  to  loving, 

Was  like  that  rock  of  the  Druid  race,' 
Which  the  gentlest  touch  at  once  set  moving, 

But  all  earth's  power  couldn't  cast  from  its  base. 


OH !  ARRANMORE,  LOVED  ARRANIMC^HE. 

On  I  Arranmore,  loved  Arranmore, 

How  oft  I  dream  of  thee, 
And  of  those  days  when,  by  thy  shore, 

I  wander'd  young  and  free. 
Full  many  a  path  I've  tried,  since  then 

Through  pleasure's  flowery  maze, 
But  ne'er  could  find  the  bliss  again 

I  felt  in  those  sweet  days. 

How  bUthe  upon  thy  breezy  cliffs 

At  sunny  morn  I've  stood, 
With  heart  as  bounding  as  the  skifTs 

That  danced  along  thy  flood  ; 
Or,  when  the  wcstera  wave  grew  bright 

With  daylight's  parting  wing, 
Have  sought  that  Eden  in  its  light 

Which  dreaming  poets  sing  -j^ — 

Tliat  Eden  where  th'  immortal  brave 

Dwell  in  a  land  serene, — 
Whose  bow'rs  beyond  the  shining  wave, 

At  sunset,  oft  are  seen. 
Ah  dream  too  full  of  sadd'ning  trutii ! 

Those  mansions  o'er  the  main 
Are  like  the  hopes  I  built  in  yffuth, — 

As  sunny  and  as  vain  ! 


the  Enclianted  Island,  the  Paradise  of  the  Pagan  Irish,  and 
concerning  which  thry  relate  a  nunilicr  of  romantic  stories.'* 
— Beaufort's  Ancient  Topoffraphy  of  Ireland. 


270 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


LAY  HIS  SWORD  BY  HIS  SIDE. 

Lav  Idi  sword  by  his  eido,"  it  liath  served  him  too 

Will 

Not  to  rest  near  his  pillow  below  ; 
'I'o  tlie  List  moment  true,  from  his  hand  ere  it  fell, 

iLs  point  was  still  tuni'd  to  a  flyini;  foe. 
Kellow-lab'rers  in  life,  let  them  slumber  in  death, 

Side  by  side,  as  becomes  the  reposing  brave, — 
That  sword  which  he  loved  still  unbroke  iu  its  sheath, 

And  himself  "unsubdued  in  his  grave. 

Yet  pause — for,  in  fancy,  a  still  voice  I  hear. 

As  if  breathed  from  his  brave  heart's  remains ; — 
Faint  echo  of  that  which,  in  Slavery's  ear. 

Once  sounded  the  war-word,  *'  Burst  your  chains  I" 
And  it  cries,  from  the  grave  where  the  hero  lies  deep, 

"  Tho'  the  day  of  your  Chieftain  forever  hath  set, 
"  O  leave  not  his  sword  thus  inglorious  to  sleep, — 

"  It  hath  victory's  life  in  it  yet ! 

"  .Should  some  alien,  unworthy  such  weapon  to  wield, 

"  Dare  to  touch  thee,  my  own  gallant  sword, 
"  Then  rest  in  thy  sheath,  like  a  talisman  seal'd, 

*'  Or  return  to  the  grave  of  thy  chainless  lord. 
"  But,  if  grasp'd  by  a  hand  that   hatli   learn'd  tho 
proud  use 

"  Of  a  falchion,  like  thee,  on  the  battle-plam, — 
"  Then,  at  Liberty's  summons,  like  lightning  let  loose, 

"  Leap  forth  from  thy  dark  sheath  again !" 


Ull,  COULD  WE  DO  WITH  THIS  WORLD 
OF  OURS. 

On,  could  we  do  with  this  world  of  oure 
As  thou  dost  with  thy  garden  bowers. 
Reject  tlio  w#eds  and  keep  the  flowers. 

What  a  heaven  on  earth  we'd  make  it! 
So  bright  a  dwelling  should  be  our  owu, 
So  warranted  free  from  sigh  or  frown, 
That  angels  soon  would  be  comiu"  down, 

By  the  week  or  mouth  to  take  it. 

'  II  W.U  the  cusloin  nf  the  nnclcnt  Irisli,  in  <.lie  manner  of 
the  Scylhlnns,  to  Ijurj-  the  favorilo  sworils  of  their  licroes 
along  with  them. 

'The  Pnlaco  of  Fin  M:ic-Cumhnl  (iho  Fingal  of  Mnc- 
pherson)  In  Lcinster.  It  was  l,uilt  on  tho  top  of  the  hill, 
which  has  retained  from  thence  the  name  of  the  Hill  of  Allen, 


Like  those  gay  ilics  that  wing  through  air, 
And  in  themselves  a  lustre  bear, 
A  stock  of  light,  still  ready  there, 

Whenever  they  wisli  to  use  it ; 
So,  in  this  world  I'd  make  for  thee, 
Our  hearts  should  all  like  fire-flics  be, 
And  the  flash  of  wit  or  poesy 

Break  forth  whenever  we  choose  it 

While  ev'ry  joy  that  glads  our  sphere 
Hath  still  some  shadow  hov'ring  near, 
In  this  new  world  of  ours,  my  dear. 

Such  shadows  will  all  be  omitted: — 
Unless  they're  like  that  graceful  one. 
Which,  when  thou'rt  dancing  in  the  sun. 
Still  near  thee,  leaves  a  charm  upon 

Each  spot  where  it  hath  flitted ! 


THE  WINE-CUP  IS  CIRCLING. 

The  wine-cup  is  circling  in  Almhin's  hall,' 
And  its  Chief,  'mid  his  heroes  reclining, 
Looks  up,  n-ith  a  sigh,  to  the  trophied  wall, 
WHiere  his  sword  hangs  idly  shining 
When,  hark  !  tliot  shout 
From  the  vale  without, — 
"  Arm  ye  quick,  the  Dane,  the  Dane  is  nigh  !" 
Ev'ry  Chief  starts  up 
From  his  foaming  cup. 
And  "  To  battle,  to  battle !"  is  the  Finian's  crj'. 

Tho  minstrels  have  seized  their  harps  of  gold. 

And  they  sing  such  thrilling  numbers, — 
'Tis  like  tho  voice  of  the  Brave,  of  old, 

Breaking  forth  from  their  place  of  slumbers  ! 
Spear  to  buckler  rang, 
As  the  minstrels  sang. 
And  the  Sun-burst'  o'er  them  floated  wide ; 
A\'hile  rememb'ring  the  yoke 
Which  their  fatliere  broke, 
"  On  for  liberty,  for  liberty !"  the  Fiuians  cried. 

Like  clouds  of  the  night  the  Northmen  came. 
O'er  the  valley  of  Almliiu  lowering  ; 

While  onward  moved,  in  tlie  light  of  its  fame. 
That  baimer  of  Erin,  towering. 

in  the  county  of  Kildare.  The  Finians,  or  Fenii,  were  the 
cclclinited  National  Blililia  of  tnl.-.ml,  which  tins  Chief 
coiniuanded.  The  introduction  of  the  IJanes  in  the  above 
song  is  an  anachronism  common  to  most  of  the  Fiuian  and 
Ossianic  legends. 
'  The  name  given  to  the  banner  of  tho  Irish. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


271 


With  the  mingling  shock 

Rung  cliff  and  rock, 
Wliile,  rank  on  rank,  the  invaders  die: 

And  the  shout,  tliat  last 

O'er  t!ie  dying  pase'd. 
Was  "  Victory !  victory  1" — the  Finian's  cry. 


THE  DREAM  OF  THOSE  DAYS. 

The  dream  of  those  days  when  first  I  sung  thee  is 

o'er, 
Thy  triumph  hath  stain'd  tlie  charm  thy  sorrows 

then  wore ; 
And  ev'n  of  the  light  which  Hope  once  shed  o'er 

tliy  chains, 
Alas,  not  a  gleam  to  grace  thy  freedom  remains. 

Say,  is  it  tliat  slavery  sunk  so  deep  ia  thy  heart. 
That  still  the  dark  brand  is  there,  though  chainless 

thou  art ; 
And  Freedom's  sweet  fruit,  for  which  thy  spirit  long 

bum'd. 
Now,  reaching  at  last  thy  lip,  to  ashes  hath  tum'd  ? 

Up  Liberty's  steep  by  Truth  and  Eloquence  led, 
^Vith   eyes  on  her  temple  fix'd,  how  proud  was  thy 

tread  I 
Ah,  better  thou  ne'er  hadst  lived  that  summit  to 

gain. 
Or  died  in  the  porch,  than  thus  dishonor  the  fane. 


FROM  THIS  HOUR  THE  PLEDGE  IS 

GIVEN. 

From  this  liour  the  pledge  is  given, 

From  this  hour  my  soul  is  thine : 
Come  what  will,  from  earth  or  heaven, 

Weal  or  wo,  tliy  fate  be  mine. 
When  t!ie  proud  and  great  stood  by  thee. 

None  dared  tliy  riglits  to  spurn  ; 
And  if  now  they're  false  and  fly  tliee, 

Shall  I,  too,  hasely  turn? 
No ; — whate'er  tlie  fiies  that  try  thee, 

la  the  same  this  heart  shall  bum. 


1  It  is  hardly  necessary-,  perhaps,  to  inforni  the  reader, 
that  these  lines  are  meant  as  a  tribute  of  sincere  friendship 


Though  the  sea,  where  thou  embarkest. 

Offers  now  a  friendly  shore. 
Light  may  come  where  all  looks  darkest, 

Hope  liatli  life,  when  life  seems  o'er 
And,  of  tlioso  past  ages  dreaming, 

When  glory  deck'd  thy  brow. 
Oft  I  fondly  think,  though  seeming 

So  fall'n  and  clouded  now, 
Thou'lt  again  break  forth,  all  beaming, — 

None  so  bright,  so  blest  as  thou  1 


SILENCE  IS  IN  OUR  FESTAi.  HALLS.' 

Sii.E.\CE  is  in  our  festal  halls, — 

Sweet  Son  of  Song !  thy  course  is  o'er ; 
In  vain  on  thee  sad  Erin  calls. 

Her  minstrel's  voice  responds  no  moro ; — 
All  silent  as  th'  Eoliau  shell 

Sleeps  at  the  close  of  some  bright  day, 
When  tlio  sweet  breeze,  that  waked  its  swoU 

At  sunny  morn,  hath  died  away. 

Yet,  at  our  feasts,  thy  spirit  long. 

Awaked  by  music's  spell,  shall  rise ; 
For,  name  so  linlt'd  with  deathless  song 

Partakes  its  charm  and  never  dies: 
And  ev'n  within  the  holy  fane. 

When  music  wafts  the  soul  to  heaven. 
One  thouglit  to  him,  wliose  earliest  strain 

Was  echoed  there,  shall  long  be  given. 

But,  where  is  now  the  cheerfid  day, 

The  social  night,  when,  by  thy  side. 
He,  who  now  weaves  this  parting  lay, 

His  skillcss  voice  with  tliine  allied  ; 
And  sung  those  songs  whose  every  tone. 

When  bard  and  minstrel  long  have  past, 
Sliall  still,  in  sweetness  all  their  own, 

Embalm'd  by  fame,  undyuig  last. 

Yes,  Erin,  thine  alone  the  fame, — 

Or,  if  thy  bard  have  shared  the  crown, 
From  thee  the  borrow'd  glory  came. 

And  at  thy  feet  is  now  laid  down. 
Enough,  if  Freedom  still  inspire 

His  latest  song,  and  still  there  be, 
As  evening  closes  round  his  lyre, 

One  ray  upon  its  chords  from  thee. 


to  the  mcniorj-  of  an  old  and  valued  colleasuc  in  this  work, 
Sir  John  Stevenson. 


27'J 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


APPENDIX: 

CONTAISINO 

THE  ADVERTISEMENTS 

ORIGINALLY    PREFIXED    TO    THE    UIFFr.RKNT    NUMBERS, 
AND 

THE  PREFATORY  LETTER  ON  IRISH  MUSIC. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

PREFIXED 

TO  THE  FIRST  AND  SECOND  NUMBERS. 

Power  takes  the  liberty  of  announcing  to  the 
Tublic  a  Work  wliich  has  long  been  a  Desideratum 
ill  this  countrj-.  Tliongh  tlie  beauties  of  the  Na- 
tional Music  of  Ireland  have  been  very  generally 
felt  and  acknowledged,  yet  it  has  happened,  tliroiigli 
the  want  of  appropriate  English  words,  and  of  the 
arrangement  necessary  to  adapt  thcni  to  the  voice, 
lliat  man/  of  the  most  excellent  compositions  have 
hitherlo  remained  in  obscurity.  It  is  intended, 
therefore,  to  form  a  Collection  of  tlio  best  Original 
Irisli  Melodies,  with  characteristic  Syniplionies  and 
Accompaniments;  and  with  Words  containing,  as 
frequently  as  possible,  allusions  to  the  manners  and 
history  of  the  country.  Sir  John  Stevenson  has 
very  kindly  consented  to  undertake  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  Airs  ;  and  the  lovers  of  Simple  National 
Music  may  rest  secure,  that,  in  such  tasteful  hands, 
tho  native  charms  of  the  original  melody  will  not  be 
sacrificed  to  tho  ostentation  of  science. 

In  the  Poetical  Part,  Power  has  had  promises  of 
assistance  from  several  distinguished  Literary  Char- 
acters ;  particularly  from  ^Ir.  ^Nloore,  wliose  lyrical 
talent  is  so  peculiarly  suited  to  sncli  a  task,  and 
whose  zeal  in  the  undertaking  will  be  best  under- 
stood from  tho  following  Extract  of  a  Letter  which 
he  has  addressed  to  Sir  John  Stevenson  on  tho 
Biibject : — 

"  I  feel  very  anxious  that  a  work  of  this  kind 
should  he  undertaken.  Wo  have  too  long  neglected 
the  only  talent  for  which  our  English  neighbors 
ever  deigned  to  allow  us  any  credit.  Our  National 
Music  has  never  been  properly  collected;'  and, 
while  the  composers  of  the  Continent  have  en- 
riched their  Operas  and  Sonatas  with  melodies 
borrowed  from  Ireland, — very  often  without  even 
tho  honesty  of  acknowledgment, — wo  have  left 
these  treasures,  in  a  great  degree,  unclaimed  and 

'  The  writer  forgot,  wlien  lie  made  llils  assertion,  that 
(ho  public  are  indebted  to  Mr.  liunting  for  a  vcr>-  vuluable 


fugitive.  Thus  our  Airs,  like  too  many  of  our 
countr)'men,  have,  for  want  of  protection  at  home, 
passed  into  the  service  of  foreigners.  But  we  are 
come,  I  hope,  to  a  better  period  of  both  Politics 
and  Music  ;  and  how  much  they  are  connected,  in 
Ireland,  at  least,  appears  too  plainly  in  the  tone  of 
sorrow  and  depression  which  cb.aracterizes  most  of 
our  early  Songs. 

"  The  lask  which  you  propose  to  me,  of  adapt- 
ing words  to  these  airs,  is  by  no  means  easy.  The 
Poet  who  would  follow  the  various  sentiments 
which  they  express,  must  feel  and  understand  that 
rapid  fluctuation  of  spirits,  tliat  unaccountable  mix- 
ture of  gloom  and  levity,  which  composes  the 
character  of  my  countrymen,  and  has  deeply  tinged 
their  Music.  Even  in  their  liveliest  strains  we 
find  some  melancholy  note  intrude, — some  minor 
Third  or  flat  Seventh,— which  throws  its  shade  as 
it  passes,  and  makes  even  mirth  interesting.  If 
Burns  had  been  an  Irishman,  (and  I  would  willingly 
give  up  all  our  claims  upon  Ossian  for  him,)  his 
heart  would  have  been  proud  of  such  music,  and  his 
genius  would  have  made  it  immortal. 

"  Anotlier  difliculty  (which  is,  however,  purely 
mechanical)  arises  from  the  irregidar  structiu-e  of 
many  of  those  airs,  and  the  lawless  kind  of  metre 
wliich  it  will  in  consequence  be  necessary  to  adapt 
to  them.  In  these  instances  the  Poet  must  write, 
not  to  the  eye,  but  to  the  ear ;  and  must  bo  content 
to  have  Ids  verses  of  that  description  which  Cicero 
mentions, '  Quiis  si  cantu  spoliaveris  nuda  rcmanehit 
oratio.'  That  beautifid  Air,  '  The  Twisting  of  the 
Rope,'  which  has  all  the  romantic  character  of  the 
Swiss  Ranz  dcs  Vaches,  is  one  of  those  wild  and 
sentimental  rakes  which  it  will  not  be  very  easy  to 
tie  down  in  sober  w-edlock  with  Poetry.  However, 
notwithstanding  all  these  difficulties,  and  the  vcrj' 
moderate  portion  of  talent  whicli  I  can  bring  to 
surmount  them,  the  design  appears  to  me  so  truly 
Nation;J,  tliat  I  shall  feel  much  pleasure  iu  giving 
it  all  the  assistance  ui  my  power. 

'■  Leicestershire,  Fet.  1807." 


ADVERTISEMENT 
TO   THE   THIRD    NUMBER 

I.\  presenting  the  Third  Number  of  this  work  to 
the  Public,  Power  begs  leave  to  offer  his  acknow- 

collection  of  Irish  Music ;  and  that  the  patriotic  genius  of  Miss 
Owcnson  has  been  employed  upon  some  of  our  finest  ulrs. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


273 


ledgments  for  the  very  liberal  patronage  with  wliich 
it  has  been  liouored  ;  and  to  express  a  hope  tiiat  the 
unabated  zeal  of  those  wlio  have  hitlierto  so  achni- 
rably  conducted  it,  will  enable  him  to  continue  it 
through  many  future  Numbers  witli  equal  spirit, 
variety,  and  taste.  The  stock  of  popular  Melodies 
is  far  from  being  exhausted  ;  and  tliere  is  still  in 
reserve  an  abundance  of  beautiful  Airs,  which  call 
upon  Mr.  Moore,  in  the  language  he  so  well  under- 
stands, to  save  tliem  from  the  oblivion  to  wliicli  they 
are  hastening. 

Power  respectfully  trusts  he  will  not  be  thought 
presumptuous  in  saying,  that  he  feels  proud,  as  an 
Irishman,  in  even  tlio  very  subordinate  share  which 
ho  can  claim,  in  promoting  a  Work  so  creditable  to 
the  talents  of  the  Country, — a  Work  which,  from 
the  spirit  of  nationality  it  breathes,  will  do  more,  he 
is  convinced,  towards  hberalizing  tlie  feelings  of 
society,  and  producing  tliat  brotherhood  of  sentiment 
which  it  is  so  much  our  interest  to  cherish,  than 
could  over  be  elTected  by  the  mere  arguments  of 
well-intentioned  but  uninteresting  politicians. 


LETTER 

TO 

THE  M.1RCHI0NESS  DOU'.\GER  OF  DONEG.\L, 

PREFIXED   TO 

THE  THIRD  NUMBER. 

While  the  publisher  of  these  Melodies  very  prop- 
erly inscribes  tliem  to  the  Nobility  and  Gentry  of 
Ireland  in  general,  I  have  much  pleasure  iu  select- 
ing one  from  that  number,  to  whom  my  share  of 
the  Work  is  particularly  dedicated.  I  know  that, 
though  yoxa  Ladyship  has  been  so  long  absent  from 
Ireland,  you  still  continue  to  remember  it  well  and 
warmly, — that  you  have  not  suffered  the  attractions 
of  English  society  to  produce,  lilte  the  taste  of  the 
lotus,  any  forgetfulness  of  your  own  country,  but 
that  even  the  humble  tribute  which  I  offer  derives 
its  chief  claim  upon  your  interest  and  sjnnpathy 


1  A  phrase  which  occurs  iu  a  Letter  frOm  the  Earl  of  Des- 
mond to  the  Earl  of  Orraond,  in  Elizabeth's  time. — Scrinia 
Sacrat  -is  quoted  by  Carry. 

2  There  are  some  gratifying  accounts  of  the  gallantry  of 
these  Irish  auxiliaries  in  •'  The  complete  History  of  the  Wars 

'  in  Scotland  under  Slontrose,"  (1660.)  See  particularly,  for 
the  conduct  of  an  Irishman  at  the  battle  of  Aberdeen,  chap.  vi. 
p.  49 ;  and  for  a  tribute  to  the  braverj'  of  Colonel  O'Kyan, 
r.hap.  vii.  55.  Clarendon  owns  that  the  Marquis  of  Montrose 
was  indebteil  for  nuicli  of  his  miraculous  success  to  the 
small  band  of  Irish  heroes  under  Macdonucll. 


from  the  appeal  which  it  makes  to  your  patriotism. 
Indeed,  absence,  however  fatal  to  some  aftectioiis  of 
the  heart,  ratlier  tends  to  strengthen  our  love  for  the 
land  where  we  were  born ;  and  Ireland  is  the 
country,  of  all  others,  wliich  an  exile  from  it  must 
remember  witli  most  enthtisiasm.  Those  few 
darker  and  less  amiable  trails  with  which  bigotry 
and  misrule  have  stained  her  character,  and  which 
are  too  apt  to  disgust  us  upon  a  nearer  intercourse, 
become  at  a  distance  softened,  or  altogether  invisi- 
ble. Nothing  is  remembered  but  her  virtues  and 
her  misfortunes, — tlie  zeal  with  wliich  she  lias  al- 
ways loved  liberty,  and  the  barbarous  policy  wliich 
has  always  withheld  it  from  her, — the  ease  with 
which  her  geuerous  spirit  might  be  conciliated,  aud 
the  cruel  ingenuity  which  has  been  exerted  to 
"  wring  her  into  midutifulness.'" 

It  lias  been  often  remarked,  and  still  oftener  felt, 
that  in  our  music  is  found  the  truest  of  all  com- 
ments upon  our  historj-.  Tlie  tone  of  defiance,  suc- 
ceeded by  tlio  languor  of  despondency, — a  burst  of 
turbulence  dying  away  into  softness, — the  sorrows 
of  one  moment  lost  in  the  levity  of  the  next, — and 
all  that  romantic  mixture  of  mirth  and  sadness, 
which  is  naturally  produced  by  the  efforts  of  a  lively 
temperament  to  shake  off,  or  forget,  tlie  wrongs 
which  lie  upon  it.  Such  are  the  features  of  our 
history  and  character,  which  we  find  strongly  and 
faitlifuUy  reflected  in  our  music  ;  and  there  are 
even  many  au-s,  which  it  is  difficult  to  listen  to, 
without  recalling  some  period  or  event  to  whicli  their 
expression  seems  applicable.  Sometimes,  for  in- 
stance, when  the  strain  is  open  and  spirited,  yet 
here  and  there  siiaded  by  a  mournful  recollection, 
we  can  fancy  that  we  behold  tiie  brave  allies  of 
Montrose,^  marching  to  the  aid  of  the  royal  cause, 
notwithstanding  all  the  perfidy  of  Charles  and  his 
ministers,  and  remembering  just  enough  of  past  suf- 
ferings to  enhance  the  generosity  of  their  present 
sacrifice.  The  plaintive  melodies  of  Carolan  take 
us  back  to  tlie  times  in  which  he  lived,  when  our 
poor  countrymen  were  driven  to  worship  their  God 
ui  caves,  or  to  quit  forever  the  land  of  their  birth, — 
like  the  bird  that  abandons  the  nest  which  human 
touch  has  violated.  In  many  of  these  mournful 
songs  we  seem  to  hear  the  last  farewell  of  the  exile,' 


3  The  associations  of  the  Hindu  music,  though  more  obvi- 
ous and  defined,  were  far  less  touching  and  characteristic. 
They  divided  their  songs  according  to  the  seasons  of  the 
year,  by  which  (says  SirVVilliani  Jones)  "  they  were  able  to 
recall  llie  memory  of  autumnal  merriment,  at  the  close  of 
the  harvest,  or  of  separation  and  melancholy  during  the  cold 
months,"  &-C.— Asiatic  Transactions,  vol.  iii.  on  the  Musical 
Modes  of  the  Hindus.— What  the  Abbe  du  Bos  says  of  the 
symphonies  of  Lull/,  may  be  asserted,  with  much  moro 
probability,  of  our  bold  and  impassioned  airs: — "Ellesau- 
roient  produil  de  ces  eflets,  qui  nous  paroissent  fabulcux  dans 


18 


274 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


minpling  n'gret  for  the  ties  which  ho  Icavos  at 
homo,  with  baii«ntno  liopes  of  the  high  lienors  that 
await  him  ahroad, — such  honors  as  wore  won  on 
the  firld  of  Fontenoy,  whore  the  valor  of  Irlsli 
Catholics  turned  tlio  fortune  of  the  day,  and  extorted 
from  George  the  Second  that  memorable  exclama- 
tion, "Cursed  he  the  laws  which  deprive  mo  of  such 
subj^-cls  I" 

Though  much  has  been  said  of  the  antiquity  of 
our  music,  it  is  certain  that  our  finest  and  most 
popular  airs  are  modem  ;  and  perhaps  wo  may  look 
no  furtlier  than  the  last  disgraceful  century  for  the 
oh;ri»  of  most  of  tlioso  wild  and  meiancholy  strains, 
which  wore  at  once  the  offspring  and  solace  of  grief, 
and  were  applied  to  the  mind  as  music  was  formerly 
to  the  body,  '*  decantarc  loca  dolentia.'*  Mr.  Pin- 
kerton  is  of  opinion'  that  none  of  tlie  Scotch  popular 
airs  aro  as  old  as  tlio  middle  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury ;  and  thoufrh  musical  antiquaries  refer  us,  for 
some  of  our  melodies,  to  so  early  a  period  as  the 
fifth  century,  I  am  peisuaded  tliat  there  are  few,  of 
a  civilized  description,  (and  by  tliis  I  mean  to  ex- 
clude all  the  savage  Ceanans,  Crics,^  &.c.,)  which 
can  claim  quite  so  ancient  a  date  as  Mr.  Finlierton 
allows  to  the  Scotch.  But  music  is  not  the  only 
subject  upon  which  our  taste  4br  antiquity  has  been 
rat'ner  unreasonably  indulged  ;  and,  however  hereti- 
cal it  may  bo  to  dissent  from  these  romantic  specu- 
lations, I  cannot  help  thinking  that  it  is  possible  to 
love  our  country  very  zealously,  and  to  feel  deeply 


le  ricit  dcs  ancicns,  si  on  Ics  avoit  fait  ententlre  A  des 
bomnies  d'nn  naturel  aus&ivif  que  Ics  Athiniens." — litjtcz. 
«ur  la  PftMdire,  &c.  loin.  i.  sect  45. 

1  Dissertation  prefixed  to  the  3d  volume  of  hia  Scottish 
BnlUd« 

'  Of  which  some  genuine  specimens  may  be  found  at  the 
end  of  Mr.  VV.ilker's  Work  upon  the  Irish  kirds.  Mr.  Bunt- 
ing has  disficurod  his  last  splendid  Volume  by  too  many  of 
lhc«c  brirbaron-*  rhapsfxlic-i. 

•  See  Adveriiscuienl  to  the  Transactions  of  the  Gaelic  So- 
ciety of  Duhtin. 

*  O'llallonn.  vol.  i.  part  iv.  cliap.  vii. 
^  Id.  ib.  chap.  vi. 

«  It  is  u:>i  supiioscd,  but  wUh  a.s  little  proof,  that  they  un- 
derstu(K)  the  diesi.s,  or  enharmonic  interval. — The  Greeks 
Kcnt  to  huvc  formed  tlieir  cars  to  this  delicate  gradation  of 
Bound ;  and.  whatever  difficulties  or  objections  may  Uc  in 
the  way  of  its  practical  u-^c.  we  musi  agree  with  Mcr>cnne, 
{IVeiudrs  do  t'lliirmunic,  Quest.  7,)  that  the  /Afory  of  Music 
would  be  im[M;rfccl  without  it.  Even  in  pniclice,  too,  as 
Tosl,  among  others,  very  justly  remarks,  (Observations  on 
Florid  Si..ig,  chap.  i.  sect.  IG.>  there  Is  no  Rood  performer  on 
the  violin  wlio  does  not  make  a  sensible  difilrencc  between 
D  sharp  and  E  flit,  though,  from  the  impertcctlon  of  the  in- 
Btrumeni,  ihcy  are  the  same  notes  ujion  the  piano-forte. 
The  etll-ct  of  modulation  by  enharmonic  transUions  is  also 
very  striking  and  beautiful. 

'  The  words  rroiKiKta  and  Ir^po^wvta,  in  a  Passage  ofPIato, 
and  sfimc  expressions  of  Cicero,  in  Fracment.  lib.  ii.  de  Re- 
pnbl.,  mduced  the  Abb6  Praguicr  to  maintain  that  the  an- 


intercstcd  in  her  honor  and  happiness,  without  be- 
lieving that  Irish  was  the  language  spoken  in  Para- 
dise,°  that  our  ancestors  were  kind  enough  to  take 
tho  trouble  of  polisliing  the  Greeks/  or  that  Abaris, 
the  Hyperborean,  was  a  native  of  the  North  of 
Ireland.'^ 

By  some  of  these  zealous  antiquarians  it  has  been 
imagined  that  tlie  Irish  were  eariy  acquainted  with 
counter-point  f  and  they  endeavor  to  support  this 
conjecture  by  a  well-known  passage  in  Giraldus, 
where  ho  dilates,  with  such  elaborate  praise,  npon 
the  beauties  of  our  national  minstrelsy.  But  the 
terms  of  this  eulogy  arc  much  too  vague,  loo  defi- 
cient in  technical  accuracy,  to  prove  that  even 
Giraldus  himself  knew  any  thing  of  the  artifice  of 
counter-point.  There  are  many  expressions  in  the 
Greek  and  Latin  writers  which  might  be  cited,  with 
much  more  plausibility,  to  prove  that  they  under- 
stood the  arrangeme:  jt  of  music  in  parts  ;*"  and  it  is 
in  general  now  conceded,  I  believe,  by  the  learned, 
that,  however  grand  and  pathetic  tl;e  melody  of  the 
ancients  may  have  been,  it  was  reserved  for  tlie  in- 
genuity of  modern  Science  to  transmit  the  "  hght  of 
Song"  through  the  variegating  prism  of  Harmony. 

Indeed,  tho  irregular  scale  of  the  early  Irisli  (in 
which,  as  in  tlie  music  of  Scotland,  tlie  iuten'al  of 
tlie  fourth  was  wanting")  must  have  fumislied 
but  wild  and  refractory  subjects  to  tlie  harmonist. 
It  was  only  when  the  invention  of  Guido  began  to 
be  known,  and  tlio  powers  of  the  brrp"  were  en- 


cients  had  a  knowieage  of  eounterpoint.  M.  ilurclte,  how- 
ever, has  answered  him.  I  ih.rik,  saiisfjclorily.  (E.vauien 
d'un  Passage  de  Plalon.  in  the  3d  vol.  nf  Hi^ioire  dc  I'Acad.l 
M.  Huet  is  of  opinion,  (Pensecs  Diverges,)  'h::'.  wiiat  Cicero 
says  of  the  music  of  the  spheres,  in  his  dream  of  Scipio,  is 
sufficient  to  prove  an  acquaintance  with  harmony  ;  but  one 
of  the  strongest  passages,  which  I  recollect,  in  favnr  of  this 
supposition,  occurs  in  the  Treatise  (Ilt/it  Kjtj^iuv)  attributed 
to  Aristotle — yitvaiKi)  6c  ofiis  u/iii  koi  ^apit^,  k.  t.  \. 

8  AnrtUer  lawless  peculiarity  of  our  rr.usic  is  the  frequent 
occurrence  of  what  composers  call  consecutive  Si^Iis  ;  but 
this.  I  imist  say,  is  an  irregularity  which  can  liardly  be  avoid- 
ed by  persons  not  conversant  with  all  the  rules  of  com  position. 
If  I  may  venture,  indeed,  to  cite  my  own  uild  aUempts  in 
this  way,  it  is  a  fault  which  I  tiod  myself  continually  cum- 
mitting,  and  wliich  has  even,  at  times,  appeared  so  picasing  to 
my  car,  that  I  have  surrendered  it  lo  the  critic  with  no  small 
reluctance.  Blay  there  not  be  a  little  pedautiy  in  adhering  too 
rigidly  to  this  rule  ?— I  have  been  told  that  there  are  instances 
in  Ilaydn,  of  an  undisguised  succession  of  tit"ths ;  nnd  Mr. 
Shield,  in  his  Introduction  lo  Ilaniiony,  seems  to  intimate  that 
Handel  has  been  sometimes  guilty  of  the  same  irrcgnlarity. 

»  A  singular  oversight  occurs  in  an  E-say  upon  the  Irish 
Harp,  by  Mr.  Beauford,  which  is  inserted  in  the  Appendix  lo 
Walker's  Historical  Memoirs: — "The  Irish,  (siiys  he.)  ac- 
cording to  Bromtnn,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  had  two  kinds 
of  Harps,  '  llibcrniri  tanien  in  duolius  musici  generis  instru- 
mentis,  quauivis  pra'cipitcin  et  velocem,  suavem  tanien  ct  ju- 
cunduni :  the  one  greatly  bold  and  ijuick,  the  oihcr  sot^  and 
pleasing.' — How  a  man  of  Mr.  Beauford's  learning  could  so 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


275 


larged  by  additional  strings,  tliat  our  airs  can  be  sup- 
posed to  have  assumed  the  sweet  cliuracter  whicii 
interests  us  at  present ;  and  while  the  Scolcli  perse- 
\rred  in  the  old  mutilation  of  the  scale,'  our  music 
iircame  by  degrees  more  amenable  to  the  laws  of 
harmony  and  counterpoint. 

While  profiting;,  however,  by  the  improvements  of 
the  moderns,  our  style  still  keeps  its  original  cliarac- 
ttr  sacred  from  tlieir  refinements  ;  and  though  Car- 
dan, it  appears,  had  frequent  opportunities  of  hear- 
iug  the  works  of  Geminiani  and  other  great  masters, 
\vc  but  rarely  find  him  sacrificing  his  native  sim- 
I>Iicity  to  any  ambition  of  their  ornaments,  or  affecta- 
tion of  their  science.  In  that  curious  composition, 
indeed,  called  his  Concerto,  it  is  evident  tliat  ho  la- 
bored to  imitate  Corelli ;  and  this  union  of  manners, 
so  ver^-  dissimilar,  produces  the  same'  kind  of  uneasy 
sensation  which  is  felt  at  a  mixtiu"0  of  different  styles 
of  architecture.  In  general,  however,  the  artless 
flow  of  our  music  has  preserved  itself  free  from  all 
tinge  of  foreign  innovation  f  and  the  chief  corrup- 
tions of  which  we  have  to  complam  arise  from  the 
unskilful  performance  of  our  own  itinerant  musicians, 
from  whom,  too  frequently,  the  airs  arc  noted  down, 
encumbered  by  their  tasteless  decorations,  and 
responsible  for  all  their  ignorant  anomalies.  Though 
it  be  sometimes  imposeibie  t.'  t.ace  the  or"ginal 
strain,  yet,  in  most  of  them, "  auri  per  ramos  aura 
rcfulget,"^  the  pure  gold  of  the  melody  shines 
through  the  ungraceful  foliage  wliich  surrounds  it, 
— and  the  most  delicate  and  difficult  duty  of  a 
compiler  is  to  endeavor,  by  retrenching  these  in- 
elegant superfluities,  and  collating  the  various  meth- 
ods of  playing  or  singing  each  air,  to  restore  the 
regularity  of  its  form,  and  the  chaste  simplicity  of  its 
cliaracten 

I  must  again  observe,  that  in  doubting  the  anti- 
quity of  oiu"  music,  my  skepticism  extends  but  to 
those   polished   specimens   of  the    art,   which  it  is 


niiitake  the  meaning,  and  mulilate  the  gnmnialical  con- 
struction of  this  exiMct,  is  nn accountable.  The  following  is 
the  |iassnt,'e  as  I  find  it  entire  in  Bromton ;  and  it  requires 
but  little  Latin  tn  perceive  the  injustice  which  has  been  done 
to  the  words  of  the  old  Chronicler: — "Et  cum  Scotia,  hujus 
terra;  filia,  utalur  lyr.i,  lynipano  et  chnro,  ac  Walliii  cithar4, 
tuliis  et  choro  Ilibcrnici  t;unen  in  duobus  niusici  generis  in- 
strunientis,  guamvis  pracipitem  et  vclocem,  suavem  tameri  et 
jucundam^  crispatis  inoduhs  el  intricatis  nolulis,  efficiurit 
harmomam"—Uif.U  Anglic.  Script,  page  1075.  I  should  not 
have  thought  this  error  worth  reinarkinjr,  but  thai  the  com- 
piler of  the  Dissertation  on  the  Harp,  prefixed  to  Mr.  Bunt- 
ing's last  Work,  has  adopted  it  ini|ilicitly. 

1  The  Scotch  lay  claim  to  some  of  our  best  airs,  but  there 
arc  strong  traits  of  ditference  between  their  melodies  and 
ours.  They  had  formerly  the  same  passion  for  robbing  us  of 
our  Saints,  and  the  learned  Dempster  was  for  this  otTence 
called  "  Tlic  Saint  Stealer."  It  must  have  been  some  Irish- 
man, I  suppose,  who,  by  way  of  reprisal,  stole  Dempster's 


difficult  to  conceive  anterior  to  the  dawn  of  modem 
improvement ;  and  tliat  I  would  by  no  means  inval- 
idate the  claims  of  Ir^'land  to  as  early  a  rank  in  the 
annals  of  minstreisy,  as  the  most  zealous  antiquarj' 
may  be  inclined  to  allow  her.  In  addition,  indeed, 
to  tlie  pov.'er  which  i;*usic  must  always  have  pos- 
sessed over  the  minds  of  a  people  so  ardent  and  sus- 
ceptible, the  stimulus  of  persecution  was  not  want- 
ing to  quicken  our  taste  into  cntluisiasm  ;  the  charms 
of  song  were  ennobled  with  tiie  glories  of  martyrdom, 
and  the  acts  against  minstrels,  in  the  rcignS  of  Henry 
VIII.  and  Elizabeth,  were  as  successful,  I  doubt  not, 
in  making  my  countrymen  musicians,  as  the  penal 
laws  have  been  in  keeping  thcm'Catholics. 

With  respect  to  the  verses  wlxich  I  have  written 
for  these  melodies,  as  they  are  iuttf*ided  rather  to 
be  sung  than  read,  I  can  answer  for  their  sound 
with  somewhat  more  confidence  than  for  iheii 
sense.  Yet  it  would  bo  affectation  to  deny  that  I 
have  given  much  attention  to  the  task,  and  that  it 
is  not  through  any  want  of  zeal  or  industry,  if  I  un- 
fortunately disgrace  tiie  sweet  airs  of  my  countr)-  by 
poetry  altogether  unwortliy  of  their  taste,  their  en- 
ergy, and  their  tenderness. 

Though  the  humble  nature  of  my  contributions 
to  this  work  may  exempt  them  from  the  ligors  of 
literary  criticism,  it  was  not  to  bo  expected  that 
those  toucl:es  of  political  feeling,  those  tones  of 
national  complaint,  in  which  the  poetry  sometimes 
sympathizes  v/ith  the  music,  would  be  suffered  to 
pass  without  censure  or  alarm.  It  has  been  accord- 
ingly said,  that  the  tendency  of  this  publication  is 
mischievous,*  and  that  X  have  chosen  these  airs  but 
as  a  vehicle  of  dangerous  politics, — as  fair  and  pre- 
cious vessels,  (to  borrow  an  image  of  St.  Augustine,^) 
from  which  the  wine  of  error  migl.t  be  adminis- 
tered. To  those  who  identify  nationality  with 
treason,  and  who  sec,  in  every  effort  for  Ireland, 
a  system  of  hostility  towards  England, — to  those, 


beautiful  wife  from  him  at  Pisa. — See  this  anecdote  in  the 
Pinacotheca  of  Eryihraus,  part  i.  page  25. 

2  Among  other  f;tUc  refmemcnts  of  the  art,  our  music 
(with  the  exception  pcrliaps  of  the  air  called  "Mamma, 
Mamma,"  and  one  or  two  more  of  the  same  ludicrous  de- 
scription) has  avoided  that  puerile  mimicry  of  nanirnl  noises, 
motions,  &c.,  which  disgraces  so  often  the  works  of  even 
Handel  himself.  D'Alcmbert  ought  to  have  had  better  t^sle 
thnn  to  become  the  patron  of  this  imitative  afiectrition.— 
Discciirs  Prdimiitaire  de  C F.-ncydopidie.  The  reader  may 
find  some  good  remarks  on  the  subject  in  Avison  upon  Mu- 
sical Expression  ;  a  work  which,  though  under  the  name  of 
Avison,  was  written,  it  is  said^by  Dr.  Brown. 

s  Virgil,  ^neid,  lib.  vi.  verse  204. 

*  See  Letters  under  the  signatures  of  TiniTUs,  &c.,  in  the 
Morning  Post,  Pilot,  and  other  ptipers. 

6"Nou  accnso  verba,  quasi  vasa  electa  atquc  pretiosa; 
sed  vinum  erruris  cjuod  cum  eis  nobis  prcpinatur." — Lib.  i. 
Confess,  chap.  xvi. 


276 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


too,  who,  nursed  in  the  gloom  of  prejudice,  are 
alnmied  by  the  faintest  gleam  of  liberality  that 
threatens  to  disturb  their  darkness, — like  lliat  Demo- 
phon  of  old,  who,  when  the  sun  sliono  upon  him, 
shivered,' — to  such  men  I  shall  not  condescend  to 
offi'r  an  ajwlogy  for  the  too  tp-eat  wamith  of  any 
political  sentiment  which  may  occur  in  the  course 
of  these  pages.  But  as  there  are  many,  among  the 
more  wise  and  tolerant,  who,  with  feeling  enough  to 
mourn  over  the  wrongs  of  their  countr}",  and  sense 
enough  to. perceive  all  the  danger  of  not  redressing 
them,  may  yet  be  of  opinion  that  allusions,  in  the 
least  degree  inflammator)-,  should  be  avoided  in  a 
publication  of  this  popular  description — I  beg  of  these 
respected  persons  to  believe,  that  there  is  no  one  who 
more  sincerely  deprecates  than  I  do,  any  appeal  to 
the  passions  of  an  ignorant  and  angry  multitude  ; 
bnt  that  it  is  not  tlirougli  that  gross  and  inflammable 
region  of  eociety,  a  work  of  this  nature  could  ever 
have  been  intended  to  circulate.  It  looks  much 
higher  for  its  audience  and  readers, — it  is  found 
ujwn  the  piano-fortes  of  the  rich  and  the  educa- 
ted,— of  those  who  can  afford  to  have  their  na- 
tional zeal  a  little  stimulated,  without  exciting  much 
dread  of  the  excesses  into  which  it  may  hurry 
them  ;  and  of  many  whoso  nerves  may  be,  now  and 
then,  alanned  with  advantage,  as  much  more  is  to 
be  gained  by  their  fears,  than  could  ever  be  expect- 
ed from  their  justice. 

Having  thus  adverted  to  the  principal  objection 
which  has  been  hitherto  made  to  the  poetical  part 
of  tills  work,  allow  me  to  add  a  few  words  in  de- 
fence of  my  ingenious  coadjutor.  Sir  John  Steven- 
son, who  luis  been  accused  of  ha\nng  spoiled  the 
simplicity  of  the  airs  by  the  cliromatic  richness  of 
his  symphonies,  and  the  elaborate  variety  of  his 
hannonics.  We  might  cite  the  example  of  the 
admirable  Haydn,  who  has  sported  through  all  the 
mazes  of  musical  science,  in  his  arrangement  of 
the  simplest  Scottish  melodies;  but  it  appears  to 
me,  that  Sir  John  Stevenson  has  brought  to  this 
lank  an  innate  and  national  feeling,  which  it  would 
be  vain  to  expect  from  a  foreigner,  however  tasteful 
or  judicious.  Through  many  of  his  own  composi- 
tions we  trace  a  vein  of  Irish  sentiment,  which 
[wiuts  him  out  as  pecuharly  suited  to  catch  the 
spirit  of  his  countr)' "s  music  ;  and,  far  from  agree- 
ing with  those  fastidious  critics  who  think  that  his 
symphonies  have  nothing  kindred  with  the  airs 
which  they  introduce,  1  would  say  that,  on  the 
coutrary,  they  resemble,  in  general,  those  illumi- 
nated initials  of  old  manuscripts,  which  are  of  the 


'  This  eiiiblciii  of  modem  bi-ots  was  head  bullet  (r/iart- 
^uroios;  til  Aleiandcr  the  Gical.— SrK.  Empir.  Pi/rrh. 
HyptilK.  Lib.  i. 


same  character  with  the  writing  which  follows, 
though  more  highly  colored  and  more  curiously  or- 
namented. 

In  those  airs  which  he  has  arranged  for  voices, 
his  skill  has  particularly  distinguished  itself,  and, 
though  it  cannot  be  denied  tliat  a  single  melody 
most  naturally  expresses  the  language  of  feeling 
and  passion,  yet  often,  when  a  favorite  strain  has 
been  dismissed,  as  having  lost  its  charm  of  novelty 
for  the  ear,  it  returns,  in  a  harmonized  shape,  with 
new  claims  on  our  interest  and  attention ;  and  to 
those  wl'.o  study  the  delicate  artifices  of  composition, 
the  construction  of  the  inner  parts  of  these  pieces 
must  afford,  I  think,  considerable  satisfaction. 
Every  voice  has  an  air  to  itself,  a  flowing  succes- 
sion of  notes,  which  migiit  be  heard  with  pleasure, 
independently  »f  the  rest ; — so  artfully  has  the  har- 
monist (if  I  may  thus  express  it)  gavelled  the  mel- 
ody, distributing  an  equal  portion  of  its  sweetness  to 
every  part. 

If  your  Ladyship's  love  of  I\Iusic  were  not  well 
known  to  mo,  I  should  not  have  liazarded  so  long 
a  letter  upon  the  subject ;  bnt  as,  probably,  I  may 
have  presumed  too  far  upon  your  partiality,  the 
best  revenge  you  now  can  take  is  to  write  me  just 
as  long  a  letter  upon  Painting  ;  and  I  promise  to 
attend  to  your  theory  of  the  art,  with  a  pleasure 
only  surpassed  by  that  which  I  have  so  often  de- 
rived from  your  practice  of  it. — May  the  mind 
which  such  talents  adorn,  continue  calm  us  it  is 
bright,  and  happy  as  it  is  virtuous  ! 

Believe  me,  your  Ladyship's 

Grateful  Friend  and  Servant, 

TnoMAS  Moore. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO   THE   FOURTH    NUMBER. 

This  Number  of  the  Melodies  ought  to  have  ap- 
peared much  earlier ;  and  the  writer  of  the  words 
is  as'.iamed  to  confess,  that  the  delay  of  its  publica- 
tion must  be  imputed  chiefly,  if  not  entirely,  to  hiin. , 
He  finds  it  necessary  to  make  this  avowal,  not  only 
for  the  purpose  of  removing  all  blame  from  the  Pub- 
lisher, but  in  con.-!equence  of  a  rumor  which  has 
been  circidated  industriously  in  Dublin,  that  the 
Irish  Government  had  interfered  to  prevent  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  Work. 

This  would-  be,  indeed,  a  revival  of  Henrj'  the 
Eighth's  enactments  against  Minstrels,  and  it  is 
flattering  to  find  that  so  much  importance  is  at- 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


Ill 


taclicd  to  our  compilation,  even  by  such  persons  as 
the  inventors  of  the  report.  Bisliop  Lowth,  it  is 
true,  was  of  opinion,  that  one  song,  hke  the  Hymn 
to  JIar/nodiuSj  would  liave  done  more  towards 
rousing  the  e;p;rit  of  the  Romans,  than  all  the  Phi- 
lippics of  Cicero.  But  we  live  in  wiser  ciiid  less 
mut)ical  times ;  ballads  have  long  lost  their  revolu- 
tionary powers,  and  we  question  if  even  a  "  Lilli- 
bullero*'  would  produce  any  very  seriotjs  conse- 
quences at  present.  It  is  needless,  therefoie,  to  add, 
that  there  is  no  truth  in  the  report ;  and  we  trust 
that  wiiatcver  belief  it  obtained  was  founded  more 
upon  tlie  character  of  the  Government  than  of  the 
Worl: 

Tiie  Airs  of  the  last  Number,  though  full  of  ori- 
ginality and  beauty,  were,  in  general,  perhaps,  ^ro 
curiously  selected  to  become  all  at  once  as  popular 
as,  we  think,  they  deserve  to  be.  The  pubhc  are 
apt  to  bo  reser\'ed  towards  new  acquaintances  in 
music,  and  this,  perliaps,  is  one  of  the  reasons  why 
many  modem  composers  introduce  none  but  old 
friends  to  their  notice.  It  is,  indeed,  natural  that 
persons  who  love  music  only  by  association,  should 
be  somewhat  slow  in  feeling  the  charms  of  a  new 
and  strange  melody  ;  while  those,  on  the  other  hand, 
who  have  a  quick  eensibility  for  this  enclianting  art, 
will  as  naturally  seek  and  enjoy  novelty,  because  in 
every  variety  of  strain  they  find  a  fresh  combination 
of  ideas ;  and  the  sound  has  scarcely  reached  the 
ear,  before  the  heart  has  as  rapidly  rendered  it  into 
imagery  and  sentanent.  After  all,  however,  it  can- 
not be  denied  that  the  most  popular  of  our  National 
Airs  are  also  the  most  beautiful ;  and  it  has  been  our 
wish,  in  the  present  Nimiber,  to  select  from  those 
Melodies  only  v/hich  have  long  been  listened  to  and 
admired.  Tiie  Iciist  known  in  the  collection  is  tlic 
Air  of  "  Lovers  Young  Dream ;"  but  it  will  be 
found,  I  thinlt,  one  of  those  easy  and  artless 
strangers  whose  merit  the  heart  instantly  acknow- 
ledges. 

T.  M 

Bury  Street,  St.  Jameses 
JVoB.  1811. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO   THE   FIFTH    NUMBER. 

It  is  but  fair  to  those  who  take  an  interest  in  this 
Work,  to  state  that  it  is  now  very  near  its  termi- 


'  Among  these  is  Savourna  DceVcsk,  which  I  havir  been 
hitlierto  only  withheld  from  selectint:  by  the  diffidence  [  feel 
in  treading  upon  the  s;inie  ground  with  Mr.  Campbell,  whose 
beautiful  words  to  this  line  Air  have  tuken  too  stronj:  pes- 


nation,  and  that  the  Sixth  Number,  which  shall 
speedily  appear,  will,  most  piobabl}',  bo  the  last  of 
the  series,  'i'lirco  volumes  will  then  have  been 
completed,  according  to  the  original  plan,  and  the 
Proprietors  desire  mo  to  say  that  a  List  of  Sub- 
scribers will  bo  published  with  the  concluding 
Number. 

It  is  not  so  much,  I  mi:st  add,  from  a  want  of 
materials,  and  still  less  from  any  abatement  of 
zeal,  or  industry,  that  wo  have  adopted  the  resolu- 
tion of  bringing  our  task  to  a  close ;  but  we  feel 
so  proud,  still  more  for  our  cotmtry's  sake  than 
our  on-n,  of  the  general  interest  which  this  purely 
Irish  Work  has  excited,  and  so  an?dous  lest  a  par- 
ticle of  that  interest  shot. Id  be  lost  by  too  long  a 
protraction  of  its  existence,  that  we  tliink  it  wiser 
to  take  away  the  cup  fioni  the  lip,  while  its  flavor 
is  yet,  wo  trust,  fresh  and  sweet,  than  to  risk  any 
further  trial  of  the  charm,  or  give  so  much  as  not 
to  leave  some  wish  for  mire  In  speaking  thus,  I 
allude  entirely  to  the  Airs,  which  are,  of  course, 
the  main  attraction  of  l!icse  Volumes;  and  though 
we  have  still  a  great  many  popular  and  delightful 
Jlelodics  to  produce,'  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
we  should  soon  experience  considerable  difficulty 
in  equalling  the  richness  and  novelty  of  the  earlier 
numbers,  lor  which,  as  we  had  the  choice  of  all 
before  us,  wo  naturally  selected  only  the  most  rare 
and  beautiful.  The  Poetry,  too,  would  be  sure  to 
sjinpathize  with  the  decline  of  the  Music ;  and, 
however  feebly  my  words  have  kept  pace  with  the 
excellence  of  the  Airs,  they  would  follow  their /«//- 
ing  off,  1  fear,  with  wonderful  alacrity.  Both  pride 
aud  pmdence,  therefore,  counsel  us  to  come  to  a 
close,  while  yet  our  Work  is,  we  believe,  flourishing 
and  attractive,  aud  thus,  in  the  iinperial  attitude, 
"  stantcs  mori,"  before  we  incur  the  charge  either 
of  altering  for  the  worse,  or,  what  is  equally  unpar- 
donable, contmuiug  too  long  the  same. 

We  beg  to  say,  however,  that  it  is  only  in  the 
event  of  our  failing  to  find  Airs  as  good  as  most 
of  those  we  have  given,  that  we  mean  thus  to  an- 
ticipate the  natural  period  of  dissolution,  (like 
those  Indians  who,  when  their  relatives  become 
woni  out,  put  them  to  death  ;)  and  they  who  are 
desirous  of  retarding  this  Eullianasia  of  the  Irish 
Melodies,  cannot  better  effect  their  wish  than  by 
contributing  to  our  collention, — not  what  are  called 
curious  Ail's,  for  we  have  abundance  of  such,  and 
they  are,  in  general,  mdy  curious, — but  any  real 
sweet  and  expressive  Songs  of  our  Country,  which 


session  of  all  ears  and  hearts,  for  me  to  think  of  followin-,'  in 
his  footsteps  with  any  success.  I  suppose,  however,  us  u 
matter  of  duly,  I  must  attempt  the  air  for  our  ne.tt  \uin- 
bcr. 


278 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


cither  chance  or  resoaroh  may  have  brought  irno 
tlit'ir  hunds. 

T.  J>t 

December^  1813. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO    THE    SIXTH    NUMBER. 

In  presenting. this  Sixth  Number  to  tlie  Public  a.s 
our  last,  and  bidding  adieu  to  tlie  Irish  Harp  forever, 
wo  shall  not  answer  vciy  confidently  for  tlie  strength 
of  our  reiiolution,  nor  feel  quite  sure  that  it  may  not 
turn  out  to  be  one  of  those  eternal  farewells  which  a 
lover  takes  occasionally  of  h',3  mistress,  merely  to  en- 
hance, perhaps,  the  pleasure  of  their  next  meeting. 
Our  only  motive,  indeed,  for  discontinuing  the  Work 
w:is  a  fear  that  our  treasures  were  nearly  exhausted, 
and  a  natural  nnwillingncss  to  descend  to  the  gath- 
ering of  mere  eeed-pearl,  after  the  really  precious 
gems  it  has  been  our  lot  to  string  together.  The 
announcement,  however,  of  this  uitention,  in  onr 
Fifth  Number,  has  excited  a  degree  of  anxiety  in 
tlie  lovers  of  Irish  !\Iusic,  not  only  pleasant  and  flat- 
tering, but  highly  useful  to  lis  ;  for  th.c  various  con- 
tributions wo  have  received  in  conseqnence,  have 
enriched  our  collection  with  so  many  choice  and 
beautiful  Aire,  that  should  wo  adhere  to  our  present 
resiilutiou  of  publishing  no  more,  it  would  certainly 
furnish  an  instance  of  forbearance  unexampled  in  the 
libiton,-  of  poets  and  musicians.  To  one  gentleman 
in  particular,  who  has  been  for  many  years  resident 
iu  England,  but  wlio  has  not  forgot,  among  his  va- 
rious pursuits,  cither  tlie  language  or  the  melodies  of 
his  native  country,  we  beg  to  olTer  our  best  thanl^s 
lor  the  many  interesting  communications  with  which 
he  bus  favored  us.  We  tnist  that  neither  ho  nor 
any  other  of  our  kind  friends  will  relax  iu  those  ef- 
forts by  which  we  have  been  so  considerably  assisted  ; 
for,  though  our  work  must  now  be  looked  u])on  as 
defunct,  yet — a.^  Reaumur  found  out  the  art  of  ma- 
king the  cicada  sing  after  it  was  dead — it  is  just  pos- 
sible that  wo  may,  some  time  or  other,  trj-  a  similar 
e.^periment  upon  the  Irish  Melodies. 

T.  M. 
Ji!ii(fieldy  Ashbourne, 
Murck,  lais. 


'  Hue  frenlleman,  in  iwrlicul:ir,  whose  name  I  shall  tVel 
hrippy  in  bcinf!  utiowed  to  mention,  has  not  only  sent  us 
nc.-iily  forty  ancient  airs,  Imt  has  coninmnicatoil  many  curi- 
OQS  fragments  of  Irish  ptKtry,  and  some  interesting  tnulitiuns 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO   THE    SEVENTH    NUMRER. 

Had  I  considted  oidy  ray  own  judgment,  this 
Work  would  not  have  extended  beyond  tl'.c  Six 
Numbers  already  publislied  ;  wliich  contain  the  flow- 
er, perhaps,  of  our  national  melodies,  and  have  now 
attained  a  rank  in  public  favor,  of  which  I  would 
not  willingly  risk  the  forfeiture,  by  degenerating,  in 
any  way,  from  those  merits  that  were  its  source. 
AVhatever  treasures  of  our  music  were  still  in  reserve, 
(and  it  will  bo  seen,  I  trust,  that  they  are  numerouB 
and  valuable,)  I  v.'0uld  gladly  have  left  to  future 
poets  to  glean,  and,  with  the  ritual  w-ords  "  tibi 
trado"  would  havo  delivered  up  the  torch  into  other 
hands,  before  it  had  lost  much  of  its  light  in  my  own. 
But  the  call  for  a  contiiuiunce  of  the  work  has  been, 
as  I  understand  from  the  Publisher,  so  general,  and 
wc  have  received  so  many  contributions  of  old  and 
beautiful  airs,* — the  suppression  of  which,  for  the  en- 
hancement of  those  we  have  published,  woidd  too 
much  resemble  the  policy  of  the  iJutch  in  burning 
their  spices, — that  I  have  been  persuaded,  though 
not  without  much  difBdcnce  in  my  success,  to  com- 
mence a  new  series  of  the  Irish  Melodies. 

T.  M. 


DEDICATION 

TO 
THE  MARCHIONESS  OP  IIEADFORT, 

PREPIIED 
TO    TI!E    TENTH    NUMBEIt. 

It  is  with  a  pleasure,  not  unmixed  with  melan- 
choly, that  I  dedicate  tV.o  last  Number  of  the  Irish 
Melodies  to  your  Ladyship ;  nor  can  I  have  any 
doubt  that  the  feeling:;  with  whicli  you  receive  the 
tribute  will  be  of  the  same  mingled  and  sadtlened  tone. 
To  you, — who,  though  but  little  beyond  the  season 
of  childhood  when  tl:e  earlier  numbei*s  of  this  work 
appeared, — lent  the  aid  of  your  beautiful  voice, 
and,  even  then,  exquisite  feeling  for  music,  to  tiie 
ha|ipy  circle  who  met,  to  sing  them  together,  inider 
your  fatlier's  roof,  the  gratification,  wliatcver  it  may 
be,  which  this  humble  ofTeriiig  brings,  cannot  be 
otherwise  than  darkened  by  the  mournful  reflection. 


current  in  the  country  where  he  resides,  ilUistratcd  by 
sltetclies  of  the  ronirintic  scenery  to  which  they  refer  ;  al,  I'f 
wliich,  tlinugh  too  l;ite  for  llic  present  Nunilier,  wilt  lie  of 
Infinite  service  to  us  in  llie  proseculiou  uf  our  Umk 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


279 


how  many  of  the  voices,  which  then  joined  with 
ours,  aro  now  silent  in  death ! 

I  am  not  witliout  liope  that,  as  far  as  regards 
the  grace  and  spirit  of  the  Melodies,  you  will  find 
this  closing  portion  of  tlio  work  not  unworthy  of 
what  has  preceded  it.  Tiie  Sixteen  Airs  of  wliich 
the  Number  and  the  Supplement  consists,  have 
been  selected  from  the  unmense  mass  of  Irish  music, 
which  has  been  for  years  past  accumulating  in  my 
hands  ;  and  it  was  from  a  desire  to  include  all  that 
appeared  most  worthy  of  preservation,  that  the  four 


supplementary  songs,  which  follow  this  Tenth  Num- 
ber, have  been  added. 

Trusting  that  I  may  yet  again,  in  remembrance 
of  old  times,  hear  our  voices  together  in  eomo  of  the 
harmonized  airs  of  this  Volume,  I  have  the  honor  to 
subscribe  myself. 

Your  Ladysliip's 

faitliful  Friend  and  SeiTant, 

Thomas  Moohb. 

Slopcrton  Cottage, 
May,  1834. 


NATIONAL   AIRS. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

It  is  Cicero,  I  believe,  who  says,  "  naivri  ad  modos 
ducimur ;"  and  the  abundance  of  wild,  indigenous 
airs,  which  almost  every  country,  e.Kcept  England, 
possesses,  sufficiently  proves  the  tnith  of  his  asser- 
tion. The  lovers  of  this  simple,  but  interesting  kind 
of  music,  are  here  presented  with  the  first  number 
of  a  collection,  which,  I  trust,  their  contributions  will 
enable  us  to  continue.  A  pretty  air  without  words 
resembles  one  of  those  half  creatures  of  Plato,  which 
are  described  as  wandering  in  search  of  the  re- 
mainder of  themselves  through  the  world.  To  supply 
this  other  half,  by  uniting  with  congenial  words  the 
many  fugitive  melodies  whiqli  have  hitlierto  had 
none, — or  only  such  as  are  unintelligible  to  the 
generality  of  their  hearers, — is  the  object  and  am- 
bition of  the  present  work.  Neither  is  it  our  inten- 
tion to  confine  ourselves  to  what  are  stiictly  called 
National  Melodies,  but,  wherever  we  meet  with  ajiy 
wandering  and  beautiful  air,  to  wliich  poetry  has  not 
yet  assigned  a  worthy  home,  we  shall  venture  to 
claim  it  as  an  estray  swan,  and  enrich  our  humble 
Hippocreno  with  its  song. 

*  *  •  *  * 

T.  M. 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


A  TEMPLE   TO   FRIENDSH    P.' 

(Spanish  Am.; 

"  A  Temple  to  Friendship,"  said  Laura,  enchanted, 

"  I'll  build  in  this  garden, — the  tliought  is  divine!" 
Her  temple  was  built,  and  she  now  only  wanted 

An  image  of  Friendship  to  place  on  the  shruie. 
She  flew  to  a  sculptor,  wlio  set  down  before  lier 

A  Friendship,  the  fairest  his  art  could  mvent  ; 
But  so  cold  and  so  dull,  that  the  youtliful  adorer 

Saw  plainly  this  was  not  the  idol  slie  meant. 

"  Oh  !    never,"  she  cried,  "  could  I  think  of  en- 
slirining 
"  An  image,  whoso  looks  are  so  joyless  aiid  dim ; — 
"  But  yon  little  god,  upon  roses  reclining, 

"  We'll  make,  if  you  please.  Sir,  a  Friendship  of 
him." 
So  the  bargain  was  struck ;  with  the  little  god  laden 

She  joyfully  Hew  to  her  shrine  in  the  grove : 
"  Farewell,"  said  the  sculptor,  "  you're  not  tlio  first 
maiden 
"  'Who  came  but  for  Friendship  iud  took  away 
Love." 


I  The  thought  is  taken  from  a  song  by  Le  rricur,  called 
"La  Statue  dc  rAmitie.*' 


280                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

FLOW  ON,  THOU  SHINING  RIVER. 

SO  WARMLY  WE  MET. 

(roRTCooEsi  Air.) 

(HuNoARiAK  Air.) 

Flow  on,  thou  shining  river  ; 

So  warmly  wo  mot  and  so  foudly  we  parted. 

But,  cro  tliou  reach  the  soa, 

That  which  was   the  sweeter  cv'u  I  could  not 

Seek  Ella's  bower,  and  give  l.er 

tell,— 

The  wreaths  I  fling  o'er  thcc. 

That  first  look  of  welcomo  her  sunny  eyes  darted. 

And  toll  her  thus,  if  she'll  ho  mine, 

Or  that  tear  of  passion,  which  bless'd  our  fare- 

The cnrrcut  of  our  lives  shall  be, 

well. 

With  joys  along  their  course  to  shine, 

To  meet  was  t.  heaven,  and  to  part  thus  another, — 

Like  those  sweet  flowers  on  thee. 

Our  joy  and  our  sorrow  scem'd  rivals  in  bliss  ; 

Oh  !  Cupid's  two  eyes  njo  not  liker  each  other 

But  if,  in  wand'ring  thither, 

lu  smiles  and  in  tears,  liiau  that  moment  to  this. 

Thou  find'st  she  mocks  ray  prayer, 

Then  leave  those  wreaths  to  wither 

The    first  was   like   daybreak,  new,   sudden,  deli- 

Upon the  cold  bank  there  ; 

cious, — 

And  tell  her  thus,  when  youth  is  o'er, 

The  dawn  of  a  pleasure  scarce  kindled  up  yet ; 

Her  lone  and  loveless  charms  shall  be 

The  last  like  the  farewell  of  daylight,  more  prccioas, 

Thrown  by  upon  life's  weedy  shore. 

More  glowing  and  deep,  as  'tis  nearer  its  set. 

Like  those  sweet  flowers  from  thee. 

Our  meeting,  though  happy,  was  tinged  by  a  sorrow 

To  think  that  such  happiness  could  not  remain  ; 

While  oiu:  parting,  though  sad,  gave  a  hope  that  to- 

morrow 
Would  bring  back  the  bless'd  hour  of  meeting 

again. 

ALL' THAT'S  BRIGHT  MUST  FADE. 

(Indian  Air.) 

All  that's  bright  must  fade, — 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest ; 

THOSE   EVENING   BELLS. 

All  that's  sweet  was  made, 

(AiK.— The  Bells  of  St.  Fetebsbdroh.) 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest. 

Stare  that  shine  and  fall ; — 

Those  evening  bells !  those  evening  bells ! 

The  flower  that  drops  in  springing  ; — 

How  many  a  tale  their  music  tells. 

These,  alas  I  are  types  of  all 

Of  youth,  aud  home,  and  that  sweet  time, 

To  which  our  hearts  aro  clinging. 

AVhen  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime. 

All  that's  bright  mu.>it  fade, — 

The  brightest  still  tlie  fleetest , 

Those  joyous  hours  are  pass'd  away ; 

All  that's  sweet  was  made 

And  many  a  heart,  that  then  was  gay. 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest ! 

Witliiu  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells, 

And  hears  no  more  those  evening  bells. 

Who  would  seek  or  prize 

Delights  that  end  in  achuig? 

And  so  'twill  be  when  I  am  gone  ; 

Who  would  trust  to  ties 

That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on. 

That  every  hour  .are  breaking? 

While  other  bards  shall  walk  these  dells. 

Better  far  to  bo 

And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  evonuig  bells . 

In  utter  darkness  lying, 

Than  tn  be  bless'd  with  light  and  see                   , 

• 

That  light  forever  flying. 

AU  that's  bright  must  fade, — 
The  brightest  still  the  fleetest ; 

All  that's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest ! 

NATIONAL  AIRS 


281 


SHOULD  THOSE  FOND  HOPES. 

(PoRTURUESK  Air.) 

Should  those  fond  hopes  e'er  forsake  theo,' 

Whicli  now  bo  sweetly  tliy  heart  employ  ; 
Should  tho  cold  world  come  to  wake  theo 

From  all  thy  visions  of  youth  and  joy  ; 
Should   the   gay  friends,   for  whom   thou  wouldst 
banish 

Him  who  once  thought  thy  young  heart  his  own, 
All,  Uke  spring  birds,  falsely  vanish, 

And  leave  thy  winter  mihceded  and  lone ; — 

Oh  !  'tis  then  that  he  thou  hast  slighted 

Would  come  to  cheer  thee,  when  all  seera'd  o'er ; 
Then  the  truant,  lost  and  blighted. 

Would  to  his  bosom  be  taken  once  more. 
Like  that  dear  bird  we  both  can  remember, 

Who  left  us  while  summer  shone  round. 
But,  when  chill'd  by  bleak  December, 

On  our  tlueshold  a  welcome  still  found. 


REASON,  FOLLY,  AND  BEAUTY. 

(Italian  .^ir.) 

Reason,  and  Folly,  and  Beauty,  they  say, 
Went  ou  a  party  of  pleasure  one  day : 

Folly  play'd 

Around  the  maid, 
The  bells  of  his  cap  rung  merrily  out ; 

While  Reason  took 

To  his  sermon-book — 
Oh  I  which  was  the  plcasanter  no  one  need  doubt, 
Which  was  the  pleasanter  no  one  need  doubt. 

Beauty,  who  likes  to  be  thought  very  sage, 
Turn'd  for  a  moment  to  Reason's  dull  page. 

Till  FoUy  said, 

"  Look  here,  sweet  maid  !" — 
The  sight  of  his  cap  brought  her  back  to  herself; 

While  Reason  read 

His  leaves  of  lead, 
With  n    one  to  mind  him,  poor  sensible  elf  I 
No, — ni   one  to  mind  him,  poor  sensible  elf ! 

Then  R  ason  grew  jealous  of  Folly's  gay  cap  ; 
Had  he  that  oa,  he  her  heart  might  entrap — 

1  This  is  one  of  the  many  instances  among  my  lyrical 
poems,—  though  the  above,  it  must  be  owned,  is  an  extreme 


"  Thern  it  is," 

Quoth  Folly,  "  old  quiz  !" 
(Folly  was  always  good-natured,  'tis  said,) 

"  Under  the  sun 

"  There's  no  such  fun, 
"  As  Reason  with  my  cap  and  bells  on  his  head, 
"  Reason  with  my  cap  and  bcUs  on  his  head  !" 

But  Reason  the  head-dress  so  awkv.'ardly  wore. 
That  Beauty  now  liked  him  still  less  than  before  ; 

Wiiile  Folly  took 

Old  Reason's  book. 
And  twisted  the  leaves  in  a  cap  of  such  ton, 

Tliat  Beauty  vow'd 

(Though  not  aloud,) 
She  liked  liim  still  better  in  that  than  his  own. 
Yes, — liked  him  still  better  in  that  than  his  own. 


FARE  THEE  WELL,  THOU  LOVELY  ONE  ! 

(Sicilian  Air.) 

Fare  thee  well,  tliou  lovely  one  ! 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 
Thy  words,  whate'er  their  flatt'ring  spell, 

Could  scarce  have  thus  deceived ; 
But  eyes  that  acted  truth  so  well 

Were  sure  to  bo  believed. 
Then,  fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one ! 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  j 
Once  his  soul  cf  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 

Yet  those  eyes  look  constant  still, 

Tnie  as  stars  they  keep  their  light ; 
Still  those  cheeks  their  pledge  fulfil 

Of  blushing  always  bright. 
'Tis  only  on  thy  changeful  heart 

The  blame  of  falsehood  lies  ; 
Love  lives  in  eveiy  other  part. 

But  there,  alas  1  he  dies. 
Then,  fare  theo  well,  thou  lovely  one ! 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 


case,— where  the  metre  has  been  necessarily  sacrificed  to 
the  structure  of  the  air. 


282 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


DOST  THOU  REMEMBER. 

{FORTUGUESE  AlR.) 

Dost  tliou  remember  that  place  so  lonely, 
A  place  for  lovere,  and  lovers  only, 

Wiiero  first  I  told  thee  all  my  secret  sighs  ? 
\Vlien,  as  tlie  moonbeam,  that  trembled  o'er  thee, 
lUumed  tliy  bluslies,  I  knelt  before  thee, 

And  read  my  liope's  sweet  triumph  in  those  eyes? 
Tlieu,  then,  while  closely  heart  was  drawn  to  heart. 
Love  bound  us — never,  never  more  to  part ! 

And  when  I  call'd  thee  by  names  the  dearest' 
Tliat  love  could  fancy,  the  fondest,  nearest, — 

"  My  life,  my  only  life  i''  among  the  rest ; 
In  those  sweet  accents  that  still  entliral  me, 
Thou  saidst,  "  Ah  I  wherefore  thy  life  thus  call  mo? 

"  Thy  soul,  thy  soul's  the  name  that  I  love  best ; 
"  For  life  soon  passes, — but  how  blesa'd  to  bo 
*'  That  Soul  which  never,  never  parts  from  thee  I'* 


OH,  COME  TO  ME  WHEN  DAYLIGHT 

SETS. 
(Venetian  Air.) 

Oh,  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets ; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me. 
When  smoothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  moonlight  sea. 
When  Mirtli's  awake,  and  Love  begins, 

Beneath  that  glancing  ray, 
With  sound  of  lutes  and  mandolins, 

To  steal  yoimg  hearts  away. 
Then,  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets  j 

Sweet  I  then  come  to  me. 
When  smoothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  moonlight  sea. 

Oh,  then's  the  hour  for  tliose  who  lovo, 

Sweet !  like  thee  and  me  ; 
When  all's  so  calm  below,  above. 

In  heav'n  and  o'er  the  sea. 
When  maidens  sing  sweet  barcarolles* 

And  Echo  sings  again 
So  sweet,  that  all  with  ears  and  soula 

Should  love  and  listen  then. 

>  The  thought  In  this  vcrae  b  borrowed  from  the  original 
Porlufiuese  words. 
'  BaicaruUcs,  sorle  lie  chansons  en  languc  Vtnllienno,  que 


So,  come  to  me  when  daylight  Eets ; 

Sweet  I  then  come  to  me. 
When  smoothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  moonlight  sfla 


OFT,  IN  THE  STILLY  NIGHT 

(Scotch  AtR.) 

Oft,  in  tlie  stilly  night. 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  li:.«  bound  me, 
Fond  Memory  brings  the  liglit 
Of  otiier  days  around  me  ; 
The  smiles,  the  tears, 
Of  boyhood's  years. 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken  ; 
The  eyes  that  shone. 
Now  dimm'd  and  gone. 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken  ! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  hath  bound  me. 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 

When  I  remember  all 

The  friends,  so  link'd  together, 
I've  seen  around  me  fall. 

Like  leaves  in  wintry  weather ; 
I  feel  like  one, 
Who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet-hall  deserted. 
Whose  lights  are  fled. 
Whose  gai'land's  dead. 
And  all  but  ho  departed  ! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night. 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 


HARK!  THE  VESPER  HYMN  IS  STEAL- 
ING. 

(Rdssian  Air.) 

Hark!  the  vesper  hymn  is  stealing 
O'er  the  waters  soft  and  clear ; 

rhanlcnt  Ics  gondoliers  a  Venise— Rousseau,  Diclionmiv 
de  Musique. 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


283 


Nearer  yet  and  nearer  pealing, 

And  now  bui"sts  upon  the  ear: 

Jubilate,  Amen. 

Farther  now,  now  farther  stealing, 

Soft  it  fades  upon  tlie  ear : 

Jubilatt,  Amen. 

Now,  like  moonlight  waves  retreating 

To  the  shore,  it  dies  along  ; 
Now,  like  angry  surges  meeting. 
Breaks  the  mingled  tide  of  song  : 
Jubilate,  Amen. 
Hush  1  again,  like  waves,  retreating 
To  tlie  shore,  it  dies  along : 
Jubilate,  Amen. 


LOVE  AND  HOPE. 

(S\vis3  Air.) 

At  mom,  beside  you  siuiimer  sea, 
Young  Jlope  and  Love  reclined ; 

But  scarce  had  noontide  come,  when  ho 

Into  his  bark  Icap'd  smilingly, 
And  left  poor  Hope  beliind. 

"  I  go,"  said  Love,  "  to  sail  awhilo 

"  Across  this  suuny  main  ;" 
And  then  so  sweet  his  parting  smile, 
Tliat  Hope,  who  never  dream'd  of  guile, 

Believed  he'd  come  again. 

She  linger'd  there  till  evening's  beam 

Along  the  waters  lay  ; 
And  o'er  the  sands,  in  thouglitful  dream. 
Oft  traced  his  name,  which  still  the  stream 

Aii  often  wash'd  away. 

At  length  a  sal!  appears  in  sight. 

And  tow'rd  the  maiden  moves! 
'Tis  Wealth  that  comes,  and  gay  and  bright, 
His  golden  bark  reflects  the  light, 
But  ah  !  it  is  not  Love's. 

Another  sail — 'twas  Friendship  show'd 
Her  night-lamp  o'er  the  sea ; 

And  calm  the  liglit  that  lamp  bestow'd  ; 

But  Love  had  lights  tliat  warmer  glow'd, 
And  where,  alas  I  was  he? 

Now  fast  around  the  sea  and  shore 

Night  threw  her  darkling  chain ; 
The  suuny  sails  were  seen  no  more, 
Hope's  morning  dreams  of  bliss  were  o'er, — 
Lovo  never  came  again. 


THERE  COMES  A  TIME. 
(German  Air.) 

There  comes  a  time,  a  di-eary  lime, 

To  him  whose  h.eart  liatli  llown 
O'er  all  tlie  fields  of  youth's  sweet  prime, 

And  made  each  flower  its  own. 
*Tis  when  his  soul  must  first  renounce 

Those  dreams  so  bright,  so  fond  ; 
Oh  !  then's  tlie  time  to  die  at  once, 

For  life  has  naught  beyond. 

When  sets  the  sun  on  Afric's  shore. 

That  instant  all  is  night ; 
And  so  should  life  at  once  be  o'er. 

When  Lovo  withdraws  his  Ught ; — 
Nor,  like  our  northern  day,  gleam  on 

Tlirougli  twilight's  dim  delay, 
The  cold  remains  of  lustre  gone, 

Of  fire  long  pass'd  away. 


MY  HARP  HAS  ONE  UNCHANGING 
THEME. 

(Swedish  Air.) 

My  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme, 

One  strain  that  still  comes  o'er 
lis  languid  chord,  as  'twere  a  dream 

Of  joy  that's  now  no  more. 
In  vain  I  try,  with  livelier  air. 

To  wake  the  breathing  string  ; 
That  voice  of  other  times  is  there. 

And  saddens  all  I  sing. 

Breatlio  on,  breathe  on,  thou  languid  strain. 

Henceforth  be  all  my  own  ; 
Though  thou  art  oft  so  full  of  pain 

Few  hearts  can  bear  Luy  tone. 
Yet  oft  thou'rt  ^vvcet,  as  if  the  sigh, 

The  breuUi  tliat  Pleasure's  wings 
Gave  out,  when  last  they  waiitou'd  by. 

Were  still  upon  thy  strings. 


OH,  NO— NOT  EV'N  WHEN    FIRST   WE 

LOVED. 

(Cashmerian  Air.) 

On,  no — not  ev'n  when  first  we  loved, 
Wert  thou  as  dear  as  now  thou  art ; 


26% 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Thy  beauty  then  my  ecnsps  moved, 
But  now  thy  virtues  bind  my  heart. 

What  was  but  Passion's  sigh  before, 
II;is  siaco  been  tuni'd  to  Reason's  vow  ; 

And,  thougli  I  then  might  love  tliee  more, 
'I'rust  me,  I  love  tliec  belter  now. 

Although  my  heart  in  earlier  youth 

Migl'.t  kindle  with  more  wild  do.'iire, 
Believe  me,  it  has  gain'd  in  truth 

Mucli  more  tlian  it  has  lost  in  fire. 
The  flame  now  warms  my  inmost  core, 

That  tlien  but  sparkled  o'er  my  brow, 
And,  though  I  secm'd  to  love  thee  more, 

Yet,  oh,  I  love  thee  better  now. 


PEACE  BE  AROUND  THEE. 
(Scotch  Aia.l 

Peace  be  around  thee,  wherever  thou  revest ; 

May  life  be  for  thee  one  summer's  day. 
And  all  that  thou  wishcst,  aud  all  that  thou  lovest, 

Come  smiling  around  thy  sunny  way  ! 
If  sorrow  e'or  this  calm  should  break, 

May  oven  thy  tears  pass  off  so  lightly, 
Like  spruig-sliowers,  they'll  only  make 

The  smilos  that  follow  shine  more  brightly 

May  Time,  who  sheds  his  blight  o'er  all, 

Ajid  daily  dooms  eonio  joy  to  death. 
O'er  thee  let  years  so  gently  fall, 

They  shall  not  crush  one  flower  beneath 
As  half  in  shade  and  half  in  sun 

This  world  along  its  path  advances, 
May  tliat  side  the  sun's  upon 

Be  all  that  e'er  shall  meet  thy  glances ! 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  GENIUS 
(Frknck  Air.) 

WinLE  I  tour'i  the  string. 

Wreath  my  brows  with  laurel, 
For  the  tale  I  sing 

Has,  for  once,  a  moral. 
Common  Sense,  one  night. 

Though  not  used  to  gambols. 
Went  out  by  moonlight. 

With  Genius,  on  his  ramble-s. 

While  I  touch  the  string,  &c. 


Common  Sense  went  on, 

]\Iany  wise  things  saying  ; 
While  the  light  that  shone 

Soon  set  Genius  straying 
One  his  eye  ne'er  raised 

From  the  path  before  him  ; 
T'other  idly  gazed 

On  each  night-cloud  o'er  him 

While  I  touch  the  string,  &c 

So  they  came,  at  last. 

To  a  shady  river ; 
Common  Sense  soon  pass'd. 

Safe,  as  ho  doth  ever  ; 
While  the  boy,  whoso  look 

Was  in  Heaven  that  minute. 
Never  saw  tlie  brook, 

Bnt  tumbled  headlong  in  it  I 

While  I  touch  the  string,  &c. 

How  the  Wise  One  smiled. 

When  safe  o'er  the  torrent. 
At  that  youth,  so  wild, 

Dripping  from  the  current ! 
Sense  went  home  to  bed  ; 

Genius,  left  to  shiver 
On  the  bank,  'tis  said. 

Died  of  that  cold  river  ! 

While  I  touch  the  string,  &c 


THEN,  FARE  THEE  WELL. 
(Or.D  Englisu  Air.) 

Tmf.n,  faro  thee  well,  my  own  dear  love. 

This  world  has  now  for  us 
No  greater  grief,  no  pain  above 

The  pain  of  parting  thus. 
Dear  love  ! 

The  pain  of  parting  thus. 

Had  we  but  known,  since  first  we  met. 
Some  few  short  hours  of  bliss. 

Wo  might,  in  nunib'ring  them,  forget 
Tlie  deep,  deej)  pain  of  this. 

Dear  love  ! 
The  deep,  deep  pain  of  tliis. 

But  no,  alas,  we've  never  seen 
One  glinipso  of  pleasure's  ray. 

But  still  there  came  some  cloud  between, 
Aud  chased  it  all  away. 

Dear  love  ! 
And  chased  it  all  away 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


285 


Yet,  ev'n  could  those  sad  moments  last. 

Far  dearer  to  my  heart 
Were  hours  of  grief,  together  pass'd, 

Thau  years  of  mirth  apart, 
Dear  love ! 

Thau  years  of  mirth  apart. 

Farewell !  our  hope  was  bom  in  fears, 
And  nursed  "mid  vain  regrets ; 

Like  winter  suus,  it  rose  in  teare, 
Like  tliem  in  tears  it  sets. 

Dear  love ! 
Like  them  in  teara  it  sets. 


GAYLY  SOUNDS  THE  CASTANET 

{Maltesb  Air.) 

Gavly  soimds  the  Castanet, 

Beating  time  to  bounding  feet, 
VVIicn,  after  daylight's  golden  set. 

Maids  aud  youths  by  moonlight  meet 
Oil,  then,  how  sweet  to  move 

Througli  all  that  maze  of  mirth. 
Led  by  light  from  eyes  we  love 

Beyond  all  eyes  on  earth. 

Tiien,  the  joyous  banquet  spread 

On  the  cool  and  fragrant  groimd, 
With  lieav'n's  briglit  sparklers  overhead, 

And  still  brighter  sparkling  romid. 
Oil,  then,  how  sweet  to  say 

Into  some  loved  one's  ear. 
Thoughts  reserved  through  many  a  day 

To  be  thus  whisper'd  hero. 

When  the  dance  and  feast  are  done, 

Arm  ic  arm  as  home  we  stray. 
How  sweet  to  see  the  dawning  sun 

O'er  her  cheek's  wann  blushes  play ! 
Then,  too,  the  farewell  kiss — 

The  words,  whose  parting  tone 
Lingers  still  in  dreams  of  bliss. 

That  hamit  young  hearts  alone. 


LOVE  IS  A  HUNTER-BOY. 

(Langdzdocian  .'VlR  ) 

Love  is  a  himter-boy, 

Who  makes  young  hearts  his  prey ; 
And,  in  his  nets  of  joy. 

Ensnares  them  night  and  day. 


In  vain  conceal'd  they  lie — 
Lovo  tracks  tlicm  everywhere ; 

In  vain  aloft  they  fly — 

Lovo  shoots  them  flying  there. 

But  'tis  his  joy  most  sweet. 

At  early  dawn  to  trace 
The  print  of  Beauty's  feet, 

Aud  give  the  trembler  chase. 
And  if,  through  virgin  snow. 

He  trades  her  footsteps  fair. 
How  sweet  for  Love  to  know 

None  went  before  bun  there. 


COME,  CHASE  THAT   STARTING  TEAR 
AWAY. 

(French  Air.) 

CcME,  chase  that  starting  tear  away. 

Ere  mine  to  meet  it  springs ; 
To-night,  at  least,  to-night  be  gay, 

Whato'er  to-morrow  brings. 
Like  sunset  gleams,  that  linger  late 

When  all  is  dark'ning  fast. 
Are  hours  like  these  we  snatch  from  Fate — 

The  brightest,  aud  the  last. 

Then,  chase  that  starting  tear,  &c 

To  gild  the  decp'ning  gloom,  if  Heaven 

But  one  bright  hour  allow, 
Oh,  think  tliat  oae  bright  hour  is  given 

In  all  its  splendor,  now. 
Let's  live  it  out — then  smk  in  night. 

Like  waves  that  from  the  shore 
One  minute  swell,  are  touch'd  with  light. 

Then  lost  for  evermore  ! 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear,  &c. 


JOYS  OF  YOUTH,  HOW  FLEETING! 

{Portuguese  Air.) 

Whisp'rings,  heard  by  wakeful  maids. 
To  whom  the  night-stars  guide  us ; 
Stolen  walks  through  moonlight  s'mdes. 
With  those  we  love  beside  iv' 
Hearts  beating, 
At  meeting; 
Tears  start  uig. 
At  partuig ; 


286 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Oh,  sweet  youth,  how  soon  it  fades ! 
Sweet  joys  of  youth,  how  fleeting ! 

Wand'rings  far  away  from  lioinc, 

With  life  all  new  before  us ; 
G  reelings  warm,  wlien  homo  wo  come, 
From  liearts  wliose  prayers  watch'd  o'er  us. 
Teara  starting. 
At  parting ; 
Hearts  beating. 
At  meeting ; 
Oh,  sweet  youtli,  liow  lost  on  some ! 
To  some,  how  bright  and  fleeting ! 


HEAR  ME  BUT  ONCE. 

(French  Air.) 

Hkar  me  but  once,  while  o'er  the  grave. 
In  which  our  Love  lies  cold  and  dead, 

I  count  each  flatt'riug  hope  he  gave 
Of  joys,  now  lost,  and  charms  now  fled. 

Who  could  have  thought  the  smile  he  wore, 
Wiien  fii-st  we  met,  would  fade  away? 

Or  tliat  a  chill  would  e'er  come  o'er 

Tiiose  eyea  so  bright  througli  many  a  day? 
Hear  me  but  ouce,  &c. 


WHEN  LOVE  WAS  A  CHILD. 

(Swedish  Air.) 

WuEN  hove  was  a  child,  and  went  idling  round, 
'Mong  flowers,  tlie  whole  summer's  day, 

One  morn  in  the  valley  a  bower  ho  found, 
So  sweet,  it  allured  him  to  slay. 

O'trhead,  from  the  trees,  hung  a  garland  fair, 

.\  fountain  ran  darkly  beneath  ; — 
'Twas  Pleasure  had  hiuig  up  the  flow'rets  there; 

Love  knew  it,  and  jump'd  at  tlie  wreath. 

But  Ijove  didn't  know — and,  at  h's  weak  years, 

N\'h;it  lu-chiu  was  likely  to  know? — 
Tiiat  Sorrow  had  made  of  her  own  salt  teara 

Tlie  fountaiu  that  murmur'd  below. 

Ho  caug!;t  at  the  wreath — but  with  too  much  haste, 

.Vs  boys  when  impatient  will  do^ 
It  fi'll  iu  those  waters  of  briny  taste. 

And  the  flowers  were  all  wet  tinough. 


Tliis  garland  he  now  wears  night  and  day ; 

And,  though  it  all  sunny  appears 
With  Pleasure-'s  own  Ught,  each  leaf,  they  say. 

Still  tastes  oi  the  Foimtain  of  Tears 


SAY,  WHAT  SHALL  BE  OUR  SPORT  TO- 
DAY? 

(Sicilian  .-Vir.) 

Sav,  what  sliall  be  our  sport  to-day? 

There's  nothing  on  eartii,  in  sea,  or  air. 
Too  brlglif,  too  higli,  too  wild,  too  gay, 

For  sp'.rits  like  mine  to  dare ! 
'Tis  like  the  returning  bloom 

Of  those  days,  alas,  gone  by. 
When  I  loved,  each  hour — I  scarce  knew  whom — 

And  was  bicss'd — I  scarce  knew  why.  • 

Ay — those  were  days  when  life  had  wings. 

And  flew,  oh,  flew  so  wild  a  height, 
Tliat,  like  the  lark  wliich  sunward  springs, 

'Twus  giddy  with  too  mucli  liglit. 
And,  though  of  some  plumes  bereft. 

With  that  sun,  too,  nearly  set, 
I've  enough  of  light  and  wing  still  left 

For  a  few  gay  soarings  yet 


BRIGHT  BE  THY  DREAMS. 

(Welsh  Air.) 

Bkigiit  be  thy  dreams — may  all  tliy  weeping 
Tui'n  into  smiles  while  thou  art  sleeping. 
May  those  by  death  or  seas  removed. 
The  friends,  v/lio  in  tliy  spring-thne  knew  thee. 

All,  thou  hast  ever  prized  or  loved. 
In  dreams  come  smiling  to  thee ! 

There  may  tl;o  cliild,  wliose  love  lay  deepest, 
Dearest  of  all,  come  while  thou  sleepest ; 
Still  as  she  was — no  charm  forgot — 
No  lustre  lost  that  life  had  given  ; 

Or,  if  changed,  but  changed  to  what 
Thou'lt  find  her  yet  in  Heaven ! 


NATIONAL  AIRS.                                              287 

And,  though  we  find  no  treasure  there, 

GO,  THEN— 'TIS  VAIN. 

Wo  bless  the  rose  that  shines  so  fair. 

O'er  mountains  bright 

(Sicilian  Air.) 

With  snow  and  liglit. 

Go,  then — 'tis  vain  to  hover 

We  Crj-stal-Himtcrs  s-peed  along ; 

Tims  round  a  liope  that's  dead; 

While  rocks  and  caves. 

At  length  my  dream  is  over  ; 

And  icy  waves, 

'Twas  sweet — 'twas  false — 'tis  fled !  »' 

Each  instant  echo  to  our  song. 

Farewell !  since  naught  it  moves  thee, 

Such  truth  as  mine  to  see — 
Some  one,  who  far  less  loves  thee, 

Perhaps  more  bicss'd  will  be. 

ROW  GENTLY  HERK 

Farewell,  sweet  eyes,  whose  brightness 

New  life  around  me  shed ; 

(Vesetiaij  Air.) 

Farewell,  false  heart,  whose  lightness 

Now  leaves  me  death  instead. 

Row  gently  here, 
My  gondolier. 

Go,  now,  tl'.ose  channs  surrender 

So  softly  wake  the  tide, 

To  some  new  lover's  sigh — 

One  wlio,  though  far  less  tender, 
May  be  more  bless'd  than  I. 

That  not  an  car. 

On  eartli,  may  hear. 

But  hers  to  whom  we  glide. 

Had  Heaven  but  tongues  to  speak,  as  well 

As  starry  eyes  to  see. 
Oh,  thmk  what  tales  'twould  have  to  tell 

Of  wandering  youths  hke  me  ! 

THE  CKYSTAL-UUNTERS 

Now  rest  thee  here. 

(Swiss  Air.) 

My  gondolier ; 

Hush,  hush,  for  up  I  go. 

To  climb  yon  light 

Balcony's  height. 
While  thou  keep'sl  watch  below. 

O'er  mountains  bright 

With  snow  and  light. 
We  Crj-stal-Huuters  speed  along ; 

Wliile  rocks  and  caves. 

Ah  I  did  we  take  for  Heaven  above 

And  icy  waves, 

But  half  such  pains  as  we 
Take,  day  and  night,  for  woman's  love, 
What  Angels  we  should  be ! 

Each  instant  echo  to  our  song ; 

And,  wl-.en  we  meet  with  store  of  gems, 

We  grudge  not  kings  their  diadems. 

O'er  mountains  bright 
With  snow  and  ligiit. 

We  Crystal-Hunters  speed  along ; 

Wliilc  grots  and  caves. 

OH,  DAYS  OF  YOUTH. 

And  icy  waves, 

(French  Air.) 

Each  instant  eclio  to  oirr  song. 

Oh,  days  of  youth  and  joy,  long  clouded, 

Not  half  so  oft  the  lover  dreams 

Why  tlius  forever  haunt  my  view  ! 

Of  sparkles  from  his  lady's  eyes. 

A\lien  in  the  grave  your  light  lay  shrouded. 

As  we  of  those  refreshing  gleams 

Why  did  not  Memory  die  there  too  1 

That  tell  where  deep  the  crystal  lies  ; 

Vainly  doth  Hope  her  strain  now  sing  me, 

Though,  next  to  crystal,  we  too  grant, 

Telling  of  joys  that  yet  remain — 

That  ladies'  eyes  may  most  enchant. 

No,  never  more  can  this  life  bring  me 

O'er  mountains  bright,  &«. 

One  joy  that  equals  youth's  sweet  pam. 

Sometimes,  when  on  tlie  Alpine  rose 

Dim  lies  the  way  to  death  before  me, 

The  golden  sunset  leaves  its  ray. 

Cold  winds  of  Time  blow  round  my  brow  ; 

So  like  a  gem  tlio  flow'ret  glows. 

Sunshine  of  youth  !  that  once  fell  o'er  me. 

We  tliither  bend  our  headlong  way ; 

Where  is  your  warmth,  your  glory  now? 

288                                              MOORE'S  WORKS. 

'Tin  not  that  theu  no  pain  could  sting  me ; 

'Tis  not  that  now  no  joys  remain  ; 

WHEN  THOU  SHALT  WANDER. 

Oh,  'lis  tliat  life  no  more  can  bring  me 

One  joy  so  sweet  as  that  woret  pain. 

(Sicilian  Am.) 

When  thou  shalt  wander  by  that  sweet  light 

We  used  to  gaze  on  so  many  du  eve, 

When  love  was  new  and  hope  v.-as  bright. 

Ere  I  could  doubt  or  tiiou  deceive — 

WHEN  FIRST  THAT  SMILE. 

Oh,  then,  rememb'ring  how  swift  went  by 

(Vesetiax  .Am.) 

Those  liours  of  transport,  even  thou  mayst  sigh. 

VViiEN   first  that  smile,  liUe  sunshine,  bless"d  my 

Yc?,  proud  one  !  even  tliy  heart  may  own 

sight, 

That  love  like  ours  was  far  too  sweet 

Oh  what  a  vision  then  camo  o'er  mo ! 

To  be,  like  summer  garments,  thrown 

Loni;  years  of  love,  of  calm  and  pure  delight, 

Aside,  when  pass'd  the  summers  heat ; 

Seem'd  in  that  smile  to  pass  before  me. 

And  wish  in  vain  to  know  again 

Ne'er  did  the  peasant  dream  of  summer  skies, 

Such  days,  such  nights,  as  bless'd  thee  then. 

Of  golden  fruit,  and  harvests  springing, 

With  fonder  liope  than  I  of  those  sweet  eyes, 

And  of  the  joy  tlieir  liglit  was  bringing. 

Where  now  are  all  those  fondly  promised  hours? 

Ah  I  woman's  faith  is  like  her  brightness — 

WPIO'LL  BUY  MY  LOVE-KNOTS? 

Fading  as  fast  as  rainbows,  or  day-flowers. 

(PORTCCDESE    AlR.) 

Or  auglit  that's  known  for  grace  and  lightness. 

Siiort  as  tiio  Persian's  prayer,  at  close  of  day, 

Hv.MEN,  late,  his  love-knots  selling. 

Should  bo  each  vow  of  Love's  repeating ; 

Call'd  at  many  a  maiden's  dwelling. 

Quick  let  him  worsliip  Beauty's  precious  ray — 

None  could  doubt,  who  saw  or  knew  them. 

Even  while  he  kneels,  that  ray  is  fleeting  1 

Hymen's  call  was  welcome  to  them. 

"  Wio'll  buy  my  love-knots  ? 

"  Who'll  buy  my  love-knots?'' 
Soon  as  that  sweet  cry  resounded. 

How  his  baskets  were  surrounded  ! 

PEACE  TO  THE  SLUMB'RERS ! 

Maids,  who  now  first  dream'd  of  trying 
These  gay  knots  of  Hymen's  tying  ; 

(Cataiosias  Am.) 

Pe.\ce  to  the  slumb'rei-s  I 

Dames,  wlio  long  had  sat  to  watch  hira 

Tliey  lie  on  the  battle-plain. 

Passing  by,  but  ne'er  could  catch  him ; 

With  no  shroud  to  cover  them ; 

"  Who'll  buy  my  love-knots  ? 

The  dew  and  the  summer  rain 

"  W'lio'll  buy  my  love-knots?" — 

Aro  all  that  weep  over  tliem. 

All  at  that  sweet  cry  assembled  ; 

Peace  to  the  slumb'rers ! 

Some  laugh'd,  some  blush'd,  and  some  trembled. 

Vain  was  their  brav'ry  ! — 

"  Here  are  knots,"  said  Hymen,  taking 

Tlie  fallen  oak  lies  where  it  lay 

Some  loose  flowere,  "  of  Love's  own  making ; 

Across  the  wintry  river  ; 

"  Here  are  gold  ones— -you  may  trust  'em" — 

But  bravo  hearts,  once  swept  away, 

(The«e,  of  course,  found  ready  custom,) 

Aro  gone,  alas  I  forever. 

"  Come,  buy  my  love-knots  ! 

Vain  was  their  brav'ry  ! 

"  Come,  buy  my  love-knots  ! 

"  Some  are  labcU'd  '  Knots  to  tie  men — 

Wo  to  the  conq'ror  I 

"  Love  tlie  maker — Bought  of  Hymen.'  " 

Our  limbs  shall  lie  as  cold  as  thoira 

Of  whom  his  sword  bereft  us, 

Scarce  their  bargains  were  completed. 

Ere  we  forget  the  deep  arrears 

When  the  nymjihs  all  cried.  "  AVe're  cheated  '. 

Of  vengeance  tliey  have  left  us ! 

"  See  these  flowers — they're  drooping  sadly  ; 

Wo  to  the  concj'ror  I 

"  Tliis  gold-knot,  too,  ties  but  badly — 

NATIONAL  AIRS.                                               289 

''  Who'd  buy  such  love-knots  T 

Then  listen,  maids,  come  listen,  while 

"  Who'd  buy  such  love-knots? 

Your  needle's  task  you  ply  ; 

"  Even  this  tie,  witli  Love's  name  round  it — 

At  what  I  sing  there's  some  may  emile. 

"  All  a  sham — He  never  bound  it." 

While  some,  perhaps,  will  sigh. 

Love,  who  saw  the  whole  proceeding. 

Young  Cloe,  bent  on  catching  Loves, 

Would  have  laugh'd,  but  for  good-breeding ; 

Such  nets  had  learn'd  to  frame. 

While  Old  Hymen,  who  was  used  to 

That  none,  in  all  our  vales  and  groves, 

Cries  like  that  these  dames  gave  loose  to — 

E'er  caught  so  mucli  small  game : 

"  Take  back  our  love-knots  I 

But  gentle  Sue,  less  giv'n  to  roam. 

"  Take  back  our  love-knots  !" 

While  Cloe's  nets  were  taking 

Coolly  said,  "  There's  no  returning 

Such  lots  of  Loves,  sat  still  at  home. 

"  Wares  on  Hymen's  hands — Good  morning  !" 

One  little  Love-cage  making. 

Come,  listen,  maids,  &c. 
Much  Cloe  laugh'd  at  Susan's  task  ; 

But  mark  how  things  went  on : 

SEE,  THE  DAWN  FROM  HEAVEN. 

These  light-caught  Loves,  ere  you  could  ask 

Their  name  and  age,  were  gone ! 

(To  AM  Air  scno  at  Rome,  on  Cup.istmas  Eve.) 

So  weak  poor  Cloe's  nets  were  wove. 

See,  the  dawn  from  Heaven  is  breaking 

That,  though  she  chaim'd  into  them 

O'er  our  sight. 

New  game  each  hour,  the  youngest  Love 

And  Earth,  from  sin  awaking, 

Was  able  to  break  through  them. 

Hails  the  light ! 

Come,  listen,  maids,  &c. 

See  those  groups  of  angels,  winging 

From  the  realms  above. 

Meanwhile,  young  Sue,  whose  cage  was  wrought 

On  their  brows,  from  Eden,  bringing 

Of  bars  too  strong  to  sever, 

Wreaths  of  Hope  and  Love. 

One  Love  with  golden  pinions  caught. 

And  caged  him  there  forever ; 

Hark,  their  hymns  of  glory  pealing 

Instructing,  thereby,  all  coquettes. 

Through  the  air, 

Whato'er  their  looks  or  ages, 

To  mortal  ears  revealing 

That,  though  'tis  pleasant  weaving  Nets, 

Who  lies  there  ! 

'Tis  wiser  to  make  Cages. 

In  that  dwelling,  dark  and  lowly, 

Sleeps  the  Heavenly  Son, 

Thus,  maidens,  thus  do  I  beguile 

He,  whose  home's  above, — the  Holy, 

The  task  your  fingers  ply. — 

Ever  Holy  One ! 

May  all  who  hear  like  Susan  smile. 

And  not,  like  Cloe,  eigh  ! 

NETS  AND  CAGES." 

WHEN  THROUGH  THE  PIAZETTA 

(Swedish  Air.) 

(Venetian  Air.) 

Come,  listen  to  my  story,  while 

Your  needle's  task  you  ply  ; 

When  through  the  Piazetta 

At  what  I  sing  some  maids  will  smile, 

Night  breathes  her  cool  air. 

Then,  dearest  Niuetta, 

While  some,  perhaps,  may  sigh. 

Though  Love's  the  theme,  and  Wisdom  blames 
Such  tlorid  songs  as  ours. 

I'll  come  to  thee  there. 

Beneath  thy  mask  shrouded, 

Yet  Truth  sometimes,  like  eastern  dames. 

I'll  know  thee  afar. 

Can  speak  her  thoughts  by  flowers. 

As  Love  knows,  though  clonded. 
His  own  Evening  Star. 

1  Sopgested  by  Ihe  following  remnrk  of  Swi(\; — "The 

reason  why  so  few  marriages  are  happy,  is,  becjuse  young 

In  garb,  then,  resembling 

ladies  spend  their  time  in  making  nets,  not  in  niakinj  oiges." 

Some  gay  gondolier. 

u> 


290 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I'll  whisper  thee,  trembling, 
"  Our  bark,  love,  is  near: 

"  Now,  now,  while  there  hover 
"  Tliose  clouds  o'er  tiie  moon, 

"  'Twill  waft  thee  safe  over 
"  Yon  silent  Lagoon." 


GO,  NOW,  AND  DREAM. 

(Sicilian  Air.) 

Go,  now,  and  dream  o'er  that  joy  in  thy  slumber- 
Moments  60  sweet  again  ne'er  shalt  thou  number. 
Of  Pain's  bitter  draught  the  flavor  ne'er  flics, 
While  Plcasiu-c's  scarce  touches  the  lip  ere  it  dies. 
Go,  then,  and  dream,  &-C. 

That  moon,  which  hung  o'er  your  parting,  so  splen- 
did, 
Often  will  sliiue  again,  bright  as  she  then  did — 
But,  never  more  will  tlie  beam  she  saw  bum 
In  those  happy  eyes,  at  your  meeting,  return. 
Go,  then,  and  dream,  &c. 


TAKE  HENCE  THE  BOWL. 

(Neapolitan  Air.) 

Take  honce  the  bowl ; — though  beaming 

Brightly  as  bowl  e'er  shone, 
Jh,  it  but  sets  me  dreaming 

Of  happy  days  now  gone. 
There,  in  its  cleSr  reflection. 

As  in  a  wizard's  gla.ss, 
Ixist  hopes  and  dead  alTection, 

Ijke  sliadcs,  before  me  pass. 

Each  cup  I  drain  brings  hither 

Some  scenes  of  bliss  gone  by  y-^ 
Bright  lips,  too  bright  to  wither. 

Warm  hearts,  too  warm  to  die. 
Till,  as  the  dream  comes  o'er  me 

Of  those  long-vanish'd  yeaiB, 
Alas,  the  wine  before  ne 

Seems  tmning  all  to  toare ! 


FAREWELL,  THERESA! 

(Venetlan  Air.) 

Farewell,  Theresa !  yon  cloud  that  over 
Heaven's  pale  night-star  gath'ring  we  see. 

Will  scarce  from  that  pure  orb  have  pass'd,  ere  thy 
lover 
Swift  o'er  the  wide  wave  shall  wander  from  thee 

Long,  like  that  dim  cloud,  I've  hung  around  thee, 

Dark'uing  thy  prospects,  sadd'ning  thy  brow  ; 
With  gay  heart,  Theresa,  and  bright  cheek  I  found 
thee  ; 
Oh,  think  how  changed,  love,  how  changed  art 
thou  now ! 

But  here  I  free  thee :  like  one  awaking 

From  fearful  slumber,  thou  break'st  the  spell ; 

Tis  over — the  moon,  too,  lier  bondage  is  break- 
ing- 
Past  are  the  dark  clouds ;  Theresa,  farewell ! 


HOW  OFT,  WHEN  WATCHING  STARS. 

(SAVoYARr*  Air.) 

Oft,  when  the  watching  stars  grow  pale. 

And  round  me  sleeps  tlie  moonlight  scene, 
To  hear  a  flute  through  yonder  vale 

I  from  my  casement  lean. 
"  Come,  come,  my  love  !"  each  note  then  seems  to 

say, 
"  Oh,  come,  my  love  I  the  night  wears  fast  away  !" 
Never  to  mortal  ear 

Could  words,  though  warm  they  be. 
Speak  Passion's  language  half  so  clear 
As  do  those  notes  to  me  ! 

Then  quick  my  own  light  lute  I  seek, 

And  strike  the  chords  with  loudest  swell ; 
And,  thougli  tliey  naught  to  others  speak. 

He  knows  their  language  well. 
"  I  come,  my  love  1"  each  note  then  seems  to  say, 
"  I  come,  my  love  1 — thine,  thine  till  break  of  day." 
Oh,  weak  the  power  of  words. 

The  hues  of  painting  dim. 
Compared  to  what  those  simple  chorda 
Then  say  and  paint  to  liim  ! 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


291 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SUMMER  BEE. 

(German  Air.) 

When  Iho  first  summer  bee 

O'er  the  young  rose  shall  hover, 
Then,  like  that  gay  rover, 
ril  come  to  thee. 
Ho  to  flowers,  I  to  lips,  full  of  sweets  to  the  brim — 
What  a  meeting,  what  a  meeting  for  me  and  for 
him! 
When  the  first  summer  bee,  &c. 

Then,  to  every  bright  tree 
In  the  garden  he'll  wander  j 
While  I,  oh,  much  fonder. 
Will  stay  with  thee. 
In  search  of  new  sweetness  through  thousands  he'll 

run, 
Wliile  I  find  the  sweetness  of  thousands  m  one. 
Then,  to  every  bright  tree,  &c. 


THOUGH  'TIS  ALL  BUT  A  DREAM. 

(French  Air.) 

Though  'tis  all  but  a  dream  at  the  best, 
And  still,  when  happiest,  soonest  o'er, 
Yet,  even  in  a  dream,  to  be  bless'd 
Is  so  sweet,  that  I  ask  for  no  more. 

The  bosom  that  opes 

Witli  earliest  hopes. 
The  Booneb  finds  those  hopes  untrue ; 

As  flovv  eri  that  first 

In  spring-time  burst 
The  earliest  wither  too '. 

Ay — 'tis  all  but  a  dream,  &c 

Though  by  Friendship  we  oft  are  deceived, 

And  find  Love's  sunshine  soon  o'ercast, 
■yet  Friendship  will  still  be  behoved, 
And  Love  trusted  on  to  the  last 
The  web  'moug  the  leaves 
The  spider  weaves 
Is  like  the  charm  Hope  hangs  o'er  men ; 
Though  often  she  sees 
'Tis  broke  by  the  breeze. 
She  spins  the  bright  tissue  again. 
Ay — 'tis  all  but  a  dream,  &C. 


WHEN  THE  WINE-CUP  IS  SMILING. 

(Italian  Air.) 

When  the  wine-cup  is  smiling  before  us, 

And  we  pledge  round  to  hearts  that  are  true,  boy, 
true, 
Then  the  sky  of  this  life  opens  o'er  us. 

And  Heaven  gives  a  glimpse  of  its  blue. 
Talk  of  Adam  in  Eden  recliuiug, 

We  are  better,  far  better  off  thus,  boy,  thus  ; 
For  him  but  two  bright  eyes  were  shining — 

See,  wliat  numbers  are  sparkling  for  us  . 

When  on  one  side  the  grape-juice  is  dancing, 

While  on  t'other  a  blue  eye  beams,  boy,  beams, 
'Tis  enough,  'twixt  the  wine  and  the  glancing, 

To  disturb  ev'n  a  saint  from  his  dreams. 
Yet,  though  life  like  a  river  is  flowing, 

I  care  not  how  fast  it  goes  on,  boy,  on. 
So  the  grape  on  its  bank  is  still  growing, 

And  Love  lights  the  waves  as  they  rim. 


WHERE  SHALL  WE  BURY  OUR  SHAME? 

(\kapoutan  Air.) 

Where  shall  we  bury  oiu"  shame  ? 

Where,  in  what  desolate  place, 
Hide  the  last  wreck  of  a  name 

Broken  and  stain'd  by  disgrace  ? 
Death  may  dissever  the  cliain. 

Oppression  will  cease  when  we're  gone  ; 
But  the  dishonor,  the  stain. 

Die  as  we  niay,  will  live  on. 

Was  it  for  this  wo  sent  out 

Liberty's  ciy  from  our  shore  ? 
AVas  it  for  this  that  her  shout 

ThriU'd  to  the  world's  very  core  ? 
Thus  to  live  cowards  and  slaves  ! — 

Oh,  ye  free  hearts  that  lie  dead. 
Do  you  not,  ev'n  in  your  graves, 

Shudder,  as  o'er  you  we  tread  ? 


NE'ER  TALK  OF  WISDOM'S  GLOOMY 

SCHOOLS. 

(Mahratta  Air.) 

Ne'er  talk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  schools  ; 
Give  me  the  sage  who's  able 


292 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  draw  his  moral  thoughts  and  rules 
From  the  study  of  tho  tabic ; — 

Who  learns  how  hghtly,  fleetly  pass 
This  world  and  all  tliat'a  in  it, 

From  the  bumpor  that  but  crnmis  liia  glass, 
And  is  gone  again  next  minute  '. 

The  diamond  sleeps  within  the  mine, 

Tho  pearl  beneath  the  water ; 
While  Truth,  more  precious,  dwells  in  wino. 

The  grape's  own  rosy  daughter. 
.-Vud  none  can  prize  her  charms  like  him, 

Oil,  none  like  him  obtain  her, 
Who  thus  can,  like  Leander,  swim 

Through  sparkling  tloods  to  gain  her ! 


HERE  SLEEPS  THE  BARD. 
(lliGULAND  Air.) 

Here  sleeps  the  Bai'd  who  knew  so  well 

All  the  sweet  windings  of  Apollo's  shell ; 
AVhether  its  music  roll'd  like  torrents  near. 
Or  died,  like  distant  streamlets,  on  the  ear. 
Sleep,  sleep,  mute  bard ;  alike  unheeded  now 
'l"he  storm  and  zeplijT  sweep  thy  lifeless  brow  ; — 
That  BtoiTii,  whose  rush  is  like  thy  martial  lay  ; 
That  breeze  which,  like  thy  love-song,  dies  away ! 


DO  NOT  SAY  THAT  LIFE  IS  WANING. 

Do  not  say  that  life  is  waning, 
Or  that  Hope's  sweet  day  is  set ; 

While  I've  thee  and  love  remaining, 
Life  is  in  th'  horizon  yet. 

Do  not  think  those  charms  are  flying, 
Though  thy  roses  fade  and  fall  ; 

Beauty  hath  a  grace  undying. 
Which  in  thee  survives  them  all. 

Not  for  charms,  tho  newest,  brightest, 
That  on  other  cliceks  may  shine, 

Would  I  change  tho  least,  the  slightest, 
That  is  ling'ring  now  o'er  thine. 


THE  GAZELLE. 

Dost  thou  not  hear  the  silver  bell, 
Tlirough  yonder  hme-trees  ringing? 

'Tis  my  lady's  light  gazelle. 

To  mo  her  lovo  thoughts  bringmg, — 

All  the  while  that  silver  bell 
Around  liis  dark  neck  ringing. 

See,  iu  his  mouth  he  bears  a  wreath, 
Jly  love  hath  kiss'd  m  tying ; 

Oh,  wliat  tender  thoughts  beneath 
Those  silent  ilowers  are  lying, — 

Hid  within  tho  mystic  wreath, 
My  love  hath  krad  iu  tying  I 

Welcome,  dear  gazelle,  to  thee, 

And  joy  to  her,  the  fairest. 
Who  thus  hath  breathed  her  soul  to  me, 

In  every  leaf  tliou  bearest ; 
Welcome,  dear  gazelle,  to  thee. 

And  joy  to  her,  the  fairest ! 

Hail  ye  living,  speaking  flowers. 
That  breathe  of  her  who  bound  ye  ; 

Oh,  'twas  not  in  fields,  or  bowers, 
'Twas  on  her  lips,  she  found  ye ; — 

Yes,  ye  blushing,  speaking  flowers, 
'Twas  on  her  lips  she  found  ye. 


NO— LEAVE  MY  HEART  TO  REST. 

No — leave  my  heart  to  rest,  if  rest  it  may. 

When  youth,  and  love,  and  hope,  have  pass'd  away. 

Couldst  thou,  when  siunmer  hours  are  fled, 

To  some  poor  leaf  that's  fall'n  and  dead. 

Bring  back  the  hue  it  wore,  the  scent  it  shed  ? 

No — leave  this  heart  to  rest,  if  rest  it  may, 

When  youth,  and  love,  and  hope,  have  pass'd  away. 

Oh,  had  I  met  thee  then,  when  life  was  bright, 

Thy  smile  might  still  have  fed  its  tranquil  light : 

But  now  thou  com'st  like  sunny  slcies. 

Too  late  to  cheer  the  seaman's  eyes. 

When  wreck'd  and  lost  his  bark  before  him  lies ! 

No — leave  this  heart  to  rest,  if  rest  it  may, 

Since  youth,  and  love,  and  hope,  have  pass'd  away 


NATIONAL  AIRS.                                              293 

- 

And  though,  as  Time  gathers  his  clouds  o'er  our 

WHERE  ARE  THE  VISIONS. 

head. 

A  shade  somewhat  darker  o'er  life  they  may  spread, 

"  WiiEEi;  are  tlie  visions  that  round  me  once  hover'd, 

Transparent,  at  lea.st,  be  the  shadow  they  cast, 

*•  Forms   that   shed   grace    from   their   shadows 

So  that  Love's  softcu'd  light  may  shine  through  to 

alone ; 

the  last. 

Looks  fresh  as  light  from  a  star  just  discover'd, 

"  And  voices  that  Music  might  take  for  her  own  7" 
Time,  while  I  spoke,  with  his  wmgs  resting  o'er 

mo. 

SLUMBER,  OH  SLUMBER. 

Hoard  mo   say,  "  Where  are   tliose  visions,  oh 

where  V 

•'  Slumber,  oh  slumber  ;  if  sleeping  thou  mak'st 

And  pointing  his  wand  to  the  sunset  before  me, 

"  My  heart  beat  so  wildly,  I'm  lost  if  thou  wak'st" 

Said,  with  a  voice  Uke  tlie  hollow  wind,  "  There." 

Thus  sung  I  to  a  maiden. 

Who  slept  one  summer's  day, 

Fondly  I  look'd,  when  the  wizard  had  spoken. 

And,  like  a  flower  o'erladen 

And  there,  mid  the  dim  shininfj  ruins  of  day. 

With  too  much  sunshine,  lay. 

Saw,  by  their  light,  like  a  talisman  broken, 

Slumber,  oh  slumber,  &c. 

The  last  golden  fragments  of  hope  melt  away. 

"  Breathe  not,  oh  breathe  not,  ye  winds,  o'er  her 

cheeks ; 
"  If  mute  thus  she  charm  me,  I'm  lost  when  she 

speaks." 

WIND  THY  HORN,  MY  HUNTER  BOY. 

Thus  sing  I,  while,  awaking. 

She  murmurs  words  that  seem 

Wind  thy  horn,  my  hunter  boy. 

As  if  her  lips  were  taking 

And  leave  thy  lute's  inglorious  sighs; 

Farewell  of  some  sweet  dream. 

Hunting  is  the  hero's  joy. 

Breathe  not,  oh  breathe  not,  &c 

Till  war  his  nobler  game  supplies. 

Hark  !  the  hound-bells  ringing  sweet. 
While  hunters  shout,  and  the  woods  repeat, 

Hilli-ho!  Hilli-ho! 

BRING  THE  BRIGHT  GARLANDS 

Wind  again  thy  cheerful  horn. 

HITHER. 

Till  echo,  faint  with  answ'ring,  dies : 

Bum,  bright  torches,  bum  till  mom. 

Bring  the  bright  garlands  hither. 

And  lead  us  where  the  wild  boar  lies. 

Ere  yet  a  leaf  is  dying  ;* 

Hark  ,  the  cry,  "  He's  found,  he's  found," 

If  BO  soon  they  must  wither. 

\Vhil«   Jill  and  valley  our  shouts  resound, 

Ours  be  their  last  sweet  sighing. 

Hilh-ho!  Hilli-ho 

Hark,  that  low  dismal  chime  '. 

'Tis  the  dreaiy  voice  of  Time. 

Oh,  bring  beauty,  bring  roses. 
Bring  all  that  yet  is  ours ; 

Let  life's  day,  as  it  closes, 

OH,  GUARD  OUR  AFFECTION. 

Shine  to  the  last  tlurougli  floweiB. 

On,  guard  our  affection,  nor  e'er  let  it  feel 

Haste,  ere  the  bowl's  declining. 

The  blight  tiiat  this  v/orld  o"er   the  warmest  will 

Drink  of  it  now  or  never ; 

steal : 

Now,  while  Beauty  is  shining. 

While  the  faith  of  all  round  us  is  fading  or  past, 

Love,  or  she's  lost  forever. 

Let  ours,  ever  green,  keep  ite  bloom  to  the  last. 

Hark  !  again  that  dull  chime. 

'Tis  the  dreary  voice  of  Time. 

Far  Eafer  for  Love  'tis  to  wake  and  to  weep. 

Oh,  if  life  be  a  torrent, 

As  he  used  in  his  prime,  than  go  smiling  to  slcp  ; 

Down  to  oblivion  going. 

For  death  on  his  sluniber,  cold  death  follows  fa^t, 

Like  this  cup  be  its  current. 

While  the  love  that  is  wakeful  lives  on  to  the  last. 

Bright  to  the  last  drop  flowing  ! 

294 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


IF  IN  LOVING,  SINGING. 

If  in  loving,  singing,  night  and  day 

Wo  could  trifle  miTrily  life  away, 

Liiie  atoms  dancing  in  the  beam, 

Like  day-flies  skimming  o'er  the  stream. 

Or  sunnner  blossoms,  burn  to  sigh 

Tlioir  sweetness  out,  and  die — 

How  brilliant,  thoughtless,  side  by  Bide, 

Thou  and  I  could  make  our  minutes  glide ! 

No  atoms  ever  glanced  so  bright, 

No  day-flies  ever  danced  so  light. 

Nor  summer  blossoms  mix'd  their  sigh. 

So  cloee,  aa  thou  and  I ! 


THOU  LOVST  NO  MORE. 

Too  plain,  alas,  my  doom  is  spoken. 
Nor  canst  thou  veil  the  sad  truth  o'er  ; 

Thy  heart  is  changed,  thy  vow  is  broken. 
Thou  lov'st  no  more — thou  lov'st  no  more. 

Though  kindly  still  those  eyes  behold  me, 
Tlie  smiie  is  gone,  which  once  they  wore  • 

Tliough  fondly  still  those  arms  enfold  me, 
'Tis  not  the  same — thou  lov'st  no  more. 

Too  long  my  dream  of  bliss  believing, 
I've  thought  thee  all  thou  wert  before ; 

Uut  now — alas  !  there's  no  deceiving, 
'Tis  all  too  ])lain,  thou  lov'st  no  more. 

Oh,  thou  as  soon  the  dead  couldst  waken, 

.\s  lost  aff'cction's  life  restore. 
Give  peace  to  her  that  is  forsaken. 

Or  bring  back  him  who  loves  no  more. 


WHEN  ABROAD  IN  THE  WORLD 

When  abroad  in  the  world  thou  appcarcst. 
And  the  young  and  the  lovely  are  there, 
To  my  heart  while  of  all  thon'rt  the  doarej^t, 
To  my  eyes  Ihou'rt  of  all  the  most  fair. 
They  pass,  one  by  one. 

Like  waves  of  the  sea. 
That  say  to  the  Sun, 

"  See,  how  fair  wo  can  be." 


But  Where's  the  light  like  thiue, 
In  sun  or  shade  to  shine? 
No — no,  'mong  them  all,  there  is  nothing  like  thee, 
Nothing  like  thee. 

Oft,  of  old,  without  farewell  or  warning, 

Beauty's  self  used  to  steal  from  the  skies  ; 
Fling  a  mist  round  her  head,  some  fine  morning, 
And  post  down  to  earth  in  disguise  ; 
But,  no  matter  what  shroud 

Around  her  might  bo. 
Men  peep'd  through  the  cloud, 
And  whisper'd  "  'Tis  She." 
So  thou,  where  thousands  are, 
Shin'st  forth  the  only  star — 
Yes,  yes,  'mong  them  all,  there  is  nothing  like  thee, 
Nothing  like  thee. 


KEEP  THOSE  EYES  STILL  PURELY  MINE. 

Keep  those  eyes  still  purely  muie. 

Though  far  off  I  be : 
When  on  others  most  they  shine, 

Then  think  they're  turn'd  on  me. 

Should  those  lips  as  now  respond 

To  sweet  minstrelsy, 
When  their  accents  seem  most  fond. 

Then  think  they're  breathed  for  me. 

Make  what  hearts  thou  wilt  thy  own. 

If  when  all  on  thee 
Fix  their  charmed  thoughts  alone, 

Thou  think'st  the  wliile  on  me. 


HOPE  COMES  AGAIN. 

Hope  comes  again,  to  this  heart  long  a  stranger, 
Once  more  she  sings  me  her  flattering  strain ; 

But  hush,  gentle  syren^for,  ah,  there's  less  danger 
In  still  sufF'ring  on,  than  in  hoping  again. 

Long,  long,  in  sorrow,  too  deep  for  repining. 
Gloomy,  but  tranquil,  this  bosom  hatli  lain ; 

And  joy  coming  now,  like  a  sudden  light  shining 
O'er  eyelids  long  darkeu'd,  would  bring  mo  but 
pain. 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


295 


Fly  then,  ye  visions,  that  Hope  would  shed  o'er 
me  ; 

liOst  to  the  future,  my  sole  chance  of  rest 
Now  lies  not  in  dreaming  of  bliss  that's  before  me, 

But,  ah — in  forgettmg  how  ouce  I  was  blest. 


O  SAY,  THOU  BEST  AND  BRIGHTEST. 

O  SAY,  thou  best  aud  brightest, 

My  first  love  and  my  last, 
When  he,  whom  now  thou  slightest. 

From  life's  dark  scene  hath  pass'd. 
Will  kinder  thoughts  tlien  move  thee  ? 

Will  pity  wake  one  thrill 
For  liim  who  lived  to  love  thee. 

And  dying,  loved  thee  still  ? 

If  when,  that  hour  recalling 

From  which  he  dates  his  woes. 
Thou  feel'st  a  tear-drop  falling, 

All,  blush  not  while  it  flows : 
But,  all  the  past  forgiving. 

Bend  gently  o'er  his  shrine, 
And  say,  "  This  heart,  when  living, 

•'  With  all  its  faults,  was  mine." 


WHEN  NIGHT  BRINGS  THE  HOUR. 

When  night  brings  the  hour 

Of  starlight  and  joy. 
There  comes  to  my  bower 

A  fairy-wing'd  boy ; 
With  eyes  so  bright. 

Sir  full  of  wild  arts. 
Like  i.ets  of  light. 

To  tangle  young  hearts ; 
With  lips,  in  whose  keeping 

Love's  secret  may  dwell. 
Like  Zephyr  asleep  in 

Some  rosy  sea-shell. 
Guess  who  he  is. 

Name  but  his  name, 
And  his  best  kiss. 

For  reward,  you  may  claim. 

Where'er  e'er  the  ground 

He  prints  liis  light  feet. 
The  flow'rs  there  are  found 

Most  shiuing  and  sweet : 


His  looks,  as  soft 

As  lightning  in  May, 
Though  dangerous  oft. 

Ne'er  wound  but  in  play: 
And  oh,  when  his  wings 

Have  brusli'd  o'er  my  lyre, 
You'd  fancy  its  strings 

Were  turning  to  fire. 
Guess  who  he  is. 

Name  but  his  name. 
And  his  best  kiss. 

For  reward,  you  may  claim. 


LIKE  ONE  WHO,  DOOM'D. 

Like  one  wlio,  doom'd  o'er  distant  seas 

His  weary  path  to  measure. 
When  home  at  length,  with  fav'ring  breeze,  • 

He  brings  the  far-sought  treasure  ; 

His  ship,  in  sight  of  shore,  goes  dowa, 
That  shore  to  which  he  hasted  ; 

And  all  the  wealth  he  thought  his  own 
Is  o'er  the  waters  wasted. 

Like  him,  this  heart,  thro'  many  a  trac& 

Of  toil  and  sorrow  straying, 
One  hope  alone  brought  fondly  back, 

Its  toil  and  grief  repaying. 

Like  him,  alas,  I  see  tliat  ray 

Of  hope  before  me  perish. 
And  one  dark  minute  sweep  away 

What  years  were  given  to  cherish. 


FEAR  NOT  THAT,  WHILE  AROUND 
THEE. 

Fear  not  that,  while  around  thee 

Life's  varied  blessings  pour. 
One  sigh  of  hers  shall  wound  thee. 

Whose  smile  thou  seek'st  no  more. 
No,  dead  and  cold  forever 

Let  our  past  love  remain  ; 
Once  gone,  its  spirit  never 

Shall  haunt  thy  rest  again. 

May  the  new  ties  that  bind  thee 
Far  sweeter,  happier  prove. 


296 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Nor  e'er  of  mo  remind  tliee, 
But  by  their  trutli  and  love. 

Thiuk  how,  aslocp  or  walsing, 
Thy  image  haunts  me  yet ; 

But,  how  this  lieart  is  breaking 
For  thy  own  peace  forget 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  KIND. 

VVhe.m  Love  is  kind. 

Cheerful  and  free. 
Love's  sure  to  find 

Welcome  from  me 

But  when  Love  bringg 
Heartache  or  pang, 

Tears,  and  such  things- 
Love  may  go  Jiang ! 

If  Love  can  sigh 

For  one  alone, 
Well  pleased  am  I 

To  be  that  one. 

But  shouW  I  see 

Love  giv'n  to  rove 
To  two  or  three. 

Then — good-by.  Love ! 

Love  must,  in  short, 
Keep  fond  and  true, 

Through  good  report. 
And  evil  too. 

Else,  here  I  swear, 
Young  Love  may  go. 

For  auglit  I  care — 
To  Jericho. 


THE  OARL.\ND  I  SEND  THEE. 

The  Garland  I  send  thee  was  culi'd  from  those 

bowers 
Where  then  and  I  wander'd  in  long  vanish'd  hours ; 
Not  a  loaf  or  a  bloeeom  itH  bloom  hero  displays. 
But  bears  eomo  remembrance  of  those  happy  days. 

The  roee«  wore  gather'd  by  that  garden  gate. 
Whore  our  meetings,  though  early,  seem'd  always  too 
late ; 


Where  ling'ring  full  oft  through  a  summer-night's 

moon. 
Our  partings,  though  late,  appear'd  always  too  soon. 

The  rest  were  all  culi'd  from  the   banks  of  tlmt 

glade. 
Where,  watching  tho  sunset,  so  often  we've  stray'd. 
And  mouni'd,  as  the  time  went,  that  Love  had  no 

power 
To  bind  in  his  cheiin  even  one  happy  hour. 


HOW  SHALL  I  WOO? 

If  I  speak  to  thee  in  Friendship's  namfl. 

Thou  think'st  I  speak  too  coldly ; 
If  I  mention  Love's  devoted  flame. 

Thou  say'st  I  speak  too  boldly. 
Between  these  two  unequal  fires. 

Why  doom  me  thus  to  hover  ? 
I'm  a  friend,  if  sucli  thy  heart  requires. 

If  more  thou  seek'st,  a  lover. 
Which  shall  it  be  ?  How  shall  I  woo? 
Fair  one,  choose  between  the  two. 

Tho'  the  wirigs  of  Love  will  brightly  play. 

When  fu^t  he  comes  to  woo  thee, 
There's  a  chance  that  he  may  fly  away 

As  fast  as  he  flies  to  thee. 
While  Friendship,  though  on  foot  she  come, 

No  flights  of  fancy  tr)-ing. 
Will,  therefore,  oft  be  found  at  home. 

When  Love  abroad  is  flying. 
Which  shall  it  be  ?  How  shall"  I  woo  ? 
Dear  one,  choose  between  tlie  two. 

If  neither  feeling  suits  thy  heart, 

Let's  see,  to  please  thee,  whether 
Wo  may  not  learn  some  precious  art 

To  mix  their  charms  together ; 
One  feeling,  still  more  sweet,  to  fomt 

From  two  so  sweet  already — 
A  friendsl,ip  that  hke  love  is  wann, 

A  love  like  friendship  steady. 
Thus  let  it  be,  thus  let  me  woo, 
Dearest,  thus  we'll  join  tho  two. 


SPRING  AND  AUTUMN. 

Ev'rv  season  hath  its  pleasures ; 
Spring  may  boast  her  flow'ry  prime, 


SACRED 

SONGS.                                               297 

Yet  the  vineyard's  niby  treasures 

Spring  may  take  our  loves  and  flow'rs, 

Brigliten  Autumn's  sob'rer  time. 

So  Autumn  leaves  us  friends  and  wine. 

So  Life's  year  begins  and  closes  ; 

Days,  tliougli  sliort'ning,  still  can  sliiue  ; 
What  though  youlh  gave  love  and  roses, 

Age  still  leaves  us  friends  and  wine. 

LOVE  ALONE. 

Phillis,  when  she  might  liave  caught  me, 

If  thou  wouldst  have  thy  charms  enchant  our  eycB, 

All  the  Spring  look'd  coy  and  shy, 

First  win  our  hearts,  for  there  thy  empire  lies: 

Yet  herself  in  Autumn  sought  me. 

Beauty  in  vain  would  mount  a  heartless  throne, 

When  the  flowers  were  all  gone  by 

Her  Right  Divine  is  given  by  Love  alone. 

Ah,  too  late  ; — she  found  her  lover 

Calm  and  free  beneath  his  vine, 

What  would  the  rose  with  all  her  pride  be  worth, 

Drinking  to  the  Spring-time  over 

Were  there  no  sun  to  call  her  briglitness  forth  ? 

In  his  best  autumnal  wine. 

Maidens,  unloved,  like  flowers  in  darkness  thrown. 

Wait  but  that  light,  which  comes  from  Love  alone. 

Thus  may  we,  as  years  are  flying. 

To  their  flight  our  pleasures  suit, 

Fair  as  thy  charms  in  yonder  glass  appear. 

Nor  regret  the  blossoms  dying, 

Trust  not  their  bloom,  they'll  fade  from  year  to  yeai . 

While  we  still  may  taste  tho  fruit 

Wouldst  thou  they  still  should  sliine  as  first  they 

Oh,  while  diiys  like  this  are  ours. 

shone. 

Wlicre's  the  lip  that  dares  repine  7 

Go,  fix  thy  mirror  in  Love's  eyes  alone. 

SACRED 

SONGS. 

T 

EDWARD  TUITI 

0 

:  DALTON,  ESQ. 

THIS    FIRST    NUMBER   OF   SACRED    BONGS   IS    INSCRIBED,                                                                         1 

BY    ins   SINCE 

RE    AND    AFFECTIO.SATE    FRIEND, 

TH0.M.\3  MOORE. 

Xa^eld  Cottage,  Ashbourne,  May,  1816. 

THO  .   ART,  OH  GOD. 

When  Day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays 

Among  the  op'ning  clouds  of  Even, 

(Air.— Umknown.'  ) 

And  we  can  almost  think  wo  gaze 

"  Tile  day  is  thine,  the  night  also  is  thine  :  thou  hast  pre- 

Through golden  vistas  into  Heaven — 

pared  the  light  and  the  sun. 

Those  hues  that  make  the  Sun's  decline 

"  Thou  hast  set  all  tho  borders  of  the  earth ;  thou  ha-lt 

made  summer  and  winter." — Psalm  lx.xiv.  16,  17. 

So  soft,  so  radiant.  Lord  !  are  Thine. 

Thou  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  light 

When  Night,  with  winp^s  of  staiTy  gloom, 

Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see ; 

O'ersliadows  all  tlie  earth  and  skies. 

lis  glow  by  day,  its  smilo  by  night, 

Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume 

Are  but  reflections  caught  from  Thee. 

Is  sparkling  with  unnumber'd  eyes — 

Where'er  wo  turn,  thy  glories  shine. 

That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine, 

AxJ  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine ! 

So  grand,  so  countless.  Lord  !  are  Thine. 

'  I  have  heard  that  this  air  is  liy  the  late  Mrs.  Sheridan. 
It  is  sung  to  the  beautiful  old  words,  "  I  do  confess  thou'rt 

When  youthful  Spring  around  us  breathes, 

smooth  and  fair.'* 

Thy  Spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh  ; 

298 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  every  flower  the  Summer  wreaths 

Is  born  beneath  that  kindling  eye. 
Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine, 
Ajid  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thino  I 


THE  BIRD,  LET  LOOSE. 

(Air.— Bektuoven.) 

The  bird,  let  loose  in  casteni  skies,* 

When  hast'uing  foudly  home, 
Ne'er  stoops  to  eartb  iier  wing,  nor  flies 

Where  idle  warblers  roam. 
But  high  she  shoots  through  air  and  light. 

Above  all  low  delay. 
Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  her  flight, 

Nor  shadow  dims  her  way. 

So  grant  me,  God,  from  every  car© 

And  s^ain  of  passion  free. 
Aloft,  tlirougli  Virtue's  purer  air, 

To  hold  my  course  to  Thee ! 
No  sin  to  cloud,  no  lure  to  stay 

I\Iy  Soul,  as  home  she  springs  ; — 
Tliy  Sunshine  on  her  joyfid  way, 

Tliy  Freedom  in  her  wings  I 


FALLEN  IS  THY  THRONE. 
(Air. — Martini.) 

Fall'n  is  thy  Throne,  oh  Israel ! 

Silence  is  o'er  thy  plains ; 
Thy  dwellings  all  he  desolate, 

Thy  children  weep  in  chains. 
Where  are  the  dews  that  fed  thee 

Oil  Etham's  barren  shore  ? 
That  lire  from  Heaven  which  led  thee, 

Now  lights  thy  path  no  more. 

1  The  carrier-pigeon,  it  is  well  known,  flic3  at  an  elevated 
pilcli,  in  order  to  surmount  every  obstacle  between  her  and 
the  plncc  Id  which  slic  is  dcslincii, 

^  "I  have  ieft  mine  heritage;  I  have  given  the  dearly 
beloved  ot'my  sou!  Into  the  bunds  of  her  enemies." — Jere- 
miah, xii.  7. 

3  '*  Do  not  disgrace  the  throne  of  thy  glory."— 7cr. 
xiv.  21. 

*  "The  Lord  called  thy  name  n  green  oUve-lrce ;  fdir,  and 
of  goodly  fruit,"  tc Jcr.  li.  16. 

»  "  For  he  shall  be  like  the  heath  In  the  desert."— Jfr. 
xvil.  G. 


XjOrd  !  thou  didst  love  Jerusalem— 

Once  she  was  all  thy  own ; 
Her  love  tliy  fairest  heritage," 

Her  power  thy  glory's  throne.' 
Till  evil  came,  and  blighted 

Thy  long-loved  olive  tree  ;' — 
And  Salem's  shrines  were  lighted 

For  other  gods  than  Thee. 

Then  sunk  the  star  of  Solyma — . 

Then  pass'd  her  glory's  day, 
Like  heath  that,  in  the  wilderness,* 

The  wild  wind  whirls  away. 
Silent  and  waste  her  bowers. 

Where  once  the  mighty  trod, 
And  sunk  those  guilty  towers, 

Wlulo  Baal  reign'd  as  God. 

"  Go" — said  the  Lord — "  Ye  Conquerore 

"  Steep  in  her  blood  your  swords, 
"  And  raze  to  earth  her  battlements,* 

"  For  they  are  not  the  Lord's. 
"  Till  Ziou's  mournful  daughter 

"  O'er  kindred  bones  shall  tread, 
"  And  Hinuom's  vale  of  slaughter' 

"  Shall  hide  but  half  her  dead  !" 


WHO  IS  THE  MAID? 

ST.  Jerome's  love.' 
(Air. — Beethoven.) 

Wno  is  the  Maid  my  spirit  seeks, 

Through  cold  reproof  and  slander's  blight  ? 
Has  she  Love's  roses  on  her  cheeks? 

Is  hers  an  eye  of  this  world's  light  ? 
No — wan  and  sunk  with  midnight  prayer 

Are  the  pale  looks  of  her  I  love  ; 
Or  if,  at  times,  a  light  be  there. 

Its  beam  is  kbdied  from  above. 

I  chose  not  her,  my  heart's  elect, 

From  those  who  seek  their  Maker's  shrine 

'  "  Take  away  her  battlements ;  for  they  are  not  the 
Lord's." — Jcr.  V.  10. 

'  "  Therclore,  behold,  the  days  come,  saith  the  Lord,  that 
it  shall  no  more  be  called  Tophet,  nor  the  Valley  of  the  Son 
of  Minnom,  but  the  Valley  of  Slaughter ;  for  they  shall  bury 
in  Tophet  till  there  be  no  place."— Jer.  vii.  32. 

8  These  lines  were  suggested  by  a  passage  in  one  of  St. 
Jerome's  Letters,  replying  to  some  cilumnious  remarks  that 
had  been  circulated  respecting  his  intimacy  with  the  matron 
Paula : — "  Numquid  rae  vestes  series',  nilenles  gemnia\  picta 
facies,  ant  nuri  rapuit  ambltio?  Nulla  fuit  alia  Konia'  ma- 
tronarum.  qua:  ntcam  possit  edomare  nientcm,  nisi  lugcns 
atquc  jejunans,  flelu  pene  ciEcata." — Epist.  "  Si  tibt  putem." 


SACRED  SONGS. 


299 


In  gems  and  garlands  proudly  deck'd, 

As  if  themselves  were  things  divine. 
No — Heaven  but  faintly  warms  the  breast 

That  beats  bcneatli  a  broider'd  veil ; 
And  she  who  comes  in  glitt'ring  vest 

To  moiini  her  frailty,  sliil  is  frail.* 

Not  BO  the  faded  form  I  prize 

And  love,  because  its  bloom  is  gone  ; 
The  glory  in  tliose  sainted  eyes 

Is  all  the  grace  her  brow  puts  on. 
And  ne'er  was  Beauty's  dawn  so  bright, 

So  touching  as  that  form's  decay, 
Which,  like  the  altar's  trembling  Ught, 

In  holy  lustre  wastes  away. 


THIS  WORLD  IS  ALL  A  FLEETING 
SHOW. 

(.Air. — Stevenson.) 

Tins  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show. 

For  man's  illusion  given  ; 
The  smiles  of  Joy,  the  tears  of  Wo, 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow — 

There's  T.othing  true,  but  Heaven ' 

And  false  the  light  on  Glory's  plume, 

As  fading  hues  of  Even  ; 
And  Love  and  Hope,  and  Beauty's  bloom, 
Are  blossoms  gather'd  for  the  tomb — 

There's  nothing  bright,  but  Heaven  ! 

Poor  wand'rers  of  a  stormy  day  ! 

From  v/ave  to  wave  we're  driven. 
And  Fancy's  flash,  and  Rea.son's  ray. 
Serve  but  to  light  the  troubled  way — 

There's  nothing  calm,  but  Heaven ! 


OH,  THOU!  WHO  DRY'ST  THE 

MOURNER'S  TEAR. 

(Air. — Haydn.J 

"  He  healeth  the  broken  in  heart,  and  biniioth  up  their 
wound-s." — Psalm  cxlvii.  X 

Oii,  Thou !  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear, 
How  dark  this  world  would  be, 

1  Ou  yap  Koova^uotiv  rrjv  Sttk-pvovaay  ict. — Chrysost.  Horn- 
a.  8,  in  F.pisl.  ad  Tim. 

^  This  second  verse,  which  I  wrote  long  after  the  first,  al- 
hides  to  tlie  fate  of  a  very  lovely  and  amiable  girl,  the  daughter 
of  the  late  Colonel  BainbrigEe.wlio  was  married  in  .Vshbourne 
church,  October  .11,1815,  and  died  of  a  fever  in  a  few  weeks 
after:  the  sound  of  her  inarriagebells  seemed  scarcely  out 


If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 

We  could  not  fly  to  Thee  ! 
The  friends,  who  in  our  sunshine  live, 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown ; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give, 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 
But  thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart, 

Which,  like  the  plants  that  tlirow 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part, 

Breathes  sweetness  out  of  wo. 

When  joy  no  longer  sooths  or  cheers, 

And  e'en  the  hope  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears, 

Is  dimm'd  and  vanish'd  too, 
Oh,  who  would  bear  life's  stormy  doom. 

Did  not  tliy  Wing  of  Love 
Come,  briglitly  wafting  through  the  gloom 

Our  Peace-branch  from  above? 
Then  sorrow,  touch'd  by  Thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  never  saw  by  day ! 


WEEP  NOT  FOR  THOSE. 
Air. — AvisoN. 

Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb. 

In  life's  happy  morning,  hath  hid  from  our  eyes. 
Ere  sin  threw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young  bloom. 
Or  earth  had  profaned   what  was  born   for  the 
skies. 
Death   chiU'd    the   fair   fountain,   ere   sorrow   had 
staiu'd  it ; 
'Twas  frozen  in  all  the  pure  light  of  its  course, 
And   but   sleeps    till   the  sunshine  of  Heaven  has 
imchain'd  it. 
To  water  that  Eden  where  first  was  its  source. 
Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb. 

In  life's  happy  murning,  hath  hid  froin  our  eyes. 
Ere  sin  threw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young  bloom. 
Or  earth  had  profaned  what  was  bom  for  the 
skies. 

Mourn  not  for  her,  the  young  Bride  of  the  Vale,' 
Qui-  gayest  and  loveliest,  lost  to  us  now, 

of  onr  ears  when  we  heard  of  her  death.  During  her  last 
delirium  she  sung  several  hymns,  in  a  voice  even  clearer 
and  sweeter  than  usual,  and  among  them  were  sonie  from 
the  present  collection,  (particularly,  "  There's  nothing  bright 
but  Heaven,")  which  this  very  interesting  girl  had  often 
heard  me  sing  during  the  summer. 


300 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Ere  life's  early  lustro  had  timfi  to  grow  pale, 

Aii'l  tlie  garland  of  Love  was  yet  fresh  on  her 
bruw. 
On,  then  was  her  momenl,  dear  spirit,  for  flying 
From   this  gloomy  world,   while   its  gloom    was 
unknown — 
And   the  wild   hymns  sho  warbled  so  sweetly,  in 
dying, 
\Vere  ec!;oed  in  Heaven  by  lips  like  her  own. 
Weep  not  for  her — in  her  spring-time  sho  flew 
To  that  land  wliere  llie  wings  of  the  soul   are 
unfurl'd  ; 
.\nd  now,  like  a  star  beyond  evening's  cold  dew, 
Looks  radiantly  down  on  the  tears  of  this  world. 


THE  TURF  SHALL  BE  MY  FRAGRANT 
SHRINE. 

(Air. — Stevenson.) 

The  Inrf  shall  be  my  fragrant  slirine ; 
Jly  temple,  Lord  1  that  Arch  of  thine  ; 
My  censer's  breath  the  mountain  airs, 
And  silent  thoughts  my  only  prayers." 

My  choir  shall  be  the  moonlight  waves. 
When  munn'ring  homeward  to  their  caves, 
Or  when  the  stillness  of  the  sea, 
E'en  more  than  music,  breathes  of  Thee . 

I'll  seek,  by  day,  some  glado  unknown, 
All  light  and  silence,  like  thy  Throne  ; 
And  the  pale  stars  shall  be,  at  night, 
The  only  eyes  that  watch  my  rite. 

Thy  Heaven,  on  whiclr  'tis  bliss  to  look, 
Sliall  be  my  pure  and  shining  book, 
Wliere  I  shall  read,  in  words  of  flame, 
The  glories  of  thy  wondrous  name. 

1  ll  read  thy  anger  in  the  rack 

Tiiat  clouds  awhile  tlio  d.iy-bcam's  track ; 

Thy  mercy  in  the  azure  hue 

Of  sunny  brightness,  breaking  through. 

There's  nothing  bright,  above,  below. 
From  flowers  that  bloom  to  stars  that  glow. 
But  in  its  light  my  soul  can  see 
Some  feature  of  thy  Deity. 


»  Pit  nnni  ticitd. 

«  1  li!ive  50  nnicji  altcreil  thech.imclerof  this  air,  which  Is 
from  the  beginning  of  one  of  Avison's  ulil-fashioncd  concertos, 
thai,  without  this  acknowledgiuent.  It  could  hardly,!  think, 
be  recognised. 


There's  nothing  dark,  below,  above. 
But  in  its  gloom  I  trace  thy  Love, 
And  meekly  wait  that  moment,  when 
Thy  touch  shall  turn  all  bright  again ! 


SOUND  THE  LOUD  TIMBREL. 

Miriam's   song. 

(Air. — AvisoN.^ 

"And  Miriam  the  Prophetess,  the  sister  of  Aaron,  took  a 
timbrel  in  her  hand;  and  all  the  wiinien  went  out  after  hf.r 
with  timbrels  and  with  dances." — Eiod.  xv.  20. 

Sou.VD  the  loud  Timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea ! 
Jeuovaii  has  triiimjili'd — his  people  are  free. 
Sing — for  the  pride  of  the  Tyrant  is  broken, 

His   chariots,    his    horsemen,    all    splendid    and 
brave — 
How  vain  was  their  boast,  for  the  Lord  hath  but 
spoken. 
And   chariots   and   hoisemen   are   sunk   in   the 
wave. 
Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea ; 
Jehovah  has  triumph'd — his  people  are  free. 

Praise  to  the  Conqueror,  praise  to  the  LiOrd  ! 

His   word    was    our    arrow,   hie   breath   was   our 

sword. — 
Wlio  s'.iall  return  to  tell  Egyp"    ))*.  story 

Of  those  she  sent  forth  in  the  hour  of  her  pride  ? 
For  tlie   Lord  hath  look'd  out  from   his  pillar  of 

glor>-,' 
And  all   her  bravo   thousands   are  dash'd  in 

tide. 
Sound  the  loud  Timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea  ; 
Jehovah  has  triumpii'd — his  people  are  free ! 


the 


GO,  LET  ME  WEEP. 

(Air. — Stevenson.) 

Go,  let  me  weep — there's  bliss  in  tears, 
When  he  v.-ho  sheds  them  inly  feols 

Some  ling'ring  stain  of  early  years 
Effaced  by  every  drop  that  steals. 


*  "  And  it  came  lo  pass,  that,  in  the  morning  \valch  the 
Ixird  luokcd  unto  the  linst  of  the  Eg^-plians,  through  the 
piil.ir  of  tire  .Tnd  of  the  cloud,  and  troubled  the  host  of  the 
Egyptians."— i!io(i,  siv.24. 


SACRED  SONGS. 


301 


Tlie  fruitless  showera  of  worldly  wo 
Fall  dark  to  earth  and  never  rise  ; 

While  tears  that  frciTi  repentance  flow. 
In  bright  exhalement  reach  the  skies. 
Go,  let  me  weep. 

Leave  me  to  sigh  o'er  hours  that  flew 

More  idly  than  the  summer's  wind, 
And,  while  they  pass'd,  a  fragrance  threw, 

But  left  no  trace  of  sweets  behind. — 
The  warmest  sigh  that  pleasure  heaves 

Is  cold,  is  faint  to  those  that  swell 
The  heart,  where  pure  repentance  grieves 

O'er  hours  of  ploa-sure,  loved  too  well. 
Leave  me  to  sigh. 


COME  NOT,  OH  LORD. 

(.^IR. — IIaYDN.) 

CoMC  not,  oh  Lord,  in  the  dread  robo  of  spleudor 
Thou  wor'st  ou  the   Mount,  in  the  day  of  thiue 
ire; 
Come   veii'd   in   those   shadows,  deep,   awful,  but 
tender. 
Which  Mercy  flings  over  thy  features  of  fire  ! 

Ix)Kn,  thou  rememb'rest  the  night,  when  thy  Na- 
tion' 

Stood  fronting  her  Foe  by  the  red-rolling  stream ; 
O'er  Eg5*pt  thy  pillar  shed  dark  desolation. 

While  Israel  bask'd  all  the  night  in  its  beam. 

So,  v/hen  the  dread  clouds  of  anger  enfold  Thee, 
From  us,  in  thy  mercy,  the  dark  side  remove  ; 

While  shrouded  in  terrors  the  guilty  behold  Thee, 
Oh,  turn  upon  us  the  mild  light  of  thy  Love ! 


WERE  NOT  THE  SINFUL  MARY'S  TEARS. 

(Am. — Stevenson.) 

Were  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears 

An  offering  worthy  Heaven, 
When,  o'er  the  faults  of  former  years, 

She  wept — and  was  forgiven  ? 

1  "  And  it  came  between  tfie  camp  of  the  Egyptians  and 
the  camp  of  Israel ;  and  it  was  a  cloud  and  darkness  to  ihem, 
bol  it  pave  light  by  night  to  the«e." — ErotL  xiv.  20. 

3  *'  Her  sins,  which  axe  otany,  are  forgiven  ;  for  ahe  loved 
mnch." — Luki,  vil.  47. 


When,  bringing  everj'  balmy  sweet 

Her  day  of  luxury  stored. 
She  o'er  her  Saviour's  hallow'd  feet 

The  precious  odors  pour'd  ; — 

And  wiped  them  with  that  golden  hair, 
Where  once  the  diamond  shone  ; 

Though  now  those  gems  of  grief  were  there 
Wliich  shine  for  God  alone  ! 

Were  not  those  sweets,  so  humbly  shed — 
That  hair — those  weeping  eyes — 

And  the  sunk  heart,  tliat  inly  bled — 
Heaven's  noblest  sacrifice  1 

Thou,  that  hast  slept  in  error's  sleep. 

Oh,  wonldst  thou  wake  in  lletiVen, 
Like  Mar)'  kneel,  like  Mary  weep, 

"  Love  much"^  and  be  forgiven  ! 


AS  DOWN  IN  THE  SUNLESS  RETREATS. 

(Air. — IIaydn.) 

As  down  in  the  sunless  retreats  of  the  Ocean, 

Sweet  flowers  are  springing  no  mortal  can  see, 
So,  deep  in  my  soul  the  still  prayer  of  devotion. 
Unheard  by  the  world,  rises  silent  to  Thee, 
My  God  I  silent,  to  Thee, 
Pure,  warm,  silent,  to  Thee. 

As  still  to  the  star  of  its  worship,  though  clouded, 

The  needle  points  faithfully  o'er  the  dim  sea. 

So,  dark  as  I  roam,  in  this  wintry  world  shrouded, 

The  hope  of  my  spirit  turns  trembling  to  Thee, 

My  God  I  trembling,  to  Thee — 

True,  fond,  trembling,  to  Theo. 


BUT  WHO  SHALL  SEE. 

(Air. — Stevenson.) 

But  who  shall  see  the  glorious  day 
When,  throned  on  Zion's  brow. 

The  Lord  shall  rend  that  veil  away 
Which  hides  the  nations  now  1' 

When  earth  no  more  beneath  the  fear 
Of  his  rebuke  shall  lie  ;' 

»  "  And  he  will  destroy,  in  this  mountain,  the  fjice  of  the 
coveting  cast  over  all  people,  and  the  veil  that  is  spread  over 
all  nations." — Isaiak,  xxv.  7. 

*  "The  rebuke  of  his  people  shall  he  l«ke  away  IP  in  off 
all  the  earth."— /jaiuA,  xxv.  8. 


303 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  pain  sliall  cease,  and  every  tear, 
Ho  wiped  from  ev'ry  eye.' 

Then,  Judah,  tlioii  no  more  shall  moam 

liiMieath  tlie  heathen's  chain  ; 
'J'hy  days  of  si)len(lor  sliall  return. 

And  all  be  new  again.' 
The  Fount  of  Life  shall  then  be  quaflTd 

In  peace,  by  all  who  come  ;' 
And  every  wind  that  blows  shall  waft 

Some  long-lost  exile  home. 


ALMIGHTY    GOD! 

chorus  of  priests. 

(Air.— Mozart.) 

Almighty  God  I  when  round  thy  shrino 
The  Palm-tree's  heavenly  branch  we  twine,* 
(Emblem  of  Life's  eternal  ray. 
And  Love  that  "  fadcth  not  away,") 
We  bless  the  flowers,  expanded  all," 
We  bless  the  leaves  that  never  fall. 
And  trembling  say, — "  In  Eden  thus 
"  The  Tree  of  Life  may  flower  for  us  !" 

When  round  thy  Cherubs — smiling  calm, 
Without  their  flames" — we  wreath  tho  Palm, 
Oh  God  1  we  feel  tho  emblem  true — 
Thy  Mercy  is  eternal  too. 
Tiiose  Cherubs,  with  their  smiling  eyes, 
That  crown  of  Palrn  wliich  never  dies. 
Are  but  tho  tj-pes  of  Tlico  above — 
Eternal  Life,  and  Peace,  and  Love ! 


'  "  And  God  shall  wipe  nwny  all  tears  from  their  eyes  ; 
....  neither  shall  there  be  any  riinre  pain." — Rf^v.  xxi.  4. 

3  "  .And  he  that  sal  upon  the  throne  said,  Behold,  I  make 
all  things  new." — lietj.  xxi.  .■». 

*  "  .\nd  whosoever  will,  let  liiin  take  the  water  of  life 
freely." — Rev.  xxil.  I". 

*"Tlic  Scripmix's  havinR  declared  that  the  Temple  of 
Jemsalein  wjts  a  type  of  the  Messiah,  it  is  natural  to  con- 
clude that  the  Palms,  which  mude  so  conspicuous  a  figure 
in  that  structure,  represented  that  Life  and  Immortatitjj 
which  were  hronfiht  to  lifthl  by  the  Gosik-I." — Observations 
on  the  Palm,  as  a  Sacred  Embtem,  by  \V.  Tisho. 

•  "  And  he  curved  all  the  walls  of  the  house  round  nbnut 
with  carved  farures  of  cherubinis,  nod  palm-trees,  and  open 
JUticers"~-l  Kings,  vi. 29. 

fl  "  When  the  passover  of  the  taboroacles  wa«  revealed  to 


OH  FAIR!  OH  PUREST. 

BAINT    AUGUSTI.NE    TO    HIS   SISTER.' 

(Air.— MooRE.) 

Oh  fair !  oh  purest !  be  thou  the  dove 
Tliat  flies  alone  to  some  sunny  grove, 
And  lives  unseen,  and  bathes  her  wing. 
All  vestal  white,  in  the  limpid  spring. 
There,  if  the  hov'ring  ha%vk  be  near. 
That  limpid  spring,  in  its  mirror  clear, 
Reflects  him,  ere  he  reach  his  prey, 
And  warns  the  timorous  bird  away. 

Be  thou  this  dovo  ; 
Fairest,  purest,  be  thou  this  dove. 

The  sacred  pages  of  God's  own  book 
Shall  be  the  spring,  the  eternal  brook 
In  whose  holy  mirror,  night  and  day, 
Thou'lt  study  Heaven's  reflected  "-ay  ; — 
And  should  the  foes  of  virtue  dare, 
With  gloomy  wing,  to  seek  thee  there, 
Thou  wilt  see  how  dark  their  shadows  lie 
Between  Heaven  and  thee,  and  trembling  fly  ! 

Be  thou  that  dove  ; 
Fairest,  purest,  be  thou  that  dove. 


ANGEL  OF  CHARITY. 

(Air. — Handel.) 

Angel  of  Charity,  who,  from  above, 

Comest  to  dwell  a  pilgrim  here. 
Thy  voice  is  music,  tliy  smile  is  love. 

And  Pity's  soul  is  in  thy  tear. 
When  on  tlio  slirine  of  God  were  laid 

First-fruits  of  all  most  good  and  fair, 
That  ever  bloom'd  iu  Eden's  shade, 

Tliine  was  the  holiest  offering  there. 

the  great  lawgiver  in  the  mount,  then  the  cherubic  Images 
which  appeared  in  that  structure  were  no  longersurrounded 
by  flames ;  for  the  tabernacle  was  a  type  of  the  dispensa- 
tion of  mercy,  by  which  jEiiovAn  confirmed  his  gr.-'cioQs 
covenant  to  redeem  mankind." — Observations  on  the  Palm. 
'  In  St.  Augustine's  Treatise  upon  the  advantages  of  a 
solitary  lite,  addressed  to  his  sister,  there  is  the  following 
fancilul  passage,  from  which,  the  reader  will  perceive,  the 
thought  of  this  song  was  taken; — "  Te,  soror,  numiuam 
nolo  esse  securam,  sed  tiincre  semperque  mam  fragililalem 
habere  suspectam,  ad  instar  pavidcc  columbie  freijuentare 
rivos  aqnariim  et  quasi  in  sppculo  accipitris  cernere  super- 
volantis  cfligiem  et  cavere.  itivi  aiiir.rum  sententice  sunt 
scrlptnrarum.  qua;  dc  limpldissiino  sapientia;  foate  proflu 
cntes  "  &c.,  ice. — De  Vit.  Ercmit.  ad  S,jroTein. 


I 


SACRED  SONGS. 


303 


Hopo  and  her  sister.  Faith,  were  given 

But  as  our  guides  to  yonder  sky  ; 
Soon  as  they  reach  the  verge  of  heaveu, 

There,  lost  in  perfect  bliss,  they  die,* 
But.  long  as  Love,  Almighty  Love, 

Shall  on  his  throne  of  thrones  abide, 
Thou,  Charity,  shalt  dwell  above, 

Smiling  forever  by  His  side  ! 


BEHOLD    THE    SUN. 
(Am. — Lord  Morninqton.) 

Bemold  the  Sun,  how  bright 

From  yonder  Ea^t  he  springs, 
As  if  the  soul  of  hfe  and  light 

Were  breathing  from  his  wings. 

So  bright  the  Gospel  broke 

Upon  the  souls  of  men  ; 
So  fresh  the  dreaming  world  awoke 

In  Truth's  full  radiance  then. 

Before  yon  Sun  arose, 

Stars  cluster'd  through  the  sky — 
But,  oh,  how  dim  1  how  pale  were  those, 

To  His  one  burning  eye  ! 

So  Truth  lent  many  a  ray, 

To  bless  tlie  Pagan's  night — 
But,  Lord,  how  weak,  how  cold  were  they 

To  Thy  One  glorious  Light ! 


LORD,  WHO  SHALL  BEAR  THAT  DAY. 

(Air. — Dr.  Cotcb.) 

Lord,  who  shall  bear  that  day,  so  dread,  so  splendid. 
When  we  shall  see  thy  Angel,  hov'ring  o'er 

>  "Then  Faith  shall  fail,  and  holy  Hope  shall  die. 
One  lost  in  certainly,  and  one  in  joy." — Prior 

a  *'  And  the  angel  which  I  saw  stand  upon  the  sea  and  upon 
the  earth,  lifted  up  his  hand  to  heaven,  and  swiire  by  Him 

that  liveth  forever  and  ever that  there  should  be 

time  no  longer." — Rev.  x,  5,  6, 
3  "  Awake,  ye  Dead,  and  come  to  judgment." 
*  *'They  shall  see  the  Son  of  Man  coniinc  in  the  clouds  of 
heaven — and  all  the  angels  with  him," — .Malt.  xxiv.  30,  and 
Iiv.  31. 


This  sinful  world,  with  hand  to  heav'n  extended. 
And  hear  him    swear  by  Thee   that  Time's  no 
more  ?' 
When  Earth  shall  feel  thy  fast  consuming  ray — 
Who,  Mighty  God,  oil  wlio  shall  bear  that  day  1 

When    through    tho    world    thy    awful    call    hath 
sounded — 
"  Wake,    all    yo   Dead,   to   judgment  wake,   ye 
Dead  :■" 
And  from  the  clouds,  by  seraph  eyes  surrounded. 
The  Saviour  shall  put  forth  his  radiant  head  ;* 
While  Earth  and  Heav'n  before  Him  pass  away — * 
Who,  Mighty  God,  oh  who  shall  bear  that  day? 

When,  with  a  glance,  th'  Eternal  Judge  shall  sever 
Earth's  evil  spirits  from  the  pure  and  briglit. 

And  say  to  those,  "  Dejiart  from  mo  forever  !" 
To  these,  "Come, dwell  with  me  in  endless  light!''" 

When  each  and  all  in  silence  take  their  way — 

Who,  Mighty  God,  oh  who  shall  bear  that  day? 


OH,  TEACH  ME  TO  LOVE  THEE. 

(Air. — Haydn.) 

Oh,  teach  me  to  love  Thee,  to  feel  what  thou  art. 
Till,  fill'd  with  the  one  sacred  image,  my  heart 

Shall  all  other  passions  disown  ; 
Lilte  some  pure  temple,  that  shines  apart, 

Reserved  for  Thy  worship  alone. 

In  joy  and  in  sorrow,  through  praise  and  through 

blame. 
Thus  still  let  me,  living  and  dying  the  same. 

In  Thy  service  bloom  and  decay — 
Like  some  lone  altar,  whose  votive  Same 

In  holuiess  wasteth  away. 

Thotigh  bom  in  this  desert,  and  doom'd  by  my  birth 
To  pain  and  afHiction,  to  darkness  and  dearth, 

On  Thee  let  my  spirit  rely — 
Like  some  rude  dial,  tliat,  fbi'd  on  earth, 

Still  looks  for  its  light  from  the  sky. 

s  "  From  whose  face  the  earth  and  the  heaven  fled  away." 
Rev.  .XT.  II. 

8  "  And  before  Him  shall  be  gathered  all  nations,  and  He 
shall  sepamte  them  one  from  another 

"Then  shall  the  King  say  unto  them  on  his  right  hand. 
Come, ye  blessedof  my  Father,inherit  the  kingdom  prepared 
for  you,  &c. 

"Then  shall  He  say  also  unto  them  on  the  left  hand,  De 
part  from  me,  ye  cursed,  &c. 

".\nd  these  shall  go  away  into  everlasting  punishment; 
but  the  righteous  into  life  eternal."— Jl/<i((.  xiv.  3-3,  et  srf. 


304                                             MOORE'S 

1 

WORKS. 

Till  David  touch'd  his  sacred  lyre, 

WEEP,  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEU 

In  silence  lay  th'  uubreathing  wire ; 

But  when  ho  s;vept  its  chords  along, 

(AiB— Stevenson.) 

Ev'n  Angels  stoop'd  to  hear  that  song. 

Weep,  weep  for  Iiiin,  the  Man  of  God' — 

In  yonder  vale  lie  sunli  to  rest ; 

So  sleeps  the  soul,  till  Thou,  oh  Lord, 

But  none  of  earlli  can  point  tlie  sod' 

Shalt  deign  to  touch  its  lifeless  chord — 

That  (lowers  above  liis  sacred  breast 

Till,  waked  by  Thee,  its  breath  shall  rise 

Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 

In  music,  worthy  of  the  skies ! 

His  doctrino  fell  like  Heaven's  rain,' 

His  words  refresh'd  like  Heaven's  dew — 

Oh,  ne'er  shall  Israel  see  again 

A  Chief,  to  Cou  and  her  so  true. 

COME,  YE  DISCONSOLATE. 

Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 

(Air. — German.) 

Remember  ye  his  parting  gaze, 

Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  yon  languish, 

His  farewell  song  by  Jordan's  tide, 

Come,  at  God's  altiur  fervently  kneel ; 

When,  full  of  glory  and  of  days. 

Here  bring  your  wounded  hearts,  here  tell  your  an- 

lie saw  the  promised  laud — and  died.* 

guish — 

Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep ! 

Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  heal 

Yet  died  ho  not  as  men  who  sink, 

Joy  of  the  desolate,  Light  of  the  straying. 

Before  our  eyes,  to  soulless  clay  ; 

Hope,  when  all  others  die,  fadeless  and  pure. 

But,  changed  to  spirit,  like  a  wink 

Here  speaks  the  Comforter,  in  God's  name  saying— 

Of  summer  lightning,  pasa'd  away.* 

"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  cure." 

Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  1 

Go,  ask  the  inlidel,  what  boon  he  brings  ns. 

What  chai-m  for  aching  liearts  he  can  riveal. 

Sweet  as  that  heavenly  promise  Hope  sings  us — 

"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  God  cannot  heal" 

LIKE  MORNING,  WHEN  HER  EARLY 

BREEZE. 

AWAKE,  ARISE,  THY  LIGHT  IS  COME 

(.Air.— Beethovek.) 

(Am.— Stevenson.) 

Like  nioniing,  when  her  early  breeze 

AwAKE»  arise,  thy  light  is  como  ;* 

Breaks  up  the  surface  of  the  seas. 

Tiio  nations,  that  before  outshono  the«, 

That,  in  those  furrows,  dark  with  night, 

Now  at  tliy  feet  lie  dark  and  dumb — 

Her  hand  may  sow  the  seeds  of  light — 

The  glory  of  the  Lord  is  on  thee ! 

Thy  Grace  can  send  its  breathings  o'er 

Arise — tlie  Gentiles  to  thy  ray, 

Tiio  Si)crit,  dark  and  lost  before. 

From  ov'ry  nook  of  earth  shall  cluster ; 

And,  fresh'niug  all  its  depths,  prepare 

And  kings  and  princes  haste  io  pay 

For  Truth  diviuo  to  enter  there. 

Tlieir  homage  to  thy  rising  liifctre.*' 

1  "  And  the  chllclrcn  of  Israel  wept  for  .Moses  In  Iho  plains 

was  still  discoursing  with  them,  a  cloud  stood  over  hlin  on 

of  Mo.ib."— iJrul.  xniv.  8. 

the  sndden,  and  he  disapiicured  in  a  certain  valley,  although 

•  "  And  he  liurlcil  him  in  a  valley  In  the  land  of  Moab ; 

he  wrote  in  the  Holy  Books  that  he  died,  which  was  done 

....  liiit  no  man  knowcth  of  his  .sepulchre  unto  this  day." 

out  of  fear,  lest  ihcy  should  venture  to  say  that,  tjecause  of 

—Ibid.  ver.  6. 

his  extniordinary  virtue,  he  went  to  God"—Josephus,  book 

'  "  My  (lortrinu  shnli  drop  ns  the  r^iin,  my  speech  shall 

iv.,  chap.  viii. 

distil  as  the  dew." — Mvses'  Sim»,  Deut.  xxxU.  2. 

0  "  Arise,  shine ;  for  thy  light  is  come,  and  the  glory  of  the 

*  "  I  have  cnu>cd  thee  lo  sco  it  with  tliiue  eyes,  but  Ibou 

Lord  is  risen  upon  ihec.^'—IxaiaJt,  \x. 

hliiiit  not  CO  over  tlutlier." — Deut,  x.vxiv.  4. 

'  "  And  the  Gentiles  shall  come  lo  thy  light,  and  kings  to 

t  "  As  he  was  going  to  embrace  Eieaxur  and  Joshua,  and 

the  brightness  of  thy  rising."— 74. 

SACRED  SONGS. 


305 


Lift  up  tlilne  eyes  around,  and  see. 
O'er  foreign  fields,  o'er  farthest  watera. 

Thy  exiled  sons  return  to  thee, 

To  tlieo  return  thy  home-sick  daughters.' 

And  camels  rich,  from  Midian"s  tents. 

Shall  lay  their  treasures  down  before  thee  ; 

And  Saba  bring  her  gold  and  scents, 
To  fill  thy  air  and  sparkle  o'er  thee.' 

See,  who  are  these  that,  like  a  cloud,' 
Are  gathering  from  all  earth's  dominions, 

Like  doves,  long  absent,  when  allow'd 

Homeward  to  shoot  their  trembling  pinions. 

Surely  the  isles  shall  wait  for  me,* 

The  ships  of  Tarshish  round  will  hover, 

To  bring  thy  sons  across  the  sea. 
And  waft  their  gold  and  silver  over. 

And  Lebanon  thy  pomp  shall  grace* — 
Tlio  fir,  the  pine,  the  palm  victorious 

Shall  beautify  our  Holy  Place, 

And  make  the  ground  I  tread  on  glorious. 

No  more  shall  Discord  haunt  thy  ways,' 
Nor  niin  waste  thy  cheerless  nation; 

But  thou  shall  call  thy  portals.  Praise, 

And  thou  shalt  name  thy  walls,  Salvation. 

The  sun  no  more  shall  make  thee  bright,' 
Nor  moon  shall  lend  her  lustre  to  thee ; 

But  God,  Himself,  shall  bo  thy  Light, 
And  flash  eternal  glory  tlirough  thee. 

Thy  sun  shall  never  more  go  down  ; 

A  ray,  from  Heav'n  itself  descended. 
Shall  light  thy  everlasting  crown — 

Thy  days  of  mourning  all  are  ended.' 

My  own,  elect,  and  righteous  Land ! 

The  Branch,  forever  green  and  vernal, 
Which  I  have  planted  with  this  hand — 

Live  thou  shalt  in  Life  Eternal.' 


1  '•  Lift  up  thine  eyes  round  abnut,  and  see  ;  allthey  gatlier 
themselves  together,  they  come  to  thee  :  thy  sons  shall  come 
from  afar,  and  thy  daughters  shall  be  nursed  at  thy  side."— 
Isaiak,  \x. 

2  '*  The  multitude  of  camels  shall  cover  thee  ;  the  drome- 
daries of  Rlidian  and  Ephah ;  all  they  from  Sheba  shall 
come  ;  they  shall  bring  gold  and  incense.*'^/fi. 

s  "  Who  are  these  that  fly  as  a  cloud,  and  as  the  doves  to 
their  windows'?" — lb. 

*  "  Surely  the  isles  shall  wait  for  me,  and  the  ships  of 
Tarshish  first,  to  bring  thy  sons  from  Hu,  their  silver  and 
their  gold  with  them." — lb. 

^  "The  glory  of  Lebanon  shall  come  unto  thee;  the  fir- 
tree,  the  pine  tree,  and  the  box  together,  to  beautify  the 
place  of  my  sanctnary ;  and  I  will  make  the  place  of  my 
feet  glorious." — Ih. 


THERE  IS  A  BLEAK  DESERT. 

(Aiu.— Crescentini.) 

There  is   a   bleak   Desert,  where  daylight  grows 

weary 
Of  wasting  its  smile  on  a  region  so  dieary — 

What  may  that  desert  be  ? 
'Tis  Life,  cheerless  Life,  where  the  few  joys  that 

come 
Are  lost  like  that  daylight,  for  'tis  not  their  home. 

There  is  a  lone  Pilgrim,  before  whose  faint  eyes 
The  water  he  pants  for  but  sparkles  and  flics — 

Who  may  that  Pilgrim  be  ? 
'Tis  Man,  hapless  Man,  through  this  life  tempted  on 
By  fab  shining  hopes,  that  in  shining  are  gone. 

There  is  a  bright  Fountain,  through  that  Desert 

stealing 
To  pure  lips  alone  its  refreshment  reveahng— 

What  may  that  Fountain  be  1 
'Tis   Truth,  holy  Truth,  that,   like  springs  under 

ground. 
By  the  gifted  of  Heaven  alone  can  be  found.'" 

There  is  a  fair  Spirit,  whose  wand  hath  the  spell 
To  point  where  those  waters  in  secrecy  dwell — • 

Who  may  that  Spirit  be  ? 
'Tis  Faith,  Immble  faith,  who  hath  leam'd  that, 

where'er 
Her  wand  bends  to  worship,  the  Truth  must  be 

there ! 


SINCE  FIRST  THY  WORD, 

(Air. — Nicholas  Freeman.) 

Since  first  Thy  Word  awaked  my  heart, 
Like  new  life  dawning  o'er  me, 


c  "  Violence  shall  no  more  be  heard  in  thy  land,  wasting 
nor  destruction  within  thy  borders ;  but  thou  shall  call  thy 
walls,  Salvation,  and  thy  gates,  Praise." — Isaiah,  Ix. 

'  "Thy  sun  shall  be  no  more  thy  light  by  day;  neither  for 
brightness  shall  the  moon  give  light  unto  thee;  but  the 
Lord  shall  be  unto  thee  an  everlasting  light,  and  thy  Cod 
thy  glory." — Jb. 

8  "  Thy  sun  shall  no  more  go  down  ;  ....  for  the  Lord 
shall  be  thine  everlasting  light,  and  the  days  of  thy  mourn- 
ing sliall  be  ended." — Jb. 

'  "  Thy  people  also  shall  be  all  righteous ;  they  shall  in- 
herit the  land  forever,  the  branch  of  my  planting,  the  work 
of  my  hands." — lb. 

'"  In  singing,  the  following  line  had  better  bo  adopted  ;— 
"  Can  but  by  the  gifted  of  Heaven  be  found." 


306                                              MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

WheroVr  I  turn  mine  eyes,  Thou  art, 

Who  the  same  kingdom  inherits? 

All  lixlit  and  love  before  me 

Breathes  there  a  soul  that  may  dare 

Naiii;ht  else  I  feel,  or  hear  or  see — 

Look  to  that  world  of  Spirits, 

All  bonds  of  earth  I  sever — 

Or  hope  to  dwell  with  you  there? 

Thee,  O  Con,  and  only  Thee 

I  live  for,  now  and  over. 

Sages  !  who,  ev'n  in  exploring 

Nature  through  all  her  bright  ways. 

Like  him  whoso  fetters  dropp'd  away 

Went,  like  the  Seraphs,  adoring. 

When  light  shone  o'er  his  prison,' 

And  veil'd  your  eyes  in  the  blaze — 

My  spirit,  toiich'd  by  Mercy's  ray. 

Martyrs  !  who  left  for  our  reaping 

Hath  from  her  chains  arisen. 

Truths  you  had  sown  in  your  blood — 

And  shall  a  soul  Thou  bidd'st  bo  free, 

Sinners  !  whom  long  years  of  weeping 

Return  to  bondage  ? — never ! 

Chasten'd  from  evil  to  good — 

Thee,  O  God,  and  only  Thee 

I  live  for,  now  and  ever. 

Maidens  !  wlio,  like  the  young  Crescent, 

Turning  away  your  pale  brows 

From  earth,  and  the  liglit  of  the  Present, 

Look'd  to  your  Heavenly  Spouse — 

Say,  through  what  region  enchanted. 

AValk  ye,  in  Heaven's  sweet  air? 
Say,  to  what  spirits  'tis  granted. 

H.\RK!  'TIS  THE  BREEZE. 

{Air.— Rousseau.) 

Bright  souls,  to  dwell  with  you  there  ? 

iliRK  !  'tis  the  breeze  of  twilight  calling 

Earth's  weary  children  to  repose  ; 

While,  round  the  couch  of  Nature  falling, 
Gently  the  night's  soft  curtains  close. 

Soon  o'er  a  world,  in  sleep  reclining. 

Numberless  stars,  througli  yonder  dark, 

Shall  look,  like  eyes  of  Cherubs  shining 

HOW   LIGHTLY   MOUNTS   THE    MUSE'S 

From  out  the  veils  that  hid  the  Ark. 

WING. 

{.\iR. — .-Vnonymous.) 

Guard  us,  oh  Thou,  who  never  sleepest, 

Thou  who,  in  silence  throned  above. 

How  lightly  mounts  the  Muse's  wing, 

Througliout  all  time,  unwearied,  kccpcst 

Whose  theme  is  in  the  skies — 

Thy  watch  of  Glory,  Pow'r,  and  Love. 

Lilie  morning  larlvs,  that  sweeter  sing 

Grant  that,  beneath  thine  eye,  securely, 

The  nearer  Heav'u  they  rise. 

Our  souls,  awhile  from  life  withdrawn, 

May,  in  their  darkness,  stilly,  purely, 

Thougli  Love  his  magic  I)Te  may  tunc. 

Like  "  sealed  fountains,"  rest  till  duv?n. 

Yet  ah,  the  flow'rs  ho  round  it  wreaths, 

Were  pluck'd  beneath  pale  Passion's  moon, 

AVhose  madness  in  their  odor  breathes. 
How  purer  far  the  sacred  lute. 

Round  which  Devotion  ties 

WHERE  IS  YOUR  DWELLING,  YE 

Sweet  flow'rs  that  turn  to  heav'uly  fruit, 

SAINTED? 

And  palm  that  never  dies. 

(Air.— lUssE.) 

Though  War's  high-sounding  harp  may  be 

Whf.re  is  your  dwelling,  ye  Sainted? 

Most  welcome  to  the  hero's  ears, 

Through  what  Elysium  more  bright 
Than  fancy  or  hope  ever  painted, 

Alas,  his  chords  of  victory 

Are  wet,  all  o'er,  with  human  tears. 

Walk  yo  in  glory  and  light  ? 

How  far  more  sweet  their  numbers  run. 

'  '  And,  behold,  the  angel  of  the  Lord  rnmc  upon  him, 

Wlio  hymn,  like  Saints  above, 

and  a  lisht  shincd  in  (he  prison and  his  chains  fell 

No  victor,  but  th'  Elenial  One, 

otTfroni  his  hands."— .4e(*,  sU.  7. 

No  trophies  but  of  Love  ! 

SACRED  SONGS. 


307 


GO  FORTH  TO  THE  MOUNT. 

(Air. — Stevenson.) 

Go    forth   to    tho    Mouat — bring   the    olive-branch 

home,^ 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  Is  come  ! 
From    thut  tinie,'^  when   the  moon  upon   Ajalon'e 

vule, 
Looking  motionless  down,^  saw  tlie  kings  of  the 

earth, 
In  tho  presence  of  God's  mighty  Champion,  grow 

pale — 
Oil,  never  had  Judah  an  hour  of  such  mirth  ! 
Go    forth    to    the    Mount — bring    the    olive-branch 

homo, 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come  ! 

Bring  myrtle  and  palm — bring  the  boughs  of  each 

tree 
That's  worthy  to  wave  o'er  the  tents  of  the  Free.* 
From  that  day,  when  the  footsteps  of  Israel  shone, 
Willi  a  light  not  their  own,  through  the  Jordan's 

deep  tide, 
Whose    waters   shrunk    back    as    the    Ark    glided 

on^— 
Oh,  never  had  Judah  an  hour  of  such  pride  ! 
Go    forth   to    the    Mount — bring    the    olive-branch 

home, 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come  * 


IS   IT   NOT   SWEET  TO   THINK,   HERE- 
AFTER. 

(Air. — Haydn.) 

Is  it  not  sweet  to  thuik,  hereafter, 
When  the  Spirit  leaves  tliis  sphere, 

Love,  with  deathless  wing,  shall  waft  her 
To  those  she  long  hath  mouni'd  for  here  1 

Hearts,  from  which  'twas  death  to  sever, 

Eyes,  this  world  can  ne'er  restore, 
Thore,  as  warm,  as  bright  as  ever. 

Shall  meet  us  and  be  lost  no  more. 

1  "  And  that  they  shoald  publish  and  proclaim  in  all  their 
cities,  and  in  Jerusalem,  saying,  Go  forth  unto  Ihe  mount, 
iind  fetch  olive-branches,"  &c.,  &c. — JVVft.  viii.  15. 

2  "  For  since  the  dnys  of  Jeshua  the  son  of  Nun  nnto  that 
day  h;id  not  the  children  of  Israel  done  so :  and  there  was 
very  great  gladness.'* — JWA.  viii.  17. 

3  "  Sun.  stand  thou  still  upon  Gibeon ;  and  thou,  Moon, 
in  the  valley  of  Ajalon." — Josh.  x.  12. 

*  "  Fetch  olive-branches,  and  pine-branches,  and  myrtle- 
branches,  and  palm-branches,  and  branches  of  thick  trees, 
to  make  booths."— JW/i.  viii.  15. 

c  "  And  the  priests  that  bare  the  ark  of  the  covenant  of  the 


\Vhen  wearily  wo  wander,  asking 
Of  earth  and  heav'n  where  are  they, 

Beneath  whose  smile  we  once  lay  basking, 
Bless'd,  and  thinking  bliss  would  stay  1 

Hope  still  lifts  her  radi.mt  finger 

Pointing  to  th'  eternal  Home, 
Upon  whose  portal  yet  they  linger. 

Looking  back  for  us  to  come. 

Alas,  alas — doth  Hope  deceive  us  ? 

Shall  friendship — love — shall  all  those  ties 
That  bind  a  moment,  and  then  leave  us, 

Be  fomid  again  where  nothing  dies  ? 

Oh,  if  no  other  boon  were  given, 

To  keep  our  iiearts  from  wrong  and  iA^'Ht 
Who  would  not  try  to  win  a  Heaven 

Where  all  we  love  shall  live  again  ? 


WAR  AGAINST  BABYLON. 

(Air.— NovELLo.) 

"  War  against  Babylon  !"  shout  we  around," 

Be  our  banners  through  earth  unfuri'd  ; 
Rise  up,  ye  nations,  yc  kings,  at  the  sound'' — 

"  War   against    Babylon !"    shout    througu    the 
world  ! 
Oh  thou,  that  dwellest  on  many  waters,® 

Thy  day  of  pride  is  ended  now  ; 
And  tlie  dark  curse  of  -Israel's  daughters 

Breaks,  like  a  thunder-cloud,  over  thy  brow  ! 
War,  war,  war  against  Babylon  ! 

Make  bright  the  arrows,  and  gather  the  shields,' 

Set  the  standard  of  God  on  high  ; 
Swarm  we,  like  locusts,  o'er  all  her  fields, 

"  Zion'^  our  watchword,    and  *'  vengeance"  our 
cry  ! 
Wo  !  wo  ! — the  time  of  thy  visitation^* 

Is  come,  proud  Laud,  thy  doom  is  cast — 
And  the  black  surge  of  desolation 

Sweeps  o'er  tliy  guilty  head,  at  last! 

War,  war,  war  against  Babylon ! 

Lord  stood  firm  on  dry  ground  in  the  midst  of  Jordan,  and 
all  the  Israelites  passed  over  on  drj*  ground." — Josk.  iii.  17. 

*  "  Shout  against  her  round  about." — Jcr.  1.  15. 

7  "Set  ye  up  a  standard  in  the  land,  blow  the  trumpet 
among  the  nations,  prepiire  the  nations  acainst  her,  call  to- 
gether apiinsl  lier  the  kinj-'doms,"  Slc,  &c. — Jer.  li.  27. 

*  "Oh  thou  that  dwellest  upon  many  waters,  ....  thin© 
end  is  come." — Jer.  li.  13. 

■  '*  Make  bright  the  arrows ;  gather  the  shields  ....  set 
up  the  standard  upon  the  walls  of  Babylon."— Jer.  li  11.  12. 

10  "  Wo  unto  thcin  :  for  tlieir  day  is  come,  the  time  of 
their  visitation  I" — Jer.  1.  -7. 


308 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE    SUMMER    FETE 


THE  HONORABLE  MRS.  NORTON. 

For  the  groundwork  of  tlie  following  Poem  I  am 
indebted  to  a  memorable  Fete,  given  some  years 
since,  at  Boyle  Farm,  the  seat  of  the  late  Lord 
Henry  Fitzgerald.  In  commemoration  of  that 
evening — of  which  tJie  lady  to  wliom  these  pages 
are  inscribed  was,  I  well  recollect,  one  of  the  most 
distingnislied  ornaments — I  was  induced  at  the 
time  to  write  some  verses,  which  were  aftenvards, 
however,  thrown  aside  unfinished,  on  my  discover- 
ing that  tho  same  task  had  been  undertaken  by  a 
noble  poet,' whose  playful  and  hvLppy  jeu-tV esprit 
on  the  subject  has  since  been  published.  It  was 
but  lately,  that,  on  finding  the  fragments  of  my 
own  sketch  among  my  papers,  I  thought  of  foundmg 
on  them  such  a  description  of  an  imaginary  Fete  as 
might  furnish  me  witi)  situations  for  the  introduction 
of  music. 

Such  is  the  origin  and  object  of  the  following 
Poem,  and  to  Mrs.  Norton  it  is,  with  every  feehng 
of  admiration  and  regard,  inscribed  by  her  father's 
w;irmly  attached  friend, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 

Sloperto7i  Cottoffe, 
^'ovcmbcr,  1831. 


THE  SUMMER  FETE. 


"  AViiF.RK  are  ye  now.  ye  summer  days, 

"  Tliat  once  inspired  tlie  poet's  lays? 

"  Blcss'd  tinif  !  ere  Enfrland's  nymplis  and  swains, 

"  For  lack  of  sunbeams,  took  to  coals — 
"Summers  of  lijjlit,  undimm'd  by  rains, 
"  Whoso  only  mockln^  trace  remains 

"  In  wateriug-pots  and  parasols." 

Thus  spoke  a  young  Patrician  maid, 
As,  on  tho  morning  of  that  Fete 

1  Lord  Francis  Egcrton. 


Which  bards  unborn  shall  celebrate. 
She  backward  drew  her  curtain's  shade, 
And,  closing  one  half-dazzled  eye, 
Pcep'd  with  the  other  at  the  sky — 
Th'  important  sky,  whoso  light  or  gloom 
Was  to  decide,  tliis  day.  the  doom 
Of  some  few  hundred  beauties,  wits, 
Blues,  Dandies,  Swains,  and  Kxquisites. 

Faint  were  her  hopes  ;  for  Juno  had  now 

Set  in  with  all  his  usual  rigor  ! 
Young  Zephyr  yet  scarce  knowing  how 
To  nurse  a  bud,  or  fan  a  bough, 

But  Euros  in  perpetual  vigor  ; 
And,  such  the  biting  summer  air, 
That  she,  the  nymph  now  nestling  there — 
Snug  as  her  own  bright  gems  recline, 
At  night,  within  their  cotton  shrine — 
Had,  more  than  once,  been  caught  of  late 
Kneeling  before  her  blazing  grate, 
Like  a  young  worshipper  of  fire, 

With  hands  uplifted  to  the  flame. 
Whose  glow,  as  if  to  woo  them  nigher, 

Through  the  wliite  fingers  flushing  came 

But  oh  !  the  light,  th'  utdioped-for  liglit, 
That  now  illumed  this  mornuig's  heaven  ! 

Up  sprang  lantlie  at  the  sight, 

Though — hark  1 — the  clocks  but  strike  eleven, 

Aiid  rarely  did  the  nymph  surprise 

Mankind  so  early  with  her  eyes. 

Who  now  will  say  that  England's  sun 

(Like  England's  self,  these  spendthrift  days) 

His  stock  of  wealth  hath  near  outnm. 
And  must  retrench  his  golden  rays — 

Pay  for  the  pride  of  sunbeams  past. 

And  to  mere  moonshine  come  at  last  ? 

"  Calumnious  thought !"  liinthe  cries, 

While  coming  mirth  lit  up  each  glance, 
And,  prescient  of  the  ball,  her  eyes 

Already  had  begun  to  dance : 
For  brighter  sun  than  that  which  now 

Sparkled  o'er  London's  spires  and  towers, 
Had  never  bent  from  heaven  his  brow 

To  kiss  Firenze's  City  of  Flowers. 


I 


THE  SUMMER  FETE. 


309 


What  must  it  be — if  thus  so  fair 

'Mid  tlie  smoked  groves  of  Grosvonor  Square — 

Wliat  must  it  be  wliere  Thames  is  seen 

Gliding  between  liis  banks  of  green, 

Willie  rival  villas,  on  each  side, 

Peep  from  their  bowers  to  woo  his  tide, 

And,  Uko  a  Turk  between  two  rows 

Of  Harem  beauties,  on  he  goes — 

A  lover,  loved  for  ev'n  the  grace 

With  which  he  slides  from  their  embrace. 

In  one  of  those  enchanted  domes. 

One,  the  most  flow'ry,  cool,  and  bright 
Of  all  by  which  that  river  roams, 

The  Fete  is  to  be  held  to-night — 
That  Fete  already  link'd  to  fame, 

Whose  cards,  in  many  a  fair  one's  sight 
(When  look'd  for  long,  at  last  they  came,) 

Seem'd  circled  witli  a  fairy  light ; — 
That  FiMe  to  which  the  cidl,  the  flower 
Of  England's  beauty,  rank  and  power. 
From  the  young  spinster,  just  come  out, 

To  the  old  Premier,  too  long  in — 
From  legs  of  far  descended  gout. 

To  the  last  new-raoustachio'd  chin — 
All  were  convoked  by  Fashion's  spells 
To  tlie  small  circle  where  slie  dwells. 
Collecting  nightly,  to  allure  us. 

Live  atoms,  which,  together  hurl'd, 
She,  like  another  Epicurus, 

Sets  dancing  thus,  and  calls  "  the  \Vorld." 

Behold  how  busy  in  those  bowers 

(Like  May-flies,  in  and  out  of  flowers,) 

Tlie  countless  menials  swarming  run, 

To  furnish  forth,  ere  set  of  sun. 

The  banquet-table  richly  laid 

Beneath  j'on  awning's  lengthen'd  shade. 

Where  fruits  shall  tempt,  and  wines  entice. 

And  Luxury's  self,  at  Gunter's  call. 
Breathe  from  her  summer-throne  of  ice 

A  spirit  of  coolness  over  all. 

-\nd  now  th'  important  liour  drew  nigh, 
Wheu,  'ncatli  the  flush  of  evening's  sky. 
The  west  end  "  world"  for  mirth  let  loose, 
And  moved,  as  he  of  Syracuse' 
Ne'er  dreamt  of  moving  worlds,  by  force 
Of  four-horse  power,  had  all  combined 
Through  Grosvonor  Gate  to  speed  their  course. 
Leaving  that  portion  of  mankind, 
Whom  they  call  •'  Nobody,"  behind ; — 


1  Archimedes. 

*  I  am  not  certain  whether  the  Dowagers  of  this  Si^uarc 
have  yet  yielded  to  the  innovations  of  Gas  and  Police,  bat  at 


No  star  for  Loudon's  feasts  to-day. 
No  moon  of  beauty,  new  this  May, 
To  lend  the  night  her  crescent  ray ; — 
Nothing,  in  short,  for  ear  or  eye. 
But  veteran  belles,  and  wits  gone  by. 
The  relics  of  a  past  beau-monde, 
A  world,  like  Cuvier's,  long  dethroned ! 
Ev'n  PnrUament  this  evonmg  nods 
Beneath  th'  harangues  of  minor  gods. 

On  half  its  usual  opiate's  share  ; 
The  great  dispensers  of  repose, 
The  first-rate  furnishers  of  prose 

Being  all  call'd  to — pr^se  elsewhere. 

Soon  as  through  Grosvrncr's  lordly  square* — 

That  last  impregnable  redoubt. 
Where,  guarded  with  Patrician  cai« 

Pruneval  Error  still  holds  out — 
Where  never  gleam  of  gas  must  dare 

'Gainst  ancient  Darkness  to  revolt, 
Nor  smooth  Macadam  hope  to  spare 

The  dowagei-s  one  single  jolt ; — 
Where,  far  too  stately  and  sublime 
To  profit  by  the  liglits  of  time. 
Let  Intellect  march  how  it  will. 
They  stick  to  oil  and  watchmen  still : — 
Soon  as  through  that  illustrious  square 

The  first  epistolary  bell, 
Sounding  by  fits  upon  the  air, 

Of  parting  pennies  rung  the  knell ; 
Wam'd  by  that  telltale  of  the  hours. 

And  by  the  daylight's  westering  beam, 
The  young  liinthe,  who,  with  flowers 

Half-crown'd,  had  sat  in  idle  dream 
Before  her  glass,  scarce  knowing  where 
Her  fingers  roved  through  that  bright  hair. 

While,  all  capriciously,  she  now 

Dislodged  some  ciurl  from  her  white  brow. 
And  now  again  replaced  it  there  ; — 
As  though  her  task  was  meant  to  bo 
One  endless  change  of  ministry — 
A  routing-up  of  Loves  and  Graces, 
But  to  plant  others  in  their  places. 

Meanwhile — what  strain  is  that  which  floats 
Through  the  small  boudoir  near — ^like  notes 
Of  some  young  bird,  its  task  repeating 
For  the  ne.\t  linnet  music-meeting? 
A  voice  it  was,  whoso  gentle  sounds 
Still  kept  a  modest  octave's  bounds. 
Nor  yet  had  ventured  to  exalt 
Its  rash  ambition  to  B  alt, 


the  time  when  the  above  lines  were  written,  they  still  obsti- 
nately  persevered  in  their  old  r/gime;  and  would  not  suffer 
themselves  to  be  either  well  guarded  or  well  lighted. 


310                                             MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

That  point  towards  which  when  ladies  rise. 

Tlic  wise  man  takes  his  hat  and— flics. 

SONG. 

Tones  of  a  harp,  too,  ;;"•'>'  p'ay'd, 

fame  with  tliis  youthful  voice  communing, 

Array  thee,  love,  array  thee,  love. 

Tones  true,  for  once,  without  the  aid 

In  all  thy  best  array  thee  ; 

Of  tliat  inflictive  process,  tiinincr — 

The  sun's  below — the  moon's  above — 

A  process  which  must  oft  have  given 

And  Night  and  Bliss  obey  thee. 

Poor  Milton's  ears  a  deadly  woujul ; 

Put  on  thee  all  that's  bright  and  rare, 

So  piciised,  among  the  joys  of  Ileav'n, 

The  zone,  the  wreath,  the  gem. 

Ho  specifies  "  harps  erer  tuned."' 

Not  so  much  gracing  charms  so  fair. 

She  who  now  sunj  this  peutle  straUi 

As  borrowing  grace  from  them. 

Was  our  young  nymph's  still  younger  sister — 

Array  thee,  love,  array  thee,  love, 

Scarce  ready  yet  for  Fashion's  traiu 

In  all  tliat's  briglit  array  thee  ; 

In  their  light  legions  to  eiili.st  her. 

The  sun's  below — the  moon's  above — 

But  counted  on,  as  sure  to  hriiig 

And  Night  ajid  Bliss  obey  thee. 

Her  force  into  the  -field  nc.\t  spring. 

Put  on  the  plumes  thy  lover  gave, 

The  song  she  thus,  like  Jubal's  shell, 

The  plumes,  that,  proudly  dancing, 

Gave  forth  "  so  sweetly  and  so  well," 

Proclaim  to  all,  where'er  they  wave. 

Was  ono  in  Morning  Post  much  famed, 

Victorious  eyes  advancing. 

From  a  divine  collection,  named. 

Bring  forth  the  robe,  whose  hue  of  heaven 

'*  Songs  of  the  toilet" — every  Lay 

From  thee  derives  such  light, 

Taking  for  suhject  of  its  I\Iuse, 

That  Iris  would  give  all  her  seven 

Some  branch  of  feminine  array. 

To  boast  but  one  so  bright. 

Some  item,  with  full  scope,  to  choose, 

Array  thee,  love,  array  thee,  love, 

From  diamonds  down  to  dancing  shoes  ; 

&c.  &c.  &c. 

From  the  last  hat  that  Herbault's  hands 

Befjueath'd  to  an  admiring  world, 

Now  hie  thee,  love,  now  hie  thee,  love. 

Down  to  the  latest  flounce  that  stands 

Through  Pleasure's  circles  hie  thee. 

Like  Jacob's  Ladder — or  expands 

And  hearts,  where'er  thy  footsteps  move, 

Far  forth,  tempestuously  uufiu-l'd. 

Will  beat,  when  they  come  nigh  thee. 

Thy  every  word  shall  be  a  spell. 

Spe[iking  of  one  of  these  new  Lays, 

Thy  ever}'  look  a  ray, 

The  Morning  Post  thus  sweetly  says: — 

And  tracks  of  wond'ring  eyes  shall  tell 

'•  Xot  all  that  breatlies  from  Bisliop's  lyre, 

The  glory  of  thy  way  ! 

*'  That  Barnett  dreams,  or  Cooke  conceives, 

Now  hie  thee,  love,  now  hie  thee,  love, 

•'  Can  match  for  sweetness,  strength,  or  file, 

Through  Pleasure's  circles  hie  thee. 

"  This  fine  Cantata  upon  Sleeves. 

And  hearts,  wliere'er  thy  footsteps  move, 

•'  The  very  notes  themselves  reveal 

Shall  beat  when  they  come  nigh  then 

"  Tlie  cut  of  each  new  sleeve  so  well ; 

'•  \Jlnl  betrays  the  Iinhccilhs,- 

"  Light  fugues  the  flying  lappets  tell ; 

"  While  rich  cathedral  chords  awake 

Now  in  his  Palace  of  the  AVest, 

"  Our  homage  for  the  Maiichrs  d'Eceqtie." 

Sinking  to  slumber,  the  bright  Day, 

Like  a  tired  monarch  fann'd  to  rest. 

"I'was  the  first  op'ning  song — the  Lay 

Mid  the  cool  airs  of  Evening  lay  ; 
While  round  his  couch's  golden  rim 

Of  all  Icajrt  deep  in  toilet-lore. 

That  the  young  nymph,  to  while  away 

The  gaudy  clouds,  like  courtiers,  crept— 

The  tiring  hour,  thus  warbled  o'er: — 

Stniggling  each  other's  light  to  dim, 

And  catch  his  last  smile  ere  he  slept. 

How  gay,  as  o'er  the  gliding  Tliames 

The  golden  eve  its  lustre  pour'd. 
Shone  out  the  high-l>om  knights  and  dames 

Now  group'd  around  that  festal  board ; 

'  '*  their  froldcn  harps  they  loolt — 

2  The  name  <;ncn  to  those  large  sleeves  that  hang  Imisely. 

n.irps  ever  tuned."               Pamdiit  Loil,  Ijook  iii. 

THE  SUMMER  FETE.                                         311 

A  living  mass  of  plumes  and  flowers, 

"  Where  is  she,"  ask'st  thou?— watch  all  looks 

As  thout^h  they'd  robb'd  both  birds  and  bowers— 

As  ceut'ri^g  to  one  point  they  bear. 

A  peopled  rainbow,  swarming  tlirough 

Like  sun-flowers  by  tlio  sides  of  brooks, 

Witli  habitants  of  eveiy  line  ; 

Turn'd  to  the  sun — and  she  is  there. 

While,  as  the  sparkling  juice  of  France 

Ev'n  in  disguise,  oh  never  doubt 

Higli  in  the  crystal  brimmers  flow'd, 

By  her  own  liglit  you'd  track  her  out : 

Each  sunset  ray  tliat  mix'd  by  chance 

As  when  the  moon,  close  shawl'd  in  fog. 

With  the  wine's  sparkles,  show'd 

Steals,  as  she  thinks,  through  heaven  incog, 

How  sunbeams  may  be  taught  to  dance 

Though  hid  herself,  some  sidelong  ray. 

At  every  step,  detects  her  way. 

If  not  in  written  form  cxpress'd. 

'Twas  kuown,  at  least,  to  every  guest, 

But  not  in  dark  disguise  to-night 

That,  though  not  bidden  to  parade 

Hath  our  young  heroine  veil'd  her  light ; — 

Their  scenic  powers  in  masquerade, 

For  see,  she  walks  the  earth,  Love's  omi. 

(A  pastime  little  found  to  tlirive 

His  wedded  bride,  by  holiest  vow 

In  the  bleak  fog  of  England's  skies. 

Pledged  in  Olympus,  and  made  daown 

Where  wit's  the  thing  we  best  contrive, 

To  mortals  by  the  type  which  now 

As  masqueraders,  to  distritjse^) 

Hangs  glitt'ring  on  her  snowy  brow. 

It  yet  was  hoped — and  well  that  hope 

That  buttei-fly,  mysterious  trinket. 

Was  answer'd  by  tlie  young  and  gay — 

Which  means  the  Soul,  (iho'  few  would  think  it,) 

That,  in  the  toilet's  task  to-day. 

And  sparkling  thus  on  brow  so  white. 

Fancy  sliould  take  her  wildest  scope ; — 

Tells  us  we've  Psyche  here  to-uiglit ! 

That  the  rapt  milliner  should  be 

Let  loose  tlirough  fields  of  poesy. 

But  hark !  some  song  hath  caught  her  ears — 

The  tailor,  in  inventive  trance. 

And,  lo,  how  pleased,  as  though  she'd  ne'er 

Up  to  the  heights  of  Epic  clamber, 

Heard  tho  Grand  Opera  of  the  Spheres, 

And  all  the  regions  of  Romance 

Her  goddess-ship  approves  the  air ; 

Bo  ransack'd  by  the  femmc  de  chamhre. 

And  to  a  mere  terrestrial  strain. 

Inspired  by  nauglit  but  pink  champagne, 

Accordingly,  with  gay  Sultanas, 

Her  butterfly  as  gayly  nods 

Rebeccas,  Sapphos,  Roxalanas — 

As  though  she  sat  with  all  her  train 

Circassian  slaves  whom  Love  would  pay 

At  some  great  Concert  of  the  Gods, 

H;Uf  his  maternal  realms  to  ransom  ; — 

With  Phcebus,  leader — Jove  director 

Young  nuns,  whose  chief  religion  lay 

And  half  the  audience  drunk  with  nectar. 

In  looking  most  profanely  handsome  ; — 

Muses  in  muslin — pastoral  maids 

From  a  male  group  the  carol  came — 

With  hats  from  the  Arcade-ian  shades. 

A  few  gay  youths,  wliom  round  the  board 

And  fortune-tellers,  rich,  'twas  plain, 

The  last-tried  flask's  superior  fame 

As  ioTtune-huniers  foraa'd  their  train. 

Had  lured  to  taste  the  tide  it  pour'd ; 

And  one,  who,  from  his  youth  and  lyre. 

With  these,  and  more  such  female  groups, 

Seem'd  grandson  to  the  Teian  sire. 
Thus  gayly  sung,  while,  to  his  song, 
Replied  in  chorus  the  gay  throng: — 

Were  mix'd  no  less  fantastic  troops 
Of  male  exhibitors — all  willing 

To  look,  ev'n  more  than  usual,  killing ; — 

Beau  tyrants,  smock-faced  braggadocios, 

And  brigands,  charmingly  ferocious  ; — 

M.  P.'s  tum'd  Tm-ks,  good  Moslems  then. 

Who,  last  uight,  voted  for  the  Greeks ; 

And  Friars,  stanch  No-Popery  men. 

SONG. 

In  close  confab  with  Whig  Caciques. 

Some  mortals  there  may  be,  so  wise,  or  so  fine, 

But  where  is  she — the  nymph,  whom  late 

As  in  evenings  like  this  no  enjoyment  to  see  ; 

We  left  before  her  glass  delaying. 

But,  as  rm  not  particular — wit,  love,  and  wine, 

Like  Eve,  when  by  the  lake  she  sate, 

Are  for  ono  night's  amusement  suflicient  for  me. 

In  the  clear  wave  her  charms  surveying. 

Nay — humble  and  strange  as  my  tastes  may  appear— 

And  saw  in  that  first  glassy  mirror 

If  drir'n  to  the  worst,  I  could  manage,   (hank 

The  first  fair  face  that  lured  to  error. 

Heaven, 

312 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  put  up  with  eyes  such  as  beam  round  me  here, 
And  mich  wino  as  we're  sipping.six  days  out  of 
seven. 
So  pledge  mo  a  bumper — your  sages  profound 

May  be  blest,  if  they  will,  on  tlieir  own  patent 
plan  : 
But   as  we   are   jiot  sages,  wliy  —  send   the   cup 
round — 
Wo  must  only  be  happy  the  best  way  wo  can. 

A  reward  by  some  king  was  once  offer'd,  we're  told, 

To  whoe'er  could  invent  a  new  bliss  for  mankind  ; 
But  talk  of  new  pleasures ! — give  me  but  the  old. 

And  I'll  leave  your  inventors  all  new  ones  they 
find. 
Or  should  I,  in  quest  of  fresh  realms  of  bliss, 

Set  sail  in  the  pinnace  of  Fancy  some  day, 
Liet  the  rich  rosy  sea  I  embark  on  bo  tliis, 

And  such  eyes  as  we've  here  bo  tlie  stars  of  my 
way  ! 
In  the  mean  time,  a  bmiiper — your  Angels,  on  high. 

May   have   pleasures   unknown   to  life's   limited 
span; 
But,  as  we  aro  not  Angels,  why — let  the  flask  fly — 

We  must  only  be  happy  all  ways  that  we  can. 


Now  nearly  fled  was  sunset's  light, 

Leaving  but  so  much  of  its  beam 
As  gave  to  objects,  late  so  bright. 

The  coloring  of  a  shadowy  dream  ; 
And  there  was  still  where  Day  had  sot 

A  flush  that  spoke  liim  loath  to  die — 
A  last  link  of  his  glor)'  yet, 

Binding  together  earth  and  sky. 
Say,  why  is  it  that  twilight  best 
Becomes  even  brows  the  loveliest  ? 
That  dimness,  with  its  soft'ning  touch, 

Can  bring  out  grace,  unfelt  before, 
And  channs  wo  no'cr  can  see  too  much. 

When  seen  but  half  enchant  the  more  ? 
Alaii,  it  is  that  every*  joy 
In  fidness  finds  its  worst  alloy, 
And  half  a  bliss,  but  hoped  or  guess'd, 
Is  sweeter  than  the  whole  jwssess'd ; — 
That  Beauty,  when  least  shone  upon, 

A  creature  most  ideal  grows ; 
And  there's  no  light  from  moon  or  sun 

Like  that  Imagination  llu-ows ; — 
It  is,  alas,  that  Fancy  shrinks 

Ev'n  from  a  bright  reality. 
And  turning  inly,  feels  and  thinks 

Far  heav'nlicr  tilings  than  e'er  will  be. 


Such  was  th'  efTcct  of  twilight's  hour 

On  the  fair  groups  that,  round  and  round. 
From  glade  to  grot,  from  bank  to  bow'r, 

Now  wander'd  tlirough  this  fairy  ground  ; 
And  thus  did  Fancy — and  champagne — 

Work  on  the  sight  their  dazzling  spells. 
Till  nymphs  that  look'd,  at  noonday,  plain. 

Now  brighten'd,  in  the  gloom,  to  belles  ; 
And  the  brief  interval  of  time, 

'Twi.\t  after  dinner  and  before, 
To  dowagers  brouglit  back  their  prime. 

And  shed  a  halo  round  two-score. 

Meanwhile,  new  pastimes  for  the  eye, 

The  ear,  the  fancy,  quick  succeed  ; 
And  now  along  the  waters  fly 

Light  gondoles,  of  Venetian  breed. 
With  knights  and  dames,  who,  calm  reclined, 

Lisp  out  love-sonnets  as  they  glide — 
Astonishing  old  Thames  to  find 

Such  doings  on  his  mortal  tide. 

So  bright  was  still  that  tranquil  river, 
W'ith  the  last  shaft  from  Daylight's  quivoi, 
That  many  a  group,  in  turn,  were  seen 
Embarking  on  its  wave  serene  ; 
And,  'mong  the  rest,  in  chorus  gay, 
A  band  of  mariners,  from  th'  isles 
Of  sunny  Greece,  all  song  and  smiles. 
As  smooth  they  floated,  to  the  play 
Of  their  oar's  cadence,  sung  this  lay : — 


TRIO. 


OtjR  home  is  on  the  sea,  boy, 
Our  home  is  on  the  sea  ; 

Wien  Nature  gave 

T]ie  ocean-wave, 
She  mark'd  it  for  the  Free. 
Wliatever  storms  befall,  boy, 
Whatever  storms  befall, 

The  island  bark 

Is  Freedom's  ark. 
And  floats  her  safe  through  all. 

Behold  yon  sea  of  isles,  boy, 
Behold  yon  sea  of  isles. 

Where  ev'ry  shore 

Is  sparkling  o'er 
With  Beauty's  richest  smiles. 
For  us  hath  Freedom  claim'd,  boy, 
For  us  hath  Freedom  claim'd 

Those  ocean-nests 

Where  Valor  rests 
His  eagle  wing  imtamcd. 


THE  SUMMER  FETE.                                          313 

^d  shall  the  Moslem  dare,  boy, 

(Such  as  in  Russian  ball-rooms  sheds 

And  shall  tlio  Moslem  dare. 

Its  glory  o'er  young  dancers'  heads) — 

While  Grecian  hand 

Quadrille  performs  her  mazy  rites, 

Can  wield  a  brand, 

And  reigns  supremo  o'er  slides  and  capers  ; — 

To  plant  his  Crescent  there  ? 

Working  to  death  eacli  opera  strain, 

No — by  our  fathers,  no,  boy, 

As,  with  a  foot  that  ne'er  reposes. 

No,  by  the  Cross  we  show — 

She  jigs  through  sacred  and  profane. 

From  Maina's  rills 

From  "  Maid  and  Magpie"  up  to  "  Moses  ;"' — 

To  Tliracia'B  hills 

Wearing  out  tunes  as  fast  as  shoes, 

All  Greece  re-echoes  "  No !" 

Till  fagg'd  Rossini  scarce  respires  ; 

Till  Mayerbccr  for  mercy  sues. 

Aad  Weber  at  her  feet  expires. 
And  now  the  set  hath  ceased — the  bows 

Like  pleasant  thoughts  that  o'er  the  mind 

A  minute  come,  and  go  again, 
Ev'n  so,  by  snatches,  in  the  wind. 

Of  fiddlers  taste  a  brief  repose, 

\\1iile  light  along  the  painted  floor. 

Was  cauglit  and  lost  that  choral  strain, 

Arm  witiiiii  arm,  the  couples  stray, 

Now  full,  now  faint  upon  the  ear, 

Talking  their  stock  of  nothings  o'er. 

As  the  hark  floated  far  or  near. 

Till — nothing's  left,  at  last,  to  say. 

At  length  when,  lost,  the  closing  note 

When,  lo  I — most  opportunely  sent — 

Had  down  the  waters  died  along. 

Two  Exquisites,  a  he  and  she. 

Forth  from  auotlier  faiiy  boat. 

Just  brought  from  Dandyland,  and  meant 

Freighted  with  music,  came  tliis  song  : — 

For  Fashion's  grand  Menagerie, 

Enter'd  the  room — and  scarce  were  there 

Wlien  all  flock'd  round  them,  glad  to  stare 
At  any  monsters,  any  where. 

SONG. 

Some  thought  them  perfect,  to  their  tastes ; 

Smoothly  flowing  through  verdant  vales. 

While  others  hinted  tliat  the  waists 

Gentle  river,  thy  current  runs. 

(That  in  particular  of  the  he  thing) 

Shelter'd  safe  from  winter  gales. 

Left  far  too  ample  room  for  breathing  : 

Shaded  cool  from  sunuuer  suns. 

Whereas,  to  meet  these  critics'  wishes. 

Thus  ouf  Youth's  sweet  moments  glide. 

The  isthmus  there  should  be  so  small, 

Fenced  with  flow'ry  sheUcr  round  ; 

That  Exquisites,  at  last,  like  fishes, 

No  rude  tempest  wakes  tlie  tide. 

Must  manage  not  to  breathe  at  all. 

All  its  path  is  fairy  ground. 

The  female  (these  same  critics  said,) 

Though  orthodox  from  toe  to  chin. 

But,  fair  river,  the  day  will  come, 

Yet  lack'd  that  spacious  %vidth  of  head 

When,  woo'd  by  wliisp'ring  groves  in  vain. 

To  hat  of  toadstool  much  akin — 

Thou'lt  leave  those  banks,  thy  shaded  home. 

That  build  of  bonnet,  whose  extent 

To  mingle  with  the  stormy  main. 

Should,  like  a  doctrine  of  dissent. 

And  thou,  sweet  Youth,  too  soon  wilt  pass 

Puzzle  church-doors  to  let  it  in. 

Into  the  world's  unshelter'd  sea. 

Where,  once  thy  wave  hath  mix'd,  alas, 

However — sad  as  'twas,  no  doubt. 

All  hope  of  peace  is  lost  for  thee. 

That  nymph  so  smart  should  go  about. 

With  head  imconscious  of  the  place 

It  ought  to  fill  in  Infinite  Space- 
Yet  all  allow'd  tliat,  of  her  hind. 

A  prettier  show  'twas  hard  to  find  ; 

'Next  turn  we  to  the  gay  saloon 

Wliile  of  that  doubtful  genus,  "  dressy  men," 

Resplendent  as  a  summer  noon. 

The  male  was  thought  a  first-rate  specimen. 

Where,  'neath  a  pendent  wreath  of  lights. 

Such  Savans,  too,  as  wish'd  to  trace 

A  Zodiac  of  flowers  and  tapers — 

The  mauucrs,  habits,  of  this  race — 

1  In  EnglMnd  the  partition  of  this  opera  of  Rossini  was 

&.C.  to  the  (lances  selected  from  it  (as  was  done  in  Paris)  has 

transferred  to  the  story  of  Peter  the  Hermit ;  by  which  means 

been  avoided. 

the  indecorum  of  giving  such  names  as  "  Moise,"  •'  Pharaon," 

314 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  know  what  rank  (if  rank  at  all) 
'Monfj  reas'ninj^  tliinjns  to  tliein  should  fall— 
What  sort  of  notions  heaven  imparts 
To  hijjh-built  heads  and  tight-laced  hearts, 
And  how  far  Soul,  which,  Plato  Bays, 
Abhors  restraint,  can  act  in  stays — 
Might  now,  if  gifted  with  discerning. 
Find  opportunities  of  learning ; 
As  these  two  creatures — from  their  pout 
And  frown,  'twas  plain — had  just  fall'n  out ; 
And  all  their  little  thoughts,  of  course, 
\V'ere  stirring  in  full  fret  and  force  ; — 
Like  mites,  through  microscope  espied, 
A  world  of  nothings  magnified. 

IJut  mild  the  vent  such  beings  seek, 
The  tempest  of  their  souls  to  speak; 
As  Opera  swains  to  fiddles  sigh, 
To  fiddles  fight,  to  fiddles  die, 
Kven  so  this  tender  couple  set 
Their  well-bred  woes  to  a  Duet 


WALTZ  DUET.' 


Long  as  I  waltz'd  with  only  thee, 

Each  blissful  \\'ednesday  that  went  by, 
Nor  stylish  Stultz,  nor  neat  Nugee 
Adom'd  a  youth  so  blest  as  I. 
Oh  I  ah  !  ah  .'  oil ! 
Those  happy  days  are  gone — heigho 

SHE. 

Long  as  with  tlice  I  skimm'd  the  ground 

Nor  yet  was  scoru'd  for  Lady  Jane, 
No  blither  nymph  tctotum'd  round 
To  Collinet's  immortal  strain. 
Oh;  ah!  &c. 
Those  happy  days  are  gone — heigho ! 

HE. 

With  Lady  Jane  now  whirl'd  about, 

I  know  no  bounds  of  time  or  breath  ; 
And,  should  the  charmers  head  hold  out, 
My  heart  and  heels  are  here  tdl  death. 
Oh!  ah!   &c. 
Still  roimd  and  round  tlirough  life  we'll  go. 

SHE. 

To  Lord  Filznoodle's  eldest  son, 

A  youth  renown'd  for  waistcoats  smart, 

•  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  remind  Ihe  rradcr  that  this 
Duet  is  a  p.irotly  of  the  oftcn-transtatcd  and  parodied  ode  of 
Horace,  "  Donee  gratus  cram  libl,"  &c. 


I  now  have  given  (excuse  the  pun) 
A  vested  interest  in  my  heart. 
Oh!  ah!  &c. 
Still  round  and  romxd  with  him  ru  go. 

HE. 

What  if,  by  fond  remembrance  led 
Again  to  wear  our  mutual  chain, 
For  me  thou  cutt'st  Fitznoodlo  dead, 
Ajid  I  levant  from  Lady  Jane. 
Oh  I  ah  !  &c. 
Still  round  and  round  again  we'll  go. 

SHE. 

Though  he  the  Noodle  honors  give. 

And  thine,  dear  youth,  ire  not  so  high, 
With  thee  in  endless  waltz  i'd  live, 

With  thee,  to  Weber's  Stop-Waltz,  die ! 
Oh  !  ah  .   &c. 

Thus  round  and  round  through  life  we'll  go. 
[Exeunt  waltzing. 


While  thus,  like  motes  that  dance  away 

Existence  in  a  summer  ray, 

These  gay  things,  bom  but  to  quadrille, 

The  circle  of  their  doom  fulfil — 

(That  dancing  doom,  whoso  law  decrees 

That  they  should  live,  on  the  alert  toe, 
A  life  of  ups-and-downs,  like  keys  \ 

Of  Broadwood's  in  a  long  concerto : — ) 
While  thus  the  fiddle's  spell,  within, 

Calls  up  its  realm  of  restless  sprites, 
Without,  as  if  some  Mandarin 

Were  holding  there  his  Feast  of  Lights, 
Lamps  of  all  hues,  from  walks  and  bowers. 
Broke  on  the  eye,  like  kindling  flowers, 
Till,  budduig  into  light,  each  tree 
Bore  its  full  fruit  of  brilliancy. 

Here  shone  a  garden — lamps  all  o'er. 

As  though  the  Spirits  of  the  Air 
Had  tak'n  it  iu  their  heads  to  pour 

A  shower  of  summer  meteors  there  ; — 
While  here  a  lighted  shrubb'ry  led 

To  a  small  lalio  that  sleeping  lay, 
Cradled  in  foliage,  but,  o'erhead. 

Open  to  heaven's  sweet  breath  and  ray  ; 
While  round  its  rim  there  bunting  stood 

Lamps,  with  young  flowers  beside  them  bedded, 
That  shrunk  from  such  warm  neighborhood  ; 
And.  looking  bashful  in  the  flood, 

Blush'd  to  behold  themselves  so  wedded. 

Hither,  to  this  embower'd  retreat, 
Fit  but  for  nights  so  still  eind  sweet ; 


..J 


THE  SUMMER  FETE. 


315 


Niglits,  such  as  Eden's  calm  recall 
In  its  first  lonely  liour,  when  all 

So  silent  is,  below,  on  liigli, 

That  if  a  star  falls  down  the  sky, 
You  almost  think  you  hear  it  full — 
Hitlier,  to  this  recess,  a  few, 

To  shun  the  dancers'  wild'ring  noise, 
And  give  an  hour,  ere  night-time  flew, 

To  Music's  more  ethereal  joys. 
Came  with  their  voices — ready  all 
As  Echo,  waiting  for  a  call — 
In  hymn  or  ballad,  dirge  or  glee, 
To  weave  their  mingling  minstrelsy. 

And,  first,  a  dark-eyed  nymph,  array'd — 
Like  her,  whom  Art  hath  deathless  made. 
Bright  Moua  Lisa' — with  that  braid 
Of  hair  across  the  brow,  and  one 
Small  gem  that  in  the  centre  shone — 
With  face,  too,  in  its  form  resembling 

Da  Vinci's  Beauties — the  dark  eyes, 
Now  lucid,  as  through  crystal  trembling, 

Now  soft,  as  if  suffused  with  sighs — 
Her  lute,  that  hung  beside  her,  took. 
And,  bending  o'er  it  with  shy  look, 
More  beautiful,  in  shadow  thus. 
Than  when  with  life  most  luminous, 
Pass'd  her  light  finger  o'er  the  chords. 
And  sung  to  them  these  mournful  words  :— 


SONG. 


Bring  hither,  bring  thy  lute,  while  day  is  dying- 
Here  will  I  lay  me,  and  list  to  thy  song ; 

Should  tones  of  other  days  mix  with  its  sighing, 
Tones  of  a  light  heart,  now  banish'd  so  long. 

Chase  them  away — they  bring  but  pain. 

And  let  thy  theme  be  wo  again. 

Sing  on,  thou  mournful  Inte — day  is  fast  going. 
Soon  will  its  light  from  thy  chords  die  away  ; 

One  little  gleam  in  the  west  is  still  glowiug. 
When  that  hath  vanish'd,  farewell  to  thy  lay. 

Mark,  how  it  fades  I — tee,  it  is  fled  ! 

Now,  sweet  lute,  be  thou,  too,  dead. 


The  group,  that  late,  in  garb  of  Greeks, 
Sung  their  light  chorus  o'er  the  tide — 

1  The  celebrated  portrait  by  Leonardo  da  Vinri.  which  he 
is  said  to  have  occupied  four  years  in  paintinc. — Vagari, 
vol.  vii. 


Forms,  such  as  up  tho  wooded  creelts 
Of  Helle's  shore  at  noonday  glide, 
Or,  nightly,  on  her  glist'ning  sea, 
Woo  the  blight  waves  with  melody — 
Now  link'd  their  triple  league  again 
Of  voices  sweet,  and  sung  a  strain. 
Such  as,  had  Sappho's  tuneful  ear 
But  caught  it,  on  tho  fatal  steep. 
She  would  have  paused,  entranced,  to  hear. 
And,  for  that  day,  deferr'd  her  leap. 


SONG  AND  TRIO. 

On  one  of  those  sweet  nights  that  oft 
Their  lustre  o'er  th'  .^gean  fling, 

Beneath  my  casement,  low  and  soft, 
I  heard  a  Lesbian  lover  sing  ; 

And,  list'ning  both  with  ear  and  thought 

These  sounds  upon  the  night-breeze  cauglit- 
"  Oh,  happy  as  tho  gods  is  he, 
"  WTao  gazes  at  this  hour  on  thee  !" 

The  song  was  one  by  Sappho  sung. 

In  the  tirst  love-dreams  of  her  lyre. 
When  words  of  passion  from  her  tongue 

Fell  like  a  shower  of  living  fire. 
And  still,  at  close  of  ev'ry  strain, 
I  heard  these  burning  words  again — 
"  Oh,  happy  as  tho  gods  is  he, 
"  Who  listens  at  this  hour  to  thee !" 


Once  more  to  Mona  Lisa  turn'd 

Each  asking  eye — nor  turn'd  in  vain  ; 

Though  the  quick,  transient  blush  that  buin'd 
Bright  o'er  her  cheek,  and  died  again, 

Show'd  with  what  inly  shame  and  fear 

Was  uttcr'd  what  all  loved  to  hear. 

Yet  not  to  sorrow's  languid  lay 

Did  she  her  lute-song  now  devote ; 

But  thus,  with  voice  that,  like  a  ray 
Of  southcni  suitshine,  secm'd  to  float — 
So  rich  with  climate  was  each  note — 

Caird  up  in  every  heart  a  dream 

Of  Italy,  with  this  soft  theme : — 


SONG. 


Oh,  where  art  thou  dreaming, 
On  land,  or  on  sea  ? 


316 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


In  my  lattice  is  gloaming 
Tlio  watcli-liglit  for  theo ; 

,\jid  this  fomi  lioart  is  glowing 
To  welcome  tlieo  homo, 

And  the  night  is  fast  going, 
But  thou  art  not  come : 

No,  thou  com'st  not ! 

'Tis  the  time  when  night-flowers 

Should  wake  from  their  rest ; 
'Tis  the  hour  of  all  hours, 

AV'hen  the  lute  siugeth  best 
But  the  flowers  are  half  sleeping 

Till  thj/  glance  they  see  ! 
And  the  hush'd  lute  Is  keeping 

Its  music  for  thee. 

Yet,  thou  com'st  not ! 


Scarce  had  tlie  last  word  left  her  lip. 
When  a  light,  boyish  form,  with  trip 
Fant;istic,  up  the  green  walk  came, 
Prauk'd  in  gay  vest,  to  which  the  flame 
Of  ever)'  lamp  he  pass'd,  or  blue. 
Or  green,  or  crimson,  lent  its  hue  ; 
As  though  a  live  chameleon's  skin 
He  had  despoil'd  to  robe  him  in. 
A  zone  ho  wore  of  clatt'ring  shells, 

And  from  bis  lofty  cap,  wliere  shone 
A  peacock's  plume,  there  dangled  bells 

That  rung  as  he  came  dancing  on 
Close  after  him,  a  page — in  dress 
And  shape,  his  miniature  express — 
An  ample  basket,  fill'd  with  store 
Of  toys  and  trinkets,  laughiug  bore  ; 
Till,  having  reach'd  this  verdant  scat. 
He  laid  it  at  his  master's  feet, 
AVho,  half  in  speech  and  half  in  song, 
Chanted  this  iuvoice  to  tlie  throng : — 


SONG. 


Wuo'll  buy? — 'tis  Folly's  shop,  who'll  buy?- 

We'vo  toys  to  suit  all  ranks  and  ages  ; 
Be.sides  our  usual  fools'  supply. 

We've  lots  of  playthings,  too,  for  sages. 
For  reasoners,  here's  a  juggler's  cup. 

That  fullest  seems  when  nothing's  in  it ; 
And  nine-pins  set,  like  systems,  up, 

To  be  knock'd  down  the  following  minute. 
Who'll  buy  ? — 'tis  Folly's  shop,  who'll  buy ) 


Gay  caps  wo  here  of  foolscap  make. 

For  bards  to  wear  in  dog-day  weather ; 
Or  bards  the  bells  alone  may  take. 

And  leave  to  wits  the  cap  and  feather 
Tetotums  we've  for  patriots  got. 

Who  court  the  mob  with  antics  humble  ; 
Like  theirs  the  patriot's  dizzy  lot, 

A  glorious  spin,  and  then — a  tumble. 

Who'll  buv,  &.C.,  &c. 

Here,  wealthy  misers  to  inter. 

We've  shrouds  of  neat  post-obit  paper ; 
While,  for  their  heirs,  we've  ^K^cA'silver, 

That,  fast  as  they  can  wish,  will  caper. 
For  aldenneu  we've  dials  true. 

That  tell  no  hour  but  that  of  dinner  ; 
For  courtly  parsons  sermons  new, 

That  suit  alike  both  saint  and  sinner. 

Who'll  buy,  &c.,  &c 

No  time  we've  now  to  name  our  terms. 

But,  whatsoe'er  the  whims  that  seize  you. 
This  oldest  of  all  mortal  firms, 

Folly  and  Co.,  will  try  to  please  you. 
Or,  should  you  wish  a  darker  hue 

Of  goods  than  we  can  recommend  you. 
Why  then  (as  we  with  lawj'ers  do) 

To  Knavery's  shop  next  door  we'll  send  you. 
W'ho'll  buy,  &.C.,  &c 


I 


While  thus  the  blissful  moments  roll'd, 

Moments  of  rMe  and  fleeting  light, 
That  show  themselves,  like  grains  of  gold 

In  the  mine's  refuse,  few  and  bright ; 
Behold  where,  opening  far  away, 

The  long  ConseiTatory's  range, 
Stripp'd  of  the  flowens  it  wore  all  day. 

But  gaining  lovelier  in  exchange. 
Presents,  on  Dresden's  costliest  ware, 
A  supper,  such  as  Gods  might  share. 

Ah  much-loved  Supper  ! — blithe  repast 

Of  other  times,  now  dwindling  fast. 

Since  Dinner  far  into  the  night 

Advanced  the  march  of  appetite  ; 

Deploy'd  his  never-ending  forces 

Of  various  vintage  and  three  courses. 

And,  like  those  Goths  who  play'd  the  dickens 

AVith  Rome  and  all  her  sacred  chickens. 

Put  Supper  and  her  fowls  so  white. 

Legs,  wings,  and  drumsticks,  all  to  flight. 

Now  waked  once  more  by  wine — whose  tide 
Is  tlie  true  Hippocrene,  where  ghde 


THE  SUMMER  FETE.                                           317 

The  Muse's  swans  with  happiest  wing, 

'Tis  not  for  tliee  the  fault  to  blame, 

Dipping  their  bills,  before  they  sing — 
The  minstrels  of  the  table  greet 

For  from  those  eyes  the  madness  came. 
Forgive  but  thou  the  crime  of  loving, 

The  list'ning  ear  with  descant  sweet : — 

In  this  heart  more  pride  'twill  raiso 

To  be  thus  wrong,  with  thee  approving. 
Than  right,  with  all  a  world  to  praise  I 

SONG  AND  TRIO. 

But  say,  while  light  these  songs  resound. 

THE    LEVEE    AND    COUCIIEE. 

Call  the  Loves  around, 

Let  the  whisp'ring  sound 
Of  their  wings  be  heard  alone, 

Till  soil  to  rest 

My  Lady  blest 
At  this  bright  hour  hath  gone. 

What  means  that  buz  of  whisp'ring  round, 

From  lip  to  lip — as  if  the  Power 

Of  Mystery,  in  this  gay  hour, 

Had  thrown  some  secret  (as  we  fling 

Nuts  among  childi-en)  to  tliat  ring 

Of  rosy,  restless  lips,  to  be 

Thus  scrambled  for  so  wantonly  ? 

And,  mark  ye,  still  as  each  reveals 

Let  Fancy's  beams 
Play  o'er  her  dreams, 

The  mystic  news,  her  hearer  steals 
A  look  tow'rds  yon  enchanted  chair. 

Till,  touch'd  with  light  all  through, 

Where,  like  the  Lady  of  the  Mask, 

Her  spirit  be 

Like  a  summer  sea, 

A  nymph,  as  exquisitely  fair 

As  Love  himself  for  bride  could  ask. 

Shining  and  slumb'ring  too. 
And,  while  thus  hush'd  sho  lies, 

Sits  blusliing  deep,  as  if  aware 
Of  the  wing'd  secret  circling  there. 

Let  the  w-hisper'd  chorus  rise — 
"  Good  evenhig,  good  evening,  to  our  Lady's  bright 
eyes." 

But  the  day-beam  brealis, 

Who  is  this  nymph  ?  and  what,  oh  Muse, 
WMiat,  in  the  name  of  all  odd  things 

That  woman's  restless  brain  pursues, 
What  mean  these  mystic  whisperings? 

See,  our  Lady  wakes ! 

Tims  runs  the  tale : — yon  blushing  maid. 

Call  the  Loves  around  once  more, 
Like  stars  that  wait 

Who  sits  in  beauty's  light  array 'd. 
While  o'er  her  leans  a  tall  young  Dervise, 

At  Morning's  gate. 

Her  first  steps  to  adore. 

Let  the  veil  of  night 

(^Vho  from  her  eyes,  as  all  observe,  is 
Learning  by  heart  the  Marriage  Service,") 
Is  the  briglit  heroine  of  our  song, — 

From  her  dawning  sight 
All  gently  pass  away, 
Like  mists  that  flee 
From  a  summer  sea, 

The  Love-wed  Psyche,  whom  so  long 
We've  miss'd  among  this  mortal  train. 
We  thought  her  wing'd  to  heaven  again 

Leaving  it  full  of  day. 

And,  while  her  last  dream  fiies, 

But  no — earth  still  demands  her  smile  ; 
Her  friends,  the  Gods,  must  wait  awhile. 

Let  the  whisper'd  chorus  rise — 
"  Good  morning,  good  morning,  to  our  Lady's  bright 
eyes." 

And  if,  for  maid  of  heavenly  birth, 

A  young  Duke's  proffer'd  heart  and  hand 

Be  things  worth  waiting  for  on  earth, 
Both  are,  this  hour,  at  her  command. 

To-night,  in  yonder  half-lit  shade. 

SONG. 

For  love  concenis  e.\pressly  meant. 
The  fond  proposal  first  was  made. 
And  love  and  silence  blush'd  consent. 

If  to  see  thee  bo  to  love  thee, 

Parents  and  friends  (all  here,  as  Jews, 

If  to  love  thee  be  to  prize 
Naught  of  earth  or  heav'n  above  thee, 

Enchanters,  housemaids,  Turks,  Hindoos,) 
Have  heard,  approved,  and  bless'd  the  tie ; 

Nor  to  live  but  for  those  eyes: 
If  such  love  to  mortal  given, 
Be  wrong  to  earth,  be  wrong  to  heav'n, 

And  now,  hadst  tliou  a  poet's  eye. 
Thou  might'st  behold,  in  th'  air,  above 
That  brilliant  brow,  triumphant  Love, 

318 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Ifolilirif,  as  if  to  drop  it  down 

(JiMilly  upon  her  curls,  a  crown 

Of  Ducal  shape — but,  oh,  such  gems  ! 

I'ilfor'd  from  Peri  diudeins, 

And  set  in  gold  like  that  which  shines 

To  deck  the  Fairy  of  the  Mines : 

In  sliort,  a  crown  all  glorious — such  as 

Lovo  orders  when  he  makes  a  Duchess. 

But  see,  'tis  mom  in  heaven  ;  tlie  Sun 
Up  the  bright  orient  hath  begun 
'Vo  canter  his  immortal  team  ; 

And,  tliough  not  yet  arrived  in  sight, 
His  leader's  nostrils  send  a  steam 
Of  radiance  forth,  so  rosy  bright 
As  makes  their  onward  path  all  light 
What's  to  bo  done?  if  Sol  will  be 
So  deuced  early,  so  must  we ; 


And  when  the  day  thus  shines  outright, 
Ev'n  dearest  friends  must  bid  good  night 
So  farewell,  scene  of  mirth  and  masking, 

Now  almost  a  by-gone  tale  ; 
Beauties,  late  in  lamp-light  basking. 

Now,  by  dayliglit,  dim  and  pale ; 
Harpers,  yawning  o'er  your  harps. 
Scarcely  knowing  flats  from  sharps  ; 
Mothers  who,  while  bored  you  keep 
Time  by  nodding,  nod  to  sleep ; 
Heads  of  air,  that  stood  last  night 
Crepe,  crispy,  and  upright, 
But  have  now,  alas !  one  sees,  a 
Leaning  like  the  tower  of  Pisa ; 
Fare  ye  well — thus  sinks  away 

All  that's  mighty,  all  that's  bright ; 
Tyre  and  Sidon  had  their  day. 

And  ev'n  a  Ball — has  but  its  night ! 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


In  thus  connecting  together  a  series  of  Songs  by 
a  thread  of  poetical  narrative,  my  chief  object  has 
been  to  combine  Recitation  with  Music,  so  as  to 
enable  a  greater  number  of  persons  to  join  in  the 
performance,  by  enlisting,  as  readers,  those  who 
may  not  feel  willing  or  competent  to  take  a  part  as 
singers. 

The  Island  of  Zea,  where  the  scene  is  laid,  was 
called  by  the  ancients  Ceos,  and  vas  tlie  birthplace 
of  Simonides,  Bacchylides,  and  otlicr  eminent  per- 
sons. An  account  of  its  present  state  may  bo  found 
in  tho  Travels  of  Dr.  Clarke,  who  says,  that  "  it 
appeared  to  him  to  be  the  best  cultivated  of  any  of 
the  Grecian  Isles." — Vol.  vi.  p.  174. 

T.  M. 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


FIRST  EVENING. 

*  TnE  sky  is  bright — tho  breeze  is  fair, 
'*  And  the  mainsail  flowing,  full  and  fre« — 


"  Our  farewell  word  is  woman's  pray'r, 
"  And  the  hope  before  us — Liberty .' 

*'  Farewell,  farewell. 
"  To  Greece  we  give  our  shining  blades, 
"  And  our  hearts  to  you,  young  Zean  Maids ! 

"  The  moon  is  in  the  heavens  above, 
"  And  the  wind  is  on  the  foaming  sea — 

"  Thus  shines  the  star  of  woman's  lovo 
*'  On  the  glorious  strife  of  Liberty  ! 

"  Farewell,  farewell. 
"  To  Greece  we  give  our  shining  blades 
"  And  our  hearts  to  you,  young  Zean  Maids !" 


Thus  sung  they  from  the  bark,  that  now 
Turn'd  to  the  sea  its  gallant  prow. 
Bearing  within  it  hearts  as  brave. 
As  o'er  sought  Freedom  o'er  the  wave ; 
And  leaving  on  that  islet's  shore. 

Where  still  the  farewell  beacons  bum, 
Friends,  that  shall  many  a  day  look  o'er 

The  long,  dim  sea  for  t!irir  retiun. 

Virgin  of  Heaven  !  fpeed  their  way — 
Oh,  speed  their  way, — Iho  clioscn  flow'r, 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


319 


Of  Zea's  youth,  the  liope  and  stay 

or  parents  in  tlieir  wintry  hour, 
The  love  of  maidens,  and  tlie  pride 
Of  tlie  young,  happy,  bhishing  bride, 
Whose  nuptia)  wreatli  lias  not  yet  died — 
All,  all  are  in  that  precious  bark, 

Which  now,  alas,  no  more  is  seen — 
Though  every  eye  still  turns  to  mark 

Tlie  moonlight  spot  where  it  had  been 

Vainly  you  look,  ye  maidens,  shes. 

And  mothers,  your  beloved  are  gone  ! — 
Now  may  you  quench  those  signal  tires. 

Whose  light  they  long  look'd  back  upon 
From  their  dark  deck — watching  the  flame 

As  fast  it  faded  from  their  view. 
With  thoughts,  that,  but  for  manly  shame. 

Had  made  them  droop  and  weep  like  you. 
Home  to  your  chambers !  home,  and  pray 
For  the  bright  coming  of  that  day. 
When,  b!css"d  by  heaven,  the  Cross  shall  sweep 
The  Crescent  from  the  jEgean  deep, 
And  your  brave  warriors,  hast'ning  back, 
Will  bring  such  glories  in  their  track. 
As  shall,  for  many  an  age  to  come. 
Shed  light  aromid  their  name  and  home. 

There  is  a  Fount  on  Zea's  isle, 
Round  which,  in  soft  luxuriance,  smile 
All  the  sweet  flowers,  of  every  kind, 

On  wliich  tlie  sun  of  Greece  looks  down, 

Pleased  as  a  lover  on  the  crown 
His  mistress  for  her  brow  hath  twined, 
W'hcn  he  beholds  each  flow'ret  there. 
Himself  had  wish'd  her  most  to  wear  ; 
Here  bloom'd  the  laurel-rose,'  whose  wreath 

Hangs  radiant  round  the  C\-priot  shrines. 
And  here  those  bramble-flowere  that  breathe 

Their  odor  into  Zante's  wines  :^ — 
The  splendid  woodbine,  that,  at  eve, 

To  grace  their  floral  diadems. 
The  lovely  maids  of  Patmos  weave :'' — 

And  that  fair  plant,  whose  tangled  stems 
Shine  like  a  Nereid's  hair,*  when  spread, 
Dishevell'd,  o'er  her  azure  bed  ; — 
All  these  bright  children  of  the  clime, 
(Each  at  its  own  most  genial  time. 
The  summer,  or  the  year's  sweet  prime,) 
Like  beautiful  earth-stars,  adorn 
The  'Vallev,  where  that  Fount  is  bom : 


1  "Norium  Oleander.  In  Cyprus  it  retains  its  ancient 
name,  Rlioiludaptice,  and  tlie  Cypriots  adorn  tlieir  churcties 
witii  tile  lldwers  on  feast-days." — Journal  of  Dr.  Sibtkorpe, 
JValpolc's  Tnrliey.  '  Id. 

3  Lonicera  Caprifoliuni,  used  by  tlie  girls  of  Patmos  for 
garlands. 


While  round,  to  grace  its  cradle  green, 
Groups  of  Velani  oaks  are  seen, 
Tow'ring  on  every  verdant  height — 
Tall,  shadowy,  in  the  evening  light, 
Like  Genii,  set  to  watch  the  birth 
Of  some  enchanted  child  of  earth — 
Fair  oaks,  that  over  Zea's  vales. 

Stand  with  their  leafy  pride  unfurl'd ; 
While  Commerce,  from  her  thousand  sails, 

Scatters  their  fruit  throughout  the  world !' 

'Twas  here — as  soon  as  prayer  and  sleep 
(Those  truest  friends  to  all  who  weep) 
Had  lighteu'd  eveiy  heart,  and  madd 
Ev'n  sorrow  wear  a  softer  shade — 
'Twas  here,  in  this  secluded  spot. 

Amid  whoso  breathings  calm  and  sweet 
Grief  might  be  sooth'd,  if  not  forgot. 

The  Zean  nymphs  T^solved  to  meet 
Each  evening  now,  by  the  same  light 
That  saw  their  farewell  tears  that  night ; 
And  ivy,  if  sound  of  lute  and  song. 

If  wand'ring  'mid  the  moonlight  flowers 
In  various  talk,  could  charm  along 

With  lighter  step,  the  ling'ring  hours. 
Till  tidings  of  that  Bark  should  come. 
Or  Victorj'  waft  their  warriors  home  ! 

When  first  they  met — the  wonted  smile 

Of  greeting  having  gleam'd  awhile — ■ 

'Twould  touch  ev'n  Moslem  heart  to  see 

The  sadness  that  came  suddenly 

O'er  their  young  brows,  when  they  look'd  round 

Upon  that  bright,  enchanted  ground  ; 

And  thought,  how  many  a  time,  with  those 

Who  now  were  gone  to  the  mde  wars. 
They  there  had  met,  at  evening's  close, 

And  danced  till  mom  outshone  the  stars  1 

But  seldom  long  doth  hang  th'  eclipse 

Of  sorrow  o'er  such  youthful  breasts— 
The  breath  from  her  own  blushing  lips, 

That  on  the  maiden's  mirror  rests. 
Not  swifter,  lighter  from  the  glass. 
Than  sadness  from  her  brow  doth  pass. 
Soon  did  they  now,  as  round  the  W'ell 

They  sat,  beneath  the  rising  moon — 
And  some,  with  voice  of  awe,  would  tell 
Of  midnight  fays,  and  nymphs  who  dwell 

In  holy  founts — while  some  would  tune 


<  Cnscuta  europaia.  "From  the  twisting  and  twining  of 
tlie  stems,  it  is  compared  by  the  Greeks  tu  the  dislievelled 
hair  of  the  Nereids." — IVatpoWs  Turkey. 

"'The  produce  of  the  island  in  these  acorns  alone 
amounts  annually  to  tifleen  thousand  quintals." — Clarke^a 
Travels. 


I 


320 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Their  iillo  lutes,  that  now  had  lain, 
For  duys,  witliout  a  single  strain  : — 
And  otliers,  from  the  rest  apart, 
With  laugh  tliat  told  Iho  lightcn'd  heart, 
Sat,  whisp'iiiig  in  each  other's  ear 
Secrets,  that  all  in  turn  would  liear  ; — 
Soon  did  they  find  tliis  thoughtless  play 
So  swiftly  steal  their  grieis  away. 

That  many  a  nynipli,  though  pleased  the  while, 
Reproach'd  her  own  forgetful  smile, 
And  sigh'd  to  tliink  she  could  bo  gay. 

Among  these  maidens  there  was  one. 
Who  to  Leueadia*  late  had  been — 

Had  stood,  beneath  the  evening  sun, 
On  its  white  towVing  cliffs,  and  seen 

The  very  spot  where  Sappho  sung 

Her  swan-like  music,  ere  she  sprung 

(Still  holding,  in  that  fearful  leap, 

By  her  loved  lyre)  into  the  deep, 

And  dying  quench'd  the  fatal  fire, 

At  once,  of  both  her  heart  and  lyre. 

Mutely  they  listen'd  all — and  well 
Did  the  young  travell'd  maiden  tell 
Of  the  dread  height  to  which  that  steep 
Beetles  above  the  eddying  deep" — 
Of  the  lone  sea-birds,  wheeling  round 
The  dizzy  edge  witli  mournful  sound — 
And  of  those  scented  lilies'  found 
Still  blooming  on  that  fearful  place — 
As  if  call'd  up  by  Love,  to  grace 
Th'  immortal  spot,  o'er  which  the  last 
Bright  footsteps  of  his  martyr  pass'd ! 

While  fresh  to  ev'ry  listener's  thought 
These  legends  of  Leucadia  brought 
All  that  of  Sappho's  hapless  flame 
Is  kept  alive,  still  watch'd  by  Fame — 
The  maiden,  tuning  her  soft  lute. 
While  all  the  rest  stood  round  her,  mute. 
Thus  sketch'd  the  lauguishnicnt  of  soul, 
That  o'er  the  tender  Lesbian  stole  ; 
And,  in  a  voice,  whose  thrilling  tone 
Fancy  might  deem  the  Lesbian's  own, 
One  of  those  fervid  fragments  gave, 

Which  still, — like  sparkles  of  Greek  Fire, 
Undying,  cv'u  beneath  the  wave, — 

Burn  on  through  Time,  and  ne'er  e.vpire. 


1  Now  Snnta  Maura^the  island,  from  whose  cliffs  Sap 
pho  le.Tpcd  into  llie  sea. 

2  "The  precipice,  which  is  fc.irfuUy  dizzy,  is  about  one 
huc<jre(l  and  fourteen  feet  from  the  water,  which  is  of  a  pro- 
founi  depth,  ns  appears  from  the  dark-blue  color  and  the 
eddy  that  plays  rnuiid  the  pointed  and  projecting  rocks." — 
Oootlisson^s  Junian  JsUs. 


SONG. 

As  o'er  her  loom  the  Lesbian  Maid 

Li  love-sick  languor  hung  her  head, 
Unknowing  wiiere  her  fingers  stray 'd, 

She  weeping  turn'd  away,  and  said. 
"  Oil,  my  sweet  Mother — 'tis  in  vain — 

"  I  cannot  weave,  as  once  I  wove — 
"  So  wilder'd  is  my  heart  and  brain 

"  With  tliiuking  of  that  youth  I  love  !'" 

Again  the  web  she  tried  to  trace, 

But  tears  fell  o'er  each  tangled  thread  ; 
AVhile,  looking  in  her  mother's  face, 

Who  watchful  o'er  her  lean'd,  she  said, 
"  Oh,  my  sweet  Mother — 'tis  in  vain — 

"  I  cannot  weave,  as  once  I  wove — 
"  So  wilder'd  is  my  heart  and  brain 

"  With  thinking  of  that  youth  I  love !" 


A  silence  foUow'd  this  sweet  air. 

As  each  in  tender  musing  stood. 
Thinking,  with  lips  that  moved  in  prayer, 

Of  Sappho  and  tliat  fearful  flood  : 
While  some,  who  ne'er  till  now  had  known 

How  much  their  hearts  resembled  hers, 
Felt  as  they  made  her  griefs  their  own, 

That  they,  too,  were  Love's  worshippers. 

At  length  a  murmrn-,  all  but  mute, 
So  famt  it  was,  came  from  the  lute 
Of  a  young  melancholy  maid. 
Whose  fingers,  all  uncertain  play'd 
From  chord  to  chord,  as  if  in  chase 

Of  some  lost  melody,  some  strain 
Of  other  times,  whose  faded  trace 

She  sought  among  those  chords  again 
Slowly  the  half-forgotten  tlieme 

(Though  bom  in  feelings  ne'er  forgot) 
Came  to  her  memory — as  a  beam 

Falls  broken  o'er  some  shaded  spot ; — 
And  while  her  lute's  sad  symphony 

Fill'd  up  each  sighing  pause  between  : 
And  Love  liimself  might  weep  to  see 

What  ruin  comes  where  ho  hath  been — 
As  wither'd  still  the  grass  is  found 
Whore  fays  have  danced  their  meri-y  round- 


3  See  Mr.  Goodisson's  very  interesting  description  of  all 
these  circumstances. 

*  I  have  attempted,  in  these  fonr  lines,  to  give  some  idea 
of  that  beautiful  fragment  of  Sappho,  beginning  rXvKcTa 
fiiiTsp,  wliich  represents  so  truly  (as  Wartoii  remarks)  "  the 
langnor  and  listlessness  of  a  person  deeply  in  love." 


EVENINGS 

[N  GREECE.                                       321 

Thus  simply  to  the  list'ning  throng 

Thus  sung  the  song  her  lover  late 

She  breathed  her  melancholy  song : — 

Had  sung  to  her — the  evo  before 

That  joyous  night,  when,  as  of  yore, 

All  Zea  met,  to  celebrate 

The  Feast  of  May,  on  the  sea-shore. 

SONG. 

SONG. 

Weeping  for  thee,  my  love,  through  the  long  day, 

When  the  Balaika' 

Lonely  and  wearily  life  wears  away. 

Is  heard  o'er  the  sea, 

Weeping  for  thee,  my  love,  through  the  long  night — 

I'll  dance  the  Romaika 

No  rest  in  darkness,  no  joy  in  light ! 

By  moonlight  with  thee 
If  waves  then,  advancing. 

Naught  left  but  Memory,  whose  dreary  tread 

Sounds   through   this   ruin'd   heart,  where   all  lies 

Should  steal  on  our  play. 

dead — 

Thy  white  feet,  in  dancing, 

Wakening  the  echoes  of  joy  long  fled  1 

Shall  chase  them  away.' 

When  the  Balaika 

Is  heard  o'er  the  sea, 
Tliou'lt  dance  the  Romaika, 

My  own  love,  with  me. 

Of  many  a  stanza,  this  alone 

Had  'scaped  oblivion — like  the  one 

Then,  at  the  closing 

Stray  fragment  of  a  wreck,  v<-hich  thrown, 

Of  each  merry  lay, 

With  the  lost  vessel's  name,  ashore, 

How  sweet  'tis,  reposing. 

Tells  who  they  were  that  live  no  more. 

Beneath  the  night  ray  I 

Or  if,  declining. 

When  thus  the  heart  is  in  a  vein 

The  moon  leave  the  skies, 

Of  tender  thought,  the  simplest  strain 

We'll  talk  by  the  shining 

Can  touch  it  with  peculiar  power — 

Of  each  other's  eyes. 

As  when  the  air  is  warm,  the  scent 

Of  the  most  wild  and  rustic  flower 

Oh  tlien,  how  featly 

Can  fill  the  whole  rich  element — 

The  dance  we'll  renew, 

And,  in  such  moods,  the  homeliest  tone 

Treading  so  fleetly 

That's  link'd  with  feelings,  once  our  own — 

Its  light  mazes  through :' 

With  friends  or  joys  gone  by — will  be 

Till  stars,  looking  o'er  us 

Worth  choirs  of  loftiest  harmony ! 

From  heaven's  high  bow'rs, 

Would  change  their  bright  chorus 

But  some  there  were,  among  the  group 

For  one  dance  of  ours  I 

Of  damsels  there,  too  light  of  heart 

When  the  Balaika 

To  let  their  spirits  longer  droop. 

Is  heard  o'er  the  sea, 

Ev'n  under  music's  melting  art ; 

Tliou'lt  dance  the  Eomaika, 

And  one  upspringing,  with  a  bound. 

My  own  love,  with  me. 

From  a  low  bank  of  flowei-s,  look'd  round 

With  eyes  that,  though  so  full  of  light, 
Had  still  a  trembling  tear  within ; 

And,  while  her  fingers,  in  swift  fliglit. 

How  changingly  forever  veers 

Flew  o'er  a  fairy  mandolin. 

The  heart  of  youth,  'twi.\t  smiles  and  tears  ! 

1  This  word  is  defrandcil  here,  I  suspect,  of  a  syllable ; 

of  the  dance  sometimes  setting  to  her  partner,  sometimes 

Dr.  Clarke,  if  I  recollect  right,  ir.akes  it  "  Balalaika." 

darting  before  the  rest,  and  leading  them  through  the  most 

2  "  I  saw  above  thirty  parties  engaged  in  dancing  the  Ro- 

rapid  revolutions ;    sometimes  crossing  under  the  hands, 

maika  upon  the  sand  ;  in  some  of  these  groups,  the  girl  who 

which  are  held  up  to  let  her  pass,  and  giving  as  much  live- 

led them  chased  the  retreating  wave." — Douglas  on  the 

liness  and  intricacy  as  she  can  to  the  figures,  into  which 

Modem  Greeks. 

she  conducts  her  companions,  while  their  business  is  to 

3  "  In  dancing  the  Eomaika  (says  Jlr.  Douglas)  they  begin 

follow  her  in  all   her  movements,  without  breaking  the 

in  slow  and  solemn  step  till  they  have  gained  the  time,  but 

chain,  or  losing  the  measure." 

by  degrees  the  air  becomes  more  sprightly ;  the  coiMlactress 

322 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Ev'n  as  in  April,  the  liglit  vana 
Now  points  to  Bimshine,  now  to  rain. 
Instant  tliis  lively  lay  dispell'd 

The  shadow  from  each  blooming  brow, 
And  Uancinjj,  joyous  Dancing,  held 

Full  empire  o'er  each  fancy  now. 

But  say — what  shall  the  measure  be  ? 

"  Shall  we  the  old  Romaika  tread," 
(Some  eager  ask'd)  "  as  anciently 

*'  'Twas  by  the  maids  of  Delos  led, 
"  AVhen,  slow  at  first,  then  circling  fast, 
"  As  the  gay  spirits  rose — at  last, 
"  AVith  hand  in  hand,  like  links,  enlock'd, 

"  Through  the  light  air  they  seom'd  to  flit 
"  In  labyrinthine  maze,  that  mock'd 

"  The  dazzled  eye  that  foUow'd  if!" 
Some  caird  aloud  "  the  Fountain  Dance !" — 

While  one  young,  dark-eyed  Amazon, 
Whose  step  was  air-like,  and  whose  glance 

Flasird,  like  a  sabre  in  the  sun, 
Sportively  said,  "  Shame  on  these  soft 
"  And  languid  strains  we  hear  so  oft. 
"  Daughter  of  Freedom!  have  not  wo 

"  Lcani'd  from  our  lovers  and  our  sires 
"  The  Dance  of  Greece,  while  Greece  was  free — 

"  That  Dance,  where  neither  flutes  nor  lyres, 
"  But  sword  and  shield  clash  on  tho  ear 
"  A  music  tyrants  quake  to  hear?' 
"  Heroines  of  Zea,  arm  with  me, 
"  And  dance  the  dance  of  Victory  1" 

Thus  saying,  she,  with  playful  grace, 
Loosed  the  wide  hat,  that  o'er  her  face 
(From  Anatolia^  came  tho  maid) 

Hung,  sliadowiug  each  sunny  charm  ; 
An!,  with  a  fair  young  armorer's  aid, 

Fi.xing  it  on  her  rounded  arm, 
A  mimic  shield  with  pride  display'd  ; 
Then,  springing  tow'rds  a  grove  that  spread 

lis  canopy  of  foliage  near, 
Pluck'd  oir  a  lance-like  twig,  and  said, 
"  To  arms,  to  arms  I"  while  o'er  her  liead 

She  waved  the  light  branch,  as  a  spear. 

Promptly  the  laughing  maidens  all 
Obej  'd  their  Chiefs  heroic  call ; — 
Roufid  the  shield-arm  of  each  was  tied 

Hat,  turban,  shawl,  as  chance  might  be  ; 

The  grove,  their  verdant  armory, 
Falchion  and  lancc^  alike  sujiplied  ; 

1  For  a  flcscrlpiion  of  the  Pyrrhic  D.ance.  see  De  Guys,  &c. 
— It  appears  from  Apuleius  (lib.  x.)  that  this  war-dance  was, 
among  the  ancients,  sometimes  performed  by  females. 

3  Si'c  the  costume  nf  the  Creek  women  of  Natolia  in  Oi^- 
Ullan^s  JUirws  dcs  Othcmans 


And  as  their  glossy  locks,  let  free, 

Fell  down  their  shoulders  carelessly. 
You  might  have  dream'd  you  saw  a  throng 

Of  youthful  Thyads,  by  the  beam 
Of  a  May  moon,  bounding  along 

Pencils'  silver-eddied'  stream ! 

And  now  they  stepp'd,  with  measured  tread, 

Martially,  o'er  the  shining  field ; 
Now,  to  the  mimic  combat  led, 
(A  heroine  at  eacli  squadron's  head,) 

Struck  lance  to  lance  and  sword  to  shield : 
While  still,  through  every  varying  feat. 
Their  voices,  heard  in  contiast  sweet 
With  some,  of  deep  but  softcn'd  sound, 
From  lips  of  aged  sires  around, 
AVho  smiling  watch'd  their  children's  play — 
Thus  simg  the  ancient  Pyrrhic  lay : — 


I 


SONG. 


"  Raise  the  buckler — poise  the  lance — 

"  Now  here — now  there — retreat — advance  I" 

Such  were  the  sounds,  to  which  the  warrior  boy 
Danced  in  those  happy  days,  when  Greece  was 
free; 

When  Sparta's  youth,  ev'n  in  the  hour  of  joy. 
Thus  train'd  theu:  steps  to  war  and  victorj'. 

"  Raise  the  buckler — poise  the  lance — 

"  Now  here — now  there — retreat — advance  I" 

Such  was  tho  Spartan  warriors'  dance. 

"  Grasp  the  falchion — gird  the  shield — 

"  Attack— defend— do  all,  but  yield." 

Thus  did  thy  sons,  oh  Greece,  one  glorious  night. 
Dance  by  a  moon  like"  this,  till  o'er  the  sea 

That  morning  dawn'd  by  whose  immortal  light 
They  nobly  died  for  thee  and  liberty !' 

"  Raise  the  buckler— poise  the  lance — 

"  Now  here — now  there — retreat — advance !" 

Such  was  tho  Spartan  heroes'  dauce. 


Scarce  had  they  closed  this  martial  lay 
WHien,  flinging  their  light  spears  away, 

3  The  sword  was  the  weapon  chiefly  used  in  this  dance. 

*  Homer,  II.  ii.  T.'iS. 

^  It  is  said  that  Leonidas  and  his  companions  employed 
themselves,  on  the  eve  of  the  battle,  in  music  and  the  gjln- 
nastlc  exercises  of  their  country. 


I 


1 

EVENINGS  IN  GREECE.                                         323 

The  combatants,  in  broken  ranlis, 

Of  silence  after  it,  that  hung 

All  breathless  from  the  war-field  fly  ; 

Like  a  fix'd  spell  on  every  tongue. 

And  down,  upon  the  velvet  banks 

And  flow'ry  slopes,  exhausted  lie, 

At  length,  a  low  and  tremulous  sound 

Like  rosy  lumtresses  of  Thrace, 

Was  heard  from  midst  a  group,  that  round 

Resting  at  simset  from  the  chase. 

A  bashful  maiden  stood,  to  hide 

Her  blushes,  while  tlie  lute  she  tried — 

*'  Fond  girls  I"  an  aged  Zean  said — 

Like  roses,  gath'ring  round  to  veil 

One  who,  himself,  had  fought  and  bled, 

The  song  of  some  young  nightingale, 

And  now,  with  feelings,  half  dehght, 

Whose  trembling  notes  steal  out  between 

Half  sadness,  watch'd  their  mimic  fight — 

The  cluster'd  leaves,  herself  unseen. 

"  Fond  maids !  who  thus  with  War  can  jest — 

And,  while  that  voice,  in  tones  that  more 

"  Like  Love,  in  Mars's  helmet  dress'd, 

Through  feeling  than  thic.gh  weakness  err'd, 

"  When,  in  his  childish  innocence, 

Came,  with  a  stronger  sweetness,  o'er 

"  Pleased  with  tlie  shade  that  helmet  flings, 

Th'  attentive  ear,  this  strain  was  heard  :— 

"  He  thinks  not  of  the  blood,  that  thence 

"  Is  dropping  o'er  his  snowy  wings. 

"  Ay — true  it  is,  young  patriot  maids. 

"  If  Honor's  ann  still  won  the  fray. 

"  If  luck  but  shone  on  righteous  blades. 

"  War  were  a  game  for  gods  to  play  I 

SONG. 

"  But,  no,  alas ! — hear  one,  who  well 

"  Hath  track'd  the  fortimes  of  the  brave — 

I  SAW,  from  yonder  silent  cave. 

'  Hear  me,  in  mournful  ditty,  tell 

Two  Fountains  nmning,  side  by  side. 

"  What  glory  waits  the  patriot's  grave  :" — 

The  one  was  Mcm'ry's  limpid  wave, 

The  other  cold  Oblivion's  tide." 

"  Oh  Love  !"  said  I,  in  thoughtless  mood, 

As  deep  I  drank  of  Lethe's  stream, 
"  Be  all  my  sorrows  in  this  flood 

"  Forgotten  Uke  a  vanish'd  dream  !" 

SONG. 

But  who  could  bear  that  gloomy  blank, 

As  by  the  shore,  at  break  of  day, 

Where  joy  was  lost  as  well  as  pain  ? 

A  vanquish'd  Chief  expiring  lay. 

Quickly  of  Mem'rj'"s  fount  I  drank. 

Upon  the  sands,  with  broken  sword, 

And  brought  tlie  past  all  back  again ; 

He  traced  his  farewell  to  the  Free ; 

And  said,  "  Oh  Love  !  whate'er  my  lot. 

And,  there,  the  last  unfinish'd  word 

"  Still  let  this  soul  to  thee  be  tnie — 

He  dying  wrote  was  "  Liberty  1" 

"  Rather  than  have  one  bliss  forgot, 

**  Be  all  my  pains  remember'd  too  !'* 

At  night  a  Sea-bird  shriek'd  the  knell 

Of  him  who  thus  for  Freedom  fell ; 

The  words  he  wrote,  ere  evening  came, 
Were  cover'd  by  the  souadmg  sea ; — 

So  pass  away  the  cause  and  name 

Of  him  who  dies  for  Liberty ! 

The  group  that  stood  aroimd,  to  shade 

The  blushes  of  that  bashful  maid. 

Had,  by  degrees,  as  came  the  lay 
More  strongly  forth,  retired  away. 

Like  a  fair  shell,  whose  valves  divide, 

That  tribute  of  subdued  applause 

To  show  the  fairer  pearl  inside  : 

A  charm'd,  but  timid,  audience  pays, 

For  such  she  was — a  creature,  bright 

That  mimnur,  which  a  minstrel  draws 

And  delicate  as  those  day-flow'rs. 

From  hearts,  that  feel,  but&ar  to  praise, 

Which,  while  they  last,  make  up,  in  light 

Follow'd  this  song,  and  left  a  pause 

And  sweetness,  what  they  want  in  hours. 

I  "This  morning  we  paid  our  visit  to  the  Cave  of  Tro- 

upon  the  walcr  of  Hercyna,  which  flows  through  stupendous 

phonius,  and  the  Fountains  of  Memory  and  Oblivion,  just 
I -^^^— ^^^^— ^— — — ^-^^-^ 

tocMs."— Williams's  Travels  in  Oreae. 

324 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


So  rich  upon  the  ear  had  gn)\m 
Her  voicc'H  melody — \t3  tone 
Gath'ring  new  conrage,  as  it  found 
An  echo  in  eacli  bosom  round — 
That,  ere  tlie  nymph,  with  downcast  eye 
.Still  on  the  chords,  her  luto  laid  by, 
"  .\nothef  Song,"  all  lips  e.xclaim'd. 
And  each  some  matchless  fav'rite  named  ; 
While  blushing,  as  her  fingers  ran 
O'er  the  sweet  chords,  she  thus  began : — 


SONG. 


Oil,  Memory,  how  coldly 

Thou  paintest  joy  gone  by: 
Like  rainbows,  tliy  pictures 

But  niounii'ully  sliine  and  die 
Or,  if  some  tints  tliou  kcepest, 

That  fonner  days  recall. 
As  o'er  eacli  line  tliou  weepest, 

Thy  tears  efface  them  all. 

But,  Memory,  too  truly 

Thou  paintest  grief  that's  past ; 
Joy's  colors  are  fleeting. 

But  those  of  Sorrow  last. 
And,  while  thou  briug'st  before  us 

Dark  pictures  of  past  ill, 
Life's  evening,  closing  o'er  us, 

But  makes  them  darker  still. 


.So  went  the  mooijight  hours  along, 
In  this  sweet  glade  ;  and  so,  with  soug 
And  witching  sounds— not  such  as  they, 

The  cymbalists  of  Ossa,  play'd. 
To  chase  the  moon's  eclipse  away,' 

But  s»  f:  and  holy — did  each  maid 
Lighten  li3r  heart's  eclipse  awhile, 
And  win  back  Sorrow  to  a  smile. 

Not  far  from  this  secluded  place. 
On  the  sea-shore  a  ruin  stood ; — 

A  relic  of  th'  c.\tinguish'd  race. 

Who  once  look'd  o'er  that  foamy  Hood, 

When  fair  loulis,''  by  tlie  liglit 

Of  golden  sunset,  on  the  sight 
Of  mariners  wlio  sail'd  that  sea, 

•  This  superstitions  custom  of  Ihc  Thessalians  exists  also, 
as  Pictro  della  Vatle  tells  us,  iinioiig  the  Persians. 

^  An  ancient  city  of  Zea.  the  waUs  of  which  were  of 
marble.    Its  remains  (says  Clallie)  "eitend  from  the  shore, 


Rose,  like  a  city  of  chrysolite, 

Call'd  from  the  wave  by  witchery. 
This  ruin — now  by  barb'rous  hands 

Debased  into  a  motley  shed. 
Where  the  once  splendid  column  stands 

Inverted  on  its  leafy  head — 
Form'd,  as  they  tell,  in  times  of  old. 

The  dwelling  of  that  bard,  whoso  lay 
Could  melt  to  tears  the  stem  and  cold. 

And  sadden,  'mid  their  mirth,  the  gay — 
Simonides,^  whose  fame,  through  years 
And  ages  past,  still  bright  aj;iears — 
Like  Hesperus,  a  star  of  tears ; 

'Twas  hither  now — to  catch  a  view 

Of  the  white  waters,  as  they  play'd 
Silently  in  the  light — a  few 

Of  the  more  restless  dainsels  stray  ;  ; 
And  some  would  linger  'mid  the  sccLt 

Of  hanging  foliage,  tliat  perftmied 
The  ruin'd  walls  ;  while  others  went, 

Culling  whatever  flow'ret  bloom'd 
In  the  lone  leafy  space  between. 
Where  gilded  chambers  once  had  been  ; 
Or,  tummg  sadly  to  the  sea, 

Sent  o'er  the  wave  a  sigh  nnblest 
To  some  brave  cliampion  of  the  Free. — 
Thinking,  alas,  how  cold  might  be, 

At  that  still  hour,  his  place  of  rest ! 

Meanwhile  there  came  a  sound  of  song 
From  the  dark  ruins — a  faint  strain, 

As  if  some  echo,  that  among 

Those  minstrel  halls  had  slumber'd  long. 
Were  murm'ring  into  life  again. 

But,  no — the  nympha  knew  well  the  tone— 

A  maiden  of  their  train,  who  loved. 
Like  the  night-bird,  to  sing  alone. 

Had  deep  mto  those  ruins  roved, 
And  there,  all  other  thoughts  forgot. 

Was  warbling  o'er,  in  lone  delight, 
A  lay  that,  on  that  very  spot. 

Her  lover  sung  one  moonlight  night : — 


SONG. 


An  !  where  are  they,  who  heard,  in  former  hours. 
The  voice  of  Soug  in  these  neglected  bow'is  ? 
They  are  gone — all  gone  1 

quite  into  a  valley  watered  by  the  streams  of  a  fountain, 
whence  loulis  received  its  name." 

3  Zea  was  the  birthplace  of  this  poet,  whose  verses  are  by 
Catullus  called  "  tears." 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


325 


Tlio  youth,  who  told  his  pain  iii  such  sweet  tone, 
That  all,  who  heard  him,  wish'd  his  pain  their  own — 
Ho  is  gone — he  is  gone  ! 

And  she,  who,  while  he  sung,  sat  list'ning  by. 
And  thought,  to  strains  like  these  'twere  sweet  to 
die — 
She  is  gone — she  too  is  gone ! 

'Tis  thus,  in  future  hours,  some  bard  will  say 
Of  her,  who  hears,  and  him,  who  sings  this  lay — 
Thoy  are  gone — they  both  are  gone  ! 


The  moon  was  now,  from  Heaven's  steep, 

Bending  to  dip  her  silv'ry  urn 
Into  tlie  bright  and  silent  deep — 

And  the  young  nymphs,  on  their  return 
From  those  romantic  ruins,  found 
Their  other  playmates,  ranged  around 
The  sacred  Spring,  prepared  to  tune 
Tlieir  parting  hymn,'  ere  sunk  the  moon, 
To  that  fair  Fountain,  by  whose  stream 
Their  hearts  had  form'd  so  many  a  dream. 

Who  has  not  read  the  tales,  that  tell 
Of  old  Eleusis'  sacred  Well, 
Or  heard  what  legend-songs  recount 
Of  SjTa,  aud  its  holy  Fount,'' 
Gushing,  at  once,  from  the  hard  rock 

Into  the  laps  of  living  flowers — 
Where  village  maidens  loved  to  flock, 

On  summer-nights,  and,  like  the  hours, 
Liuk'd  in  harmonious  dance  and  song, 
Charm'd  the  imconscious  night  along ; 
While  holy  pilgrims,  on  their  way 

To  Delos'  isle,  stood  looking  on, 
Enchanted  with  a  scene  so  gay, 

Nor  sought  their  boats,  till  morning  shone  T 

Such  was  the  scene  this  lovely  glade 
And  its  fair  inmates  now  display'd. 
As  round  the  Fount,  in  linked  ring. 

They  went,  in  cadence  slow  and  light, 
And  thus  to  that  enchanted  Spring 

Warbled  their  Farewell  for  the  night : — 


1  These  "  Songs  of  the  Well,"  as  they  were  called  amons 
ihe  ancients,  still  exist  in  Greece,  ne  Gutjs  tells  us  thiM  he 
has  seen  "  the  young  women  in  Prince's  Island,  assembled 
in  the  evening  at  a  public  well,  suddenly  strike  up  a  dance, 
while  others  sung  in  concert  to  them." 

^  "The  inhabitants  of  Syra,  both  ancient  and  modern, 
may  be  considered  as  the  worshippers  of  water.  The  old 
fountain,  at  which  the  nymphs  of  the  Island  assembled  in 
the  earliest  ages,  exists  in  its  original  state  ;  the  same  ren- 


SONG. 

HiiRE,  while  the  moonlight  dim 
Falls  on  that  mossy  brim. 
Sing  we  our  Fountain  Hymn, 

Maidens  of  Zea  I 
Nothing  but  Music's  strain. 
When  Lovers  part  in  pain. 
Sooths,  till  they  meet  again. 

Oh,  Maids  of  Zea ! 

Bright  Fount,  so  clear  and  cold. 
Round  which  the  nymphs  of  old 
Stood,  with  their  locks  of  gold, 

Foimtain  of  Zea ! 
Not  even  Gastaly, 
Famed  though  its  streamlet  be, 
Munnurs  or  shines  like  thee. 

Oh,  Fount  of  Zea ! 

Thou,  while  oiur  liymn  we  sing, 
Thy  silver  voice  shall  bring. 
Answering,  answering. 

Sweet  Fount  of  Zea  ! 
For,  of  all  rills  that  nm. 
Sparkling  by  moon  or  sun. 
Thou  art  the  fairest  one. 

Bright  Foiuit  of  Zea  <. 

Now,  by  those  stars  that  glance 
Over  heaven's  still  expanse, 
Weave  we  our  mirthful  dance, 

Daughters  of  Zea ! 
Such  as,  in  former  da^'s. 
Danced  they,  by  Dian's  rays, 
Where  the  Eurotas  strays,' 

Oh,  Maids  of  Zea! 

But  when  to  merry  feet 
Hearts  with  no  echo  beat, 
Say,  can  the  dance  be  sweet? 

Maidens  of  Zea '. 
No,  naught  but  Music's  strain, 
When  lovers  part  in  pain, 
Sootlis,  till  they  meet  again. 

Oh,  Maids  of  Zea '. 


dezvous  as  it  w.is  formerly,  whether  of  love  and  gallantn,-, 
or  of  gossiping  and  tale-telling.  It  is  near  to  the  town,  and 
the  most  limpid  water  gushes  continually  from  the  solid 
rock.  It  is  regarded  by  the  inhabitants  with  a  degree  oi  re- 
ligions veneration  ;  and  they  preserve  a  tradition,  that  the 
pilgrims  of  old  lime,  in  their  way  to  Deles,  resorted  hither 
for  purification." — Clarke. 
a  "Qualis  in  Eurota-  ripi.<:,  aut  per  juga  Cynthi 

Exercet  Diana  choros." — Virgil. 


326 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


SECOND  KVENING. 


SONG. 


NN'hen  evening  sliades  are  falling 

O'er  Ocean's  sunny  sleep, 
To  piljjrims'  heurt.s  recalling 

Their  home  beyond  the  deep ; 
When,  rest  o"er  all  descending. 

The  shores  with  gladness  smilo. 
And  lutes,  their  echoes  blending, 

Are  heard  from  isle  to  isle, 
Then,  Mary,  Star  of  the  Sea,' 
We  pray,  we  pray  to  thco  1 

The  noonday  tempest  over. 

Now  Ocean  toils  no  more. 
And  wings  of  halcyons  hover. 

Where  all  was  strife  before. 
Oh  thus  may  life,  in  closing 

Its  short  tempcstnons  day. 
Beneath  heaven's  smilo  reposing, 

Shine  all  its  storms  away  : 
Thu-s,  Mary,  Star  of  the  Sea, 
We  pray,  we  pray  to  thee ! 


On  Helle's  sea  the  light  grew  dim, 
.Vs  the  la-st  sounds  of  that  sweet  hjiim 

Floated  along  its  azure  tide — 
Floated  in  light,  as  if  the  lay 
Had  mix'd  with  sunset's  fading  ray. 

And  light  and  song  together  died. 
So  soft  through  evening's  air  had  breathed 
That  clioir  of  youthful  voices,  wreathed 
In  many-linked  harmony, 
Titat  boats,  tlicn  hurrying  o'er  the  sea, 
I'aused,  when  tlicy  reach'd  this  fairy  shore. 
And  linger'd  till  the  strain  was  o'er. 

Of  those  young  maids  who've  met  to  fleet 

In  sung  and  dance  this  evening's  liours, 
Far  iiappier  now  the  bosoms  beat. 

Than  when  they  la.st  adorn'd  these  bowers ; 
For  tidings  of  glad  sound  had  come, 

At  break  of  day,  from  the  far  isles — 
Tidings  like  breath  of  life  to  some — 
That  Zea's  sons  would  soon  wing  home, 

Crown'd  with  the  light  of  Victory's  smiles, 
To  meet  that  brightest  of  all  meeds 
That  wait  on  high,  heroic  deeds, 

'  One  of  the  titles  of  the  Virgin:— •' .Maria  illuminalrix, 
sive  Stella  Maris." — Isidor. 


Wicn  gentle  eyes  that  scarce,  Tor  tears. 

Could  trace  the  warrior's  parting  track, 
Shall,  like  a  misty  mom  that  clears, 
When  the  long-absent  sun  appears, 
Shine  out,  all  bliss,  to  hail  him  back. 

IIovv  fickle  still  tlie  youthful  breast  1 — 

More  fond  of  change  than  a  young  mooii. 
No  joy  so  new  was  e'er  possess'd 

But  Youth  would  leave  for  newer  soon. 
These  Zean  nymphs,  though  bright  the  spot, 

Where  first  they  held  their  evening  play, 
As  ever  fell  to  fairy's  lot 

To  wanton  o'er  by  midnight's  ray. 
Had  now  exchanged  that  shelter'd  scene 

For  a  wide  glade  beside  the  sea — 
A  lawn,  whose  soft  expanse  of  green 

Turn'd  to  the  west  sun  smilingly. 
As  though,  in  conscious  beauty  bright, 
It  joy'd  to  give  him  light  for  light. 

And  ne'er  did  evening  more  serene 
Look  down  from  heav'n  on  lovelier  scene. 
Calm  lay  the  flood  around,  while  fleet, 

O'er  the"bluo  shining  element, 
Light  barks,  as  if  with  fairy  feet 

That  stirr'd  not  the  husli'd  waters,  went : 
Some  that,  ere  rosy  eve  fell  o'er 

The  blushing  wave,  with  mainsail  free, 
Had  put  forth  from  the  Attic  shore, 

Or  the  near  Isle  of  Ebony  ; — ■ 
Some,  Hydriot  barks,  that  deep  in  caves 

Beneath  Colonna's  pillar'd  clilTs, 
Had  all  day  lurk'd,  and  o'er  the  waves 

Now  shot  their  long  and  dart-like  skilTs. 
Wo  to  the  craft,  however  fleet. 
These  sea-hawks  in  their  course  shall  meet, 
Laden  with  juice  of  Lesbian  vines. 
Or  rich  from  Naxos'  cmcr)'  mines ; 
For  not  more  sure,  when  owlets  flee 
O'er  the  dark  crags  of  Pendelee, 
Doth  the  night-falcon  mark  his  prey, 
Or  pounce  on  it  more  fleet  than  they. 

And  what  a  moon  now  lights  the  glade 

Wiero  these  young  island  nymphs  are  met  I 
Full-orb'd,  yet  pure,  as  if  no  shade 
Had  toucli'd  its  virgin  lustre  yet ; 
And  freshly  bright,  as  if  just  made 
By  Love's  own  hands,  of  new-born  light 
Stol'n  from  his  mother's  star  to-night. 

On  a  bold  rock,  that  o'er  the  flood 
Jutted  from  that  soft  glade,  there  stood 
A  Chapel,  fronting  tow'rds  the  sea, — 
Built  in  some  by-gone  century, — 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


327 


Where,  nightly,  as  the  seaman's  mark, 
When  waves  rose  high  or  clouds  were  dark, 
A  lamp,  hcqucath'd  by  some  kind  Saint, 
Shed  o'er  the  wave  its  glimmer  faint, 
Waking  in  way-worn  men  a  sigh 
And  pray'r  to  heav'n,  as  they  went  by. 
'Twas  tliere,  around  that  rock-built  shrine, 

A  group  of  maidens  and  their  sires 
Had  stood  to  watch  the  day's  decline, 

And,  as  tlie  light  fell  o'er  then'  lyres, 
Sung  to  the  Queen-Star  of  the  Sea 
That  soft  and  holy  melody. 

But  lighter  thoughts  and  lighter  song 

Now  woo  the  coming  hours  along: 

For,  mark,  where  smooth  the  herbage  lies, 

Yon  gay  pavilion,  curtain'd  deep 
Witli  silken  folds,  through  wliich,  bright  eyes, 

From  time  to  time,  are  seen  to  peep ; 
While  twinkling  lights  that,  to  and  fro, 
Beneath  those  veils,  like  meteors,  go. 

Tell  of  some  spells  at  work,  and  keep 
Young  fancies  chaiu'd  in  mute  suspense. 
Watching  what  next  may  shine  from  thence. 
Nor  long  the  pause,  ere  hands  unseen 

That  mystic  curtain  backward  drew, 
And  all,  that  late  but  shone  between, 

In  half-caught  gleams,  now  burst  to  view. 
A  picture  'twas  of  the  early  days 
Of  glorious  Greece,  ere  yet  those  rays 
Of  rich,  immortal  Mind  were  hers 
That  made  mankind  her  v^orshippers  ; 
While,  yet  unsung,  her  landscapes  shone 
With  glor)'  lent  by  Heaven  alone  ; 
Nor  temples  crown'd  her  nameless  hills. 
Nor  Bluse  immortalized  her  rills  ; 
Nor  aught  but  the  mute  poesy 
Of  Sim,  and  stars,  aiid  shiuing  sea 
Illumed  that  land  of  bards  to  be. 
AV^hile,  prescient  of  the  gifted  race 

That  yet  would  realm  so  blest  adorn. 
Nature  took  pains  to  deck  the  place 

Where  glorious  -\rt  was  to  be  boru. 

Such  was  the  scene  that  mimic  stage 

Of  Athens  and  her  hills  portray'd ; 
Athens,  in  her  first,  youthful  age. 

Ere  yet  the  simple  violet  braid,' 
Which  then  adorn'd  her,  had  shone  down 
The  glory  of  earth's  loftiest  cro\vn. 
While  yet  undream'd,  her  seeds  of  Art 

Lay  sleeping  in  the  marble  mine — 
Sleeping  till  Genius  bade  tbera  start 

To  all  but  life,  in  shapes  divine ; 

I  "  Violet-crowned  Athens." — Pindar. 


Till  deified  the  quany  shone 
And  all  Olympus  stood  in  stone ! 

There,  in  the  foreground  of  that  scene. 

On  a  soit  bank  of  living  green. 

Sat  a  young  nymph,  with  her  lap  full 

Of  newly  gather'd  flowers,  o'er  which 
She  graceful  lean'd,  intent  to  ctdl 

All  that  was  there  of  hue  most  rich, 
To  form  a  wreatli,  such  as  the  eye 
Of  her  young  lover,  who  stood  by. 
With  palette  mingled  fresh,  might  choose 
To  fix  Viy  Painting's  rainbow  hues. 

The  wTeath  wi*  'orm'd  ;  the  maiden  raised 

Her  speaking  eyes  to  hife,  while  he — 
Oh  not  upon  the  flowers  now  gazed. 

But  on  that  bright  look'    witchery. 
While,  quick  as  if  but  tlieu  the  thought. 
Like  light,  had  rcach'd  his  soul,  he  caught 
His  pencil  up,  and,  warm  and  true 
As  life  itself,  that  love-look  drew  ; 
And,  as  his  raptured  task  went  on. 
And  forth  each  kindling  featiu-e  shone. 
Sweet  voices,  through  the  moonlight  air. 

From  lips  as  moonlight  fresh  and  pure. 
Thus  hail'd  the  briglit  dream  passing  there. 

And  siong  the  Birth  of  Portraiture.^ 


SONG. 


As  once  a  Greciail  maiden  wove 

Her  garland  mid  the  summer  bow'rs. 
There  stood  a  youth,  with  eyes  of  love. 

To  watch- her  while  slie  wrcath'd  the  flow'rs. 
The  youth  was  skiU'd  in  Painting's  art. 

But  ne'er  had  studied  woman's  brow. 
Nor  knew  what  magic  hues  the  heart 

Can  shed  o'er  Nature's  charms,  till  now 


Blest  bo  Love,  to  whom  we  owe 
All  that's  fair  and  bright  below. 

His  hand  bad  pictured  many  a  rose. 

And  sketch'd  the  rays  that  light  the  brook  ; 
But  what  were  these,  or  what  were  those. 

To  woman's  blush,  to  woman's  look  ? 
"  Oh,  if  such  magic  pow'r  tliere  be, 

"  This,  this,"  he  cried,  "  is  all  my  prayer, 
"  To  paint  that  living  light  I  see, 

"  And  fix  the  soul  that  sparkles  there." 

2  The  whole  of  this  scene  was  su;:cested  by  Pliny's  account 
of  the  artist  Pausias  and  his  mistrcsj  Glycer.1,  lib.  x.i.w.  c.  JO. 


328 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Hill  prayer,  as  sooo  as  breathed,  was  heard  ; 

His  palede,  toiich'd  by  Love,  grew  warm, 
And  riiiiitiii;;  saw  her  hues  transferr'd 

From  lifeless  flow'rs  to  woman's  fopn. 
Still  as  from  tint  to  tint  he  stole. 

The  fair  dcsitrn  shone  out  the  more, 
Aitd  tliero  was  now  a  life,  a  soul, 

Where  only  colors  glow'd  before. 

Then  first  carnations  learn'd  to  speak. 

And  lilies  into  life  were  brought ; 
While,  mantling  on  the  maiden's  cheek, 

Young  roses  kindled  into  thought 
Then  hyacinths  their  darkest  dyes 

Upon  the  locks  of  Beauty  threw ; 
And  violets,  transfonn'd  to  eyes, 

Inshrined  a  soul  within  their  blue. 


Blest  be  Love,  to  whom  we  owe 
.\11  that's  fair  and  bright  below. 
Song  was  cold  and  Painting  dim 
Till  song  and  Painting  learn'd  from  him. 


Soon  as  the  scene  had  closed,  a  cheei 

Of  gentle  voices,  old  and  youug, 
Rose  from  the  groups  that  stood  to  hear 

This  tale  of  yore  so  aptly  sung ; 
And  while  some  nymphs,  in  haste  to  tell 
The  workers  of  that  fairy  spell 
How  crown'd  with  praise  their  task  had  been, 
Stole  in  behind  the  curtain'd  scene. 
The  rest,  in  hapi)y  converse  stray'd — 

Talking  that  ancient  love-tale  o'er — 
Some,  to  the  groves  that  skirt  the  glade, 

Some,  to  the  chapel  by  the  shore, 
To  look  what  lights  were  on  the  sea, 
And  think  of  th'  absent  silently. 

But  soon  that  summons,  knomi  so  well 
Through  bow'r  and  hall,  in  Eastern  lands, 

Whose  sound,  more  sure  than  gong  or  bell, 
Lovers  and  slaves  alike  commands, — 
The  clapping  of  young  female  hands, 

'  The  traveller  Phaw  njenlinns  n  lieamiful  rill  iiiBarbarj', 
which  is  rcceivfil  into  a  large  liHsin  calleil  Shrui  wee  kntb. 
"Drink  and  awny,"— there  bciiii;  great  danger  o(  meeting 
with  thieves  and  assassins  in  such  places. 

3  The  Arabian  shepherd  has  a  |ieculiar  eercmoay  in  wean- 
ing the  young  camel :  when  tte  pm|icr  time  arrives,  he  turns 
the  camel  to-:^ar.1s  the  rising  rt;ir.  Canopus,  and  says,  " Do 
yciu  see  Canopus  ?  from  this  moiiicnt  you  taste  not  another 
drop  of  milk."— /i/cAcrJiton. 

^  "  Whosur  lelurns  from  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca  hangs 


Calls  back  the  groups  from  rock  and  field 
To  see  some  new-form'd  scene  reveal'd ; — 
And  fleet  and  eager,  down  the  slopes 
Of  the  green  glade,  like  antelopes, 
When,  in  their  thirst,  they  hear  the  sound 
Of  distant  rills,  the  hght  nymphs  bound. 

Far  different  now  the  scene — a  waste 
Of  Libyan  sands,  by  moonlight's  ray  , 

An  ancient  well,  whereon  were  traced 
The  warning  words,  for  such  as  stray 
Unarmed  there,  "  Drink  and  away  I"^ 

While,  near  it,  from  the  niglit-ray  screen'd, 
And  like  his  bells,  in  hush'd  repose, 

A  camel  slept — young  as  if  wean'd 
When  last  the  star,  Canopus,  rose.' 

Such  was  the  back-ground's  sileni  jsjcen© ; — 

While  nearer  lay,  fast  shunb'ring  too, 
In  a  rude  tent,  with  brow  serene, 

A  youth  whose  cheeks  of  way-worn  hue 
And  pilgrim-bonnet,  told  the  tale 
That  he  had  been  to  Mecca's  Vale  : 
Haply  in  pleasant  dreams,  ev'n  now 

Thinking  the  long-wish'd  hour  is  come 

When,  o'er  the  well-known  porch  at  home. 
His  hand  shall  hang  the  aloe  bough — 
Trophy  of  his  accomplish'd  vow.^ 
But  brief  his  dream — for  now  the  call 

Of  the  camp-chiefs  from  rear  to  van, 
"  Bind  on  your  burdens,'"  wakes  up  all 

The  widely  slumb'ring  caravan  ; 
And  thus  meanwhile,  to  greet  the  ear 

Of  the  yomig  pilgrim  as  he  wakes. 
The  song  of  one  who,  ling'ring  near, 

Had  watch'd  his  slimiber,  cheerly  breaks. 


SONG. 


Up  and  march !  the  timbrel's  sound 
Wakes  the  slumb'ring  camp  aroimd ; 
Fleet  thy  hour  of  rest  hath  gone. 
Armed  sleeper,  up,  and  on  ! 
Long  and  weary  is  our  way 
O'er  the  bumuig  sands  to-day ; 

this  plant  (the  niitre-shaped  Aloe)  over  his  street-door,  as  a 
tolten  of  his  having  performed  this  holy  journey." — Ilassel- 
quist. 

^  This  form  of  notice  to  the  caravans  to  prepare  for  march- 
ing was  applied  by  Haliz  to  the  necessity  of  relinquishing 
the  pleasures  of  this  world, and  preparing  for  death: — "  For 
me  what  room  is  there  for  pleasure  in  the  bower  of  Beauty, 
when  every  moment  the  bell  makes  proclamation,  'Bind  on 
your  burdens  V  " 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE.                                        329 

But  to  pilgrim's  homeward  feet 

And  now,  light  bounding  forth,  a  band 

Ev'n  the  desert's  patli  is  sweet 

Of  mountaineers,  all  smiles,  advance — 

Nymphs  with  their  lovers,  hand  in  hand. 

Wlieii  wo  lie  at  dead  of  night, 

Link'd  in  the  Ariadne  dance  ;' 

Ijooking  up  to  lieaven's  light, 

And  while,  apart  from  that  gay  throng, 

Heariug  but  tlie  watchman's  tone 

A  minstrel  youth,  in  varied  song. 

Faintly  chanting,  "  God  is  one,'" 

Tells  of  the  loves,  the  joys,  the  ills 

Oh  what  thoughts  tlien  o'er  us  come 

Of  these  wild  children  of  the  hills. 

Of  our  distant  village  home. 

The  rest  by  turns,  or  fierce  or  gay. 

Where  tile  chant,  when  ev'uing  sets. 

As  war  or  sport  inspires  the  lay. 

Sounds  from  all  the  minarets. 

Follow  each  change  that  wakes  the  strings, 

And  act  what  thus  the  lyrist  sings  :— 

Cheer  thee  1 — soon  shall  signal  lights. 

Kindling  o'er  the  Red  Sea  heights. 
Kindling  quick  from  man  to  man, 

Hail  our  coming  caravan  ? 

SONG. 

'            Tliink  what  bliss  that  hour  will  be ! 

Looks  of  home  again  to  see, 

No  life  is  like  the  moilntaineer's, 

And  our  names  again  to  hear 

His  homo  is  near  the  sky. 

Miu-nuir'd  out  by  voices  dear. 

Where,  throned  above  this  world,  he  iieara 

Its  strife  at  distance  die. 

Or,  should  the  sound  of  hostile  drum 
Proclaim  below,  "  We  come— wo  come," 

Each  crag  that  tow'rs  in  air 

So  pa^s'd  the  desert  dream  away. 

Gives  answer,  "  Come  who  dare  !" 

Fleeting  as  his  who  heard  this  lay. 

While,  like  bees,  from  dell  and  dingle. 

Nor  long  the  pause  between,  nor  moved 

Swift  the  swarming  wamors  mingle. 

The  spell-homid  audience  from  that  spot ; 

And  their  cry  "  Hurra  !"  will  be. 

VVliilo  still,  as  usual,  Fancy  roved 

"  Hurra,  to  victory  !" 

On  to  the  joy  that  yet  was  not ; — 

Fancy,  who  hath  no  present  home. 

Then,  wlien  battle's  hour  is  over, 

But  builds  her  bower  in  scenes  to  come, 

See  tlie  happy  mountain  lover. 

Walking  forever  in  a  light 

With  the  nymph,  who'll  soon  be  bride. 

That  flows  from  regions  out  of  sight. 

Seated  blushing  by  his  side, — 

Everj-  shadow  of  his  lot 

But  see,  by  gradual  dawn  descried. 

In  her  sunny  smile  forgot. 

A  mountain  realm — rugged  as  e'er 

Oil,  no  life  is  like  the  mountaineer's. 

Upraised  to  heav'n  its  summits  bare. 

His  home  is  near  tlie  sky. 

Or  told  to  earth,  with  frown  of  pride. 

Where,  throned  above  this  world,  he  hean 

That  Freedom's  falcon  nest  was  there, 

Its  strife  at  distance  die. 

Too  high  for  hand  of  lord  or  king 

Nor  only  thus  through  summer  suns 

Tj  hood  her  brow,  or  chain  her  wing. 

His  blitlie  existence  cheerly  runs — 

Ev'n  winter,  bleak  and  dim, 

'Tis  Maiua's  land — her  ancient  hills. 

Brings  joyous  hours  to  him  ; 

The  abode  of  nymphs' — her  countless  rills 

Wlien,  liis  rifle  behind  him  flinging. 

And  torrents,  in  their  downward  dash. 

He  watclies  the  roe-buck  springing, 

Shining,  like  silver,  through  the  shade 

And  away,  o'er  the  hills  away 

Of  the  sea-pine  and  flow'ring  ash — 

Re-echoes  his  glad  "  hurra." 

All  with  a  truth  so  fresh  portray'd 

As  wants  but  touch  of  life  to  be 

Then  how  blest,  when  night  is  closing. 

A  world  of  warm  reality. 

By  the  kindled  hearth  reposing. 

1  The  watchmen,  in  the  camp  of  the  caravans,  go  their 

3                virginibus  bacchala  Laconis 

rounds,  crying  one  after  another,  "God  is  one,"  &c.,  &c. 

Taygota.                                                Viro. 

2  "  It  wiis  customar>',"  says  Irwin,  "  to  light  np  fires  on 

<  Sec,  for  an  account  of  this  dance,  De  Guy's  Travels 

the  mountains,  within  view  of  Cosseir,  to  give  notice  of  the 

approach  of  the  caravans  that  came  from  the  Nile." 

330 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  his  rebeck's  drowsy  song, 
lie  be^ruiles  the  hour  along  ; 
Or,  provoked  by  merry  glances, 
To  a  brisker  movement  dances. 
Till,  weary  at  last,  in  slumber's  chain, 
He  dreams  o'er  chaso  and  danco  aga'in, 
Dreams,  dreams  them  o'er  again 


As  slow  that  minstrel,  at  the  close, 
Sunk,  while  he  sung,  to  feign'd  repose, 
Ajilly  did  they,  whose  mimic  art 

Follow'd  tlio  changes  of  his  lay. 
Portray  tlie  lull,  the  nod,  the  start. 

Through  which,  as  faintly  died  away 
His  lute  and  voice,  the  minstrel  pass'd. 
Till  voice  and  lute  lay  hush'd  at  last 

But  now  far  other  song  came  o'er 

Their  startled  ears — song  that,  at  first, 
jVs  solemnly  the  night-wind  bore 

Across  the  wave  its  mournful  burst, 
Secm'd  to  the  fancy,  Idie  a  dirge 

Of  some  lono  Spirit  of  th*  Sea, 
Singing  o'er  Helle's  ancient  surge 

The  requiem  of  her  Brave  and  Free. 

Cnddcn,  amid  their  pastime,  pause 

Tlio  wond'ring  nymphs  ;  and,  as  the  sound 
Of  that  strange  music  nearer  draws, 

With  mute  inquuring  eye  look  round. 
Asking  each  other  what  can  be 
The  som-ce  of  this  sad  minstrelsy  ? 
Nor  longer  can  they  doubt,  the  song 

Comes  from  some  island-bark,  which  sow 
Courses  the  bright  waves  swift  along, 

And  soon,  perhaps,  beneath  tlie  brow 

Of  the  Saint's  Rxk  will  shoot  its  prow 

Instantly  all,  with  hearUs  that  sigh'd 
'Twixt  fear's  and  fancy's  influence. 
Flew  to  the  rock,  and  saw  from  thence 
A  red-sail'd  pinnace  tow'rds  them  glide, 
Whose  shadow,  as  it  swept  the  spray, 
Scatter'd  tlio  moonlight's  smiles  away. 
Soon  as  the  mariners  saw  that  tteong 

From  the  cliff  gazing,  young  and  old, 
Sudden  they  slack'd  their  sail  and  song. 
And,  while  their  pinnace  idly  roU'd 
On  the  light  surge,  these  tidings  told  :— 

'Twaa  from  an  isle  of  mournful  name, 
From  Missolonghi,  la.st  they  came^ 
Sad  Missolonghi,  sorrowing  yet 


O'er  him,  the  noblest  Star  of  Fame 

That  e'er  in  life's  young  glory  set  I — 
And  now  were  on  their  mournful  way. 

Wafting  the  news  through  Helle's  isles  ; — 
News  that  would  cloud  ev'n  Freedom's  ray. 

And  sadden  Vict'ry  'mid  her  smiles. 
Their  tale  thus  told,  and  heard,  with  pa'm. 
Out  spread  the  galliot's  wings  again  ; 
And,  as  she  sped  her  swift  career, 
Again  that  Hymn  rose  on  the  ear — 
"  Thou  art  not  dead — thou  art  not  dead,!" 

As  oft  'twas  sung,  in  ages  flown. 
Of  him,  the  Athenian,  who,  to  shed 

A  tyrant's  blood,  pour'd  out  his  own. 


50NG. 


"  Tnoo  art  not  dead — thou  ari  ;  ot  dead  !'" 

No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 
Thy  soul,  to  realms  above  us  fled. 
Though,  like  a  star,  it  dwells  o'er  head. 

Still  lights  this  world  below. 
Thou  art  not  dead — thou  art  not  dead  ! 

No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 

Through  isles  of  light,  where  heroes  tread. 

And  flovv'rs  ethereal  blow. 
Thy  god-like  Spirit  now  is  led. 
Thy  lip,  with  life  ambrosial  fed, 

Forgets  all  taste  of  wo. 
Thou  art  not  dead — thou  art  not  dead  '. 

No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 

The  myrtle,  round  that  falchion  spread 
Which  struck  the  immortal  blow. 

Throughout  all  time,  with  leaves  unshed — 

The  patriot's  hope,  the  tyrant's  dread- 
Round  Freedom's  shrine  shall  grow. 

Thou  art  not  dead — thou  art  not  dead  I 
No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 

Where  hearts  like  thine  have  broke  or  bled. 
Though  quench'd  the  vital  glow, 

Their  mem'ry  lights  a  flame,  uistead. 

Which,  ev'n  from  out  the  narrow  bed 
Of  death  its  beams  shall  tlu-ow. 

Thou  art  not  dead — thou  art  not  dead ! 
No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 

Thy  name,  by  myriads  sung  and  said, 
From  age  to  age  shall  go, 

1  'r(-\ra0'  'Ap/iojt'  oVTTdj  rcSvijicaj. 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


331 


Long  as  the  oak  and  ivy  wed, 

As  bees  sliall  liaimt  Hyniettus'  liead, 

Or  Helle's  watei"s  flow. 
Thou  art  not  dead — tliou  art  not  dead  I 

No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 


'Mong  those  who  Unger'd  list'ning  there, — 

List'ning,  with  ear  and  eye,  as  long 
As  breath  of  night  could  tow'rds  them  bear 

A  murmur  of  that  mournful  song, — 
A  few  there  were,  in  whom  the  lay 

Had  call'd  up  feelings  far  too  sad 
To  pass  with  the  brief  strain  away. 

Or  turn  at  once  to  theme  more  glad ; 
And  who,  in  mood  untmied  to  meet 

The  light  laugh  of  the  happier  train, 
Wander'd  to  seek  some  moonlight  seat 
Where  they  might  rest,  in  converse  sweet, 

Till  vanish'd  smiles  should  come  again. 

And  seldom  e'er  hath  noon  of  night 
To  sadness  lent  more  soothing  light. 
On  one  side,  in  the  dark  blue  sky, 
Lonely  and  radiant,  was  the  eye 
Of  .Tove  himself,  wliile,  on  the  other, 

'Mong  tiny  stars  that  ro\md  her  gleam'd. 
The  young  moon,  like  the  Roman  mother 

Among  her  living  "  jev.'els,"  beam'd. 

Touch'd  by  the  lovely  scenes  around, 

A  pensive  maid — one  who,  though  young, 

Had  known  wliat  'twas  to  see  unwound 
The  ties  by  which  her  heart  had  clung — 

Waken'd  her  soft  tamboura's  sound. 
And  to  its  faint  accords  thus  simg : — 


SONG. 


Calm  as,  beneatli  its  mother's  «yea, 

In  sleep  the  smiling  infant  lies. 

So,  watch'd  by  all  the  stars  of  night, 

Yon  landscape  sleeps  in  light. 

And  while  the  night-breeze  dies  away, 

Like  relics  of  some  faded  strain. 
Loved  voices,  lost  for  many  a  day. 

Seem  whisp'ring  round  again. 
Oh  youth  !  oh  Love !  ye  dreams,  that  shed 
Such  glory  once — where  are  ye  fled? 

Pure  ray  of  light  that,  down  the  sky, 
Art  pointuig,  like  an  angel's  wand, 


As  if  to  guide  to  realms  that  lie 

In  that  bright  sea  beyond; 
Who  knows  but,  in  some  brighter  deep 

Than  ev'n  that  tranquil,  moonlit  main, 
Some  land  may  lie,  where  those  who  weep 

Shall  wake  to  smile  again ! 


With  cheeks  that  had  regain'd  their  power 
And  play  of  smiles, — and  each  bright  eye, 

Like  violets  after  morning's  shower. 
The  brighter  for  the  tears  gone  by. 

Back  to  the  scene  such  smiles  should  grace 

These  wand'ring  nymphs  their  path  retrace. 

And  reach  the  spot,  with  rapture  new. 

Just  as  the  veils  asunder  flew. 

And  a  fresh  vision  burst  to  view. 

There,  by  her  own  bright  Attic  flood. 
The  blue-eyed  Queen  of  Wisdom  stood  ; — 
Not  as  she  haunts  the  sage's  di'eams. 

With  brow  unveil'd,  divine,  severe  ; 
But  soften'd,  as  on  bards  she  beams. 

When  fresli  from  Poesy's  high  sphere, 
A  music,  not  her  own,  she  brings. 
And,  through  tlie  veil  which  Fancy  flings 
O'er  her  stern  features,  gently  sings. 

But  who  is  he — that  urchin  nigh. 

With  qniver  on  the  rose-trees  hung. 
Who  seems  just  dropp'd  from  yonder  sky, 
And  stands  to  watch  that  maid,  with  eye 
So  full  of  thought,  for  one  so  young? — 
That  child — but,  silence  !  lend  thine  ear. 
And  thus  in  song  the  tale  thou'lt  hear : — 


SONG. 

As  Love,  one  summer  eve,  was  straying. 

Who  should  he  see,  at  that  soft  hour, 
But  young  Minerva,  gravely  playing 

Her  flute  within  an  olive  bow'r. 
I  need  not  say,  'tis  Love's  opinion 

That,  grave  or  meny,  good  or  ill, 
The  sex  all  bow  to  his  dominion. 

As  woman  will  be  woman  still. 

Though  seldom  yet  the  boy  hath  giv'u 
To  learned  dames  his  smiles  or  sighs, 

So  handsome  Pallas  look'd,  tliat  ev'n, 
Love  quite  fcrgot  the  maid  was  wise. 


332 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Besides,  a  youlli  of  liis  discerning 

Knew  well  tha(,  by  a  sliady  rill, 
At  BUiiset  hour,  wliato'er  her  learning, 

A  woman  will  be  woman  still. 

Her  flnlo  he  praised  in  terms  ecstatic, — 

Wishing  it  dumb,  nor  cared  how  soon ; — 
For  Wisdom's  notes,  howe'er  chromatic, 

To  Love  seem  always  out  of  tune. 
But  long  as  he  found  face  to  flatter, 

The  nympli  found  breath  to  shake  and  thrill ; 
As,  weak  or  wise — it  doesn't  mailer — 

Woman,  at  heart,  is  woman  still. 

Love  changed  his  plan,  with  warmtli  exclaiming, 

"  How  rosy  was  her  lip's  soft  dye  !" 
And  much  that  flute,  the  flatt'rer,  blaming, 

For  twisting  lips  so  sweet  awry. 
The  nymph  look'd  down,  beheld  her  features 

Reflected  in  (he  passing  rill. 
And  started,  shock'd — for,  ah,  ye  creatures  I 

Ev'n  when  divine,  you're  women  still. 

Quick  from  the  lips  it  made  so  odious, 

That  graceless  flute  the  Goddess  took. 
And,  while  yet  fiU'd  with  breath  melodious, 

Flung  it  into  the  glassy  brook  ; 
Where,  as  its  vocal  life  was  fleeting 

Adowu  the  current,  faint  and  shrill, 
'Twas  heard  in  plaintive  tone  repeating, 

"  Woman,  alas,  vam  woman  still !" 


An  interval  of  dark  repose — 
.Such  as  the  summer  lightning  knows, 
'Twi.xt  flash  and  flash,  as  still  more  bright 
The  quick  revcalmcnt  comes  and  goes, 
Op'ning  each  time  the  veils  of  night. 
To  show,  within,  a  world  of  light — 
.Such  pause,  so  brief,  now  pa.ss'd  between 
This  la.st  gaj'  vision  and  the  scene, 

Which  now  its  depth  of  light  disclosed. 
.•V  bow'r  it  seem'd,  an  Indian  bow'r, 

W^ithin  whoso  shade  a  nymph  reposed. 
Sleeping  away  noon's  sunny  hoiu" — 
Lovely  as  she,  the  Sprite,  who  weaves 
Her  mansion  of  sweet  Dur\a  leaves, 
And  there,  :is  Indian  legends  say. 
Dreams  the  long  summer  hours  away. 
And  mark,  how  chann'd  this  sleeper  seems 
With  some  hid  fancy — she,  too,  dreams  ! 
Oh  for  a  wizard's  art  to  tell 

The  wonders  that  now  bless  her  sight ! 
'Tis  done — a  truer,  holier  spell 
Than  e'er  from  wizard's  lip  yet  fell 

Thus  brings  her  vision  all  to  light : — 


SONG. 

"  Who  comes  so  gracefully 

"  Gliding  along, 
"  While  the  blue  rivulet 

"  Sleeps  to  her  song ; 
"  Song,  richly  vying 
"  With  the  faint  sighing 
"  Which  swans,  in  dying, 

"  Sweetly  prolong?" 

So  sung  the  shepherd-boy 

By  the  stream's  side, 
Watching  that  fairy  boat 

Down  the  flood  glide, 
Like  a  bird  winging. 
Through  the  waves  bringing 
That  Syren,  singing 

To  the  hush'd  tide. 

"  Stay,"  said  the  shepherd-boy, 

"  Fairy-boat,  stay, 
"  Linger,  sweet  minstrelsy, 

*'  Linger  a  day." 
But  vain  his  pleading. 
Past  him,  unheeding. 
Song  and  boat,  speeding. 

Glided  away. 

So  to  our  youthful  eyes 

Joy  and  hope  shone; 
So,  while  we  gazed  on  them, 

Fast  they  flew  on  ; — 
Like  flow'rs,  declining 
Ev'n  in  the  twining. 
One  moment  shining, 

And,  the  next,  gone  ! 


Soon  as  the  imagined  dream  went  by. 
Uprose  the  nymi)h,  with  anxious  eye 
Turn'd  to  the  clouds,  as  thougli  some  boon 

She  waited  from  that  sun-bright  dome. 
And  marreird  that  it  came  not  soon 

As  her  young  thoughts  would  have  it  come. 

But  joy  is  in  her  glance  ! — the  wing 

Of  a  white  bird  is  seen  above  ; 
And  oh,  if  round  his  neck  he  bring 

The  long-wish'd  tidings  from  her  love. 
Not  half  so  precious  in  her  eyes 

Ev'n  that  high-omen'd  bird'  would  be, 

'  The  Hunm. 


• 

EVENINGS  IN  GREECE.                                        333 

Who  dooms  the  brow  o'er  which  he  flies 

Glided,  like  fairies,  to  as.sist 

To  wear  a  crown  of  Royalty. 

Their  handmaids  on  llie  moonlight  plain, 

Where,  hid  by  intercepting  shade 

Slie  had,  licrself,  last  evening,  sent 

From  the  stray  glance  of  curious  eyes. 

A  winged  messenger,  whose  flight 

A  feast  of  fruits  and  wines  was  laid — 

Tlirough  the  clear,  roseate  element, 

Soon  to  shine  out,  a  glad  surprise  I 

She  %vatch"d  till,  Icss'ning  out  of  sight 

Far  to  the  golden  West  it  went. 

And  now  the  moon,  her  ark  of  light 

Wafting  to  him,  her  distant  love. 

Steering  through  Heav'n,  as  though  she  bore 

A  missive  in  that  language  wrought 

In  safety,  through  that  deep  of  night. 

Which  flow'ts  can  speak,  vphen  aptly  wovi. 

Spirits  of  earth,  the  good,  the  briglit. 

Each  hue  a  word,  each  leaf  a  thought. 

To  some  remote  immortal  shore. 

Had  half-way  sped  her  glorious  way. 

And  now — oh  speed  of  pinion,  known 

When,  round  reclined  on  hillocks  green, 

To  Love's  light  messengers  alone  I — 

In  groups,  beneath  that  tranquil  ray. 

Ere  yet  another  ev'ning  takes 

The  Zeans  at  their  feast  were  seen. 

Its  farewell  of  the  golden  lakes, 

Gay  was  the  picture — cv'ry  maid 

She  sees  another  envoy  fly, 

Whom  late  the  lightc<'  scene  display'd, 

With  the  wish'd  answer,  tlirough  the  sky. 

Still  in  her  fancy  garb  at:'cy"d  ; — 

The  Arabian  pilgrim,  smilin^j  here 

Beside  the  nymph  of  India's  sky  ; 
While  there  tlie  Mainiotc  mountaineer 

Whisper'd  in  young  Minerva's  ear. 

SONG 

And  lu'chin  Love  stood  laughing  by. 

Welcome,  sweet  bird,  througli  the  buimy  air  wing- 

Meantime  the  elders  round  the  board, 

'Ug. 

By  mirth  and  wit  themselves  made  young, 

Swift  hast  thqu  come  o'er  the  far-shining  sea, 

High  cups  of  juice  Zacynthian  pour'd, 

Like  Seba's  dove,  on  thy  snowy  neck  bringing 

And,  while  the  flask  went  round,  thus  sung ; — 

Love's  written  vows  from  my  lover  to  me. 

Oh,  in  thy  absence,  wliat  hours  did  I  number  ! — 

Saying  oft,  "  Idle  bird,  how  could  he  rest  ?" 

But  thou  art  come  at  last,  take  now  thy  slumber, 

And  lull  thee  in  dreams  of  all  thou  lov'st  best. 

SONG. 

Yet  dost  thou  droop — even  now  while  I  utter 

Up  with  the  sparkling  brimmer, 

Love's  happy  welcome,  thy  pulse  dies  away  ; 

Up  to  the  crystal  rim  ; 

Cheer  thee,  my  bird — were  it  life's  ebbing  flutter, 

Let  not  a  moonbeam  glimmer 

This  fondhng  bosom  should  woo  it  to  stay. 

'Twi.\t  the  flood  and  brim. 

But  no — thou'rt  dying — thy  last  task  is  over — 

When  hath  the  world  set  eyes  on 

Farewell,  sweet  martyr  to  Love  and  to  me  ! 

Aught  to  match  this  light, 

The  smiles  thou   hast  waken'd  by  news  from  my 

Which,  o'er  our  cup's  horizon. 

lover, 

Dawns  in  bumpers  bright  ? 

Will  now  all  be  tum'd  into  weeping  for  thee. 

Truth  in  a  deep  well  lieth — 

So  the  wise  aver : 

But  Truth  the  fact  denieth— 

Water  suits  not  her. 

While  tlnis  the  scene  of  song  (their  last 
For  the  sweet  summer  season)  pass'd. 

No,  her  abode's  in  brimmers. 
Like  this  mighty  cup — 

A  few  presiding  nymphs,  whose  care 
Watch'd  over  all,  invisibly, 

Waituig  till  we,  good  swimmera, 
Dive  to  bring  her  up. 

As  do  those  guardian  sprites  of  air. 

Whose  watch  we  feel,  but  cannot  se» 
Had  from  the  circle — scarcely  miss'd. 

Ere  they  were  sparklUig  there  again — 

334 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Thus  circlfd  round  the  song  of  glee, 
And  all  was  tnnefnl  mirth  the  while, 
Save  on  the  cheeks  of  some,  whoso  smile, 

As  fi.v'd  they  gaze  u])on  the  sea, 

l*iirns  into  paleness  suddenly  ! 

What  see  they  there  ?  a  bright  blue  light 
That,  like  a  meteor,  gliding  o'er 

Tiic  distant  wave,  grows  on  the  sight. 
As  thongh  'twere  wing'd  to  Zea's  shore. 

To  some,  'mong  those  who  came  to  gaze. 

It  sccm'd  the  night-light,  far  away. 
Of  some  lone  fisher,  by  the  blazo 

Of  piuo  torch,  luring  on  his  prey  ; 
While  others,  as,  'twixt  awe  and  mirth. 

They  breathed  the  bless'd  Panaya's*  name, 
Vow'd  tliat  such  light  was  not  of  earth. 

Rut  of  that  drear,  ill-omen'd  flame, 
Wiiich  mariners  see  on  sail  or  mast, 
When  Death  is  coming  in  the  blast. 
While  marv'ling  thus  they  stood,  a  maid, 

Wiio  sat  apart,  with  downcast  eye. 
Nor  yet  had,  like  the  rest,  snr\'eyM 

That  coming  light  which  now  was  nigh, 
Soon  as  it  met  her  sight,  with  crj- 

Of  paiu-like  joy,  "  'Tis  he  !  'tis  he  !" 
Loud  she  exclaim'd,  and,  hurrj'ing  by 

The  assembled  throng,  rusli'd  tow'rds  the  sea. 

At  bui-st  so  wild,  alarm'd,  amazed, 

All  stood,  like  statues,  mute,  and  gazed 

Into  each  other's  eyes,  to  seek 

What  meant  such  mood,  in  maid  so  meek  1 

Till  now,  the  tale  was  known  to  few. 
But  now  from  lip  to  lip  it  flew  : — 
A  youth,  the  flower  of  all  the  band, 

Who  late  had  left  this  sunny  shore. 
When  last  he  kiss'd  that  maiden's  hand, 

Ling'ring,  to  kiss  it  o'er  and  o'er. 
By  his  sad  brow  loo  plainly  told 

Tir    ill-omen'd    thought    which    cross'd    him 
then. 
That  once  those  hands  should  loose  their  hold. 

They  iio'er  would  meet  on  earth  again  ! 
In  vain  his  mistress,  sad  as  he, 
But  with  a  heart  from  Self  as  free 
As  gen'rovis  woman's  only  is, 
Veil'd  her  own  fears  to  banish  his  : — 
With  frank  rebuke,  but  still  more  vain, 

Did  a  rough  warrior,  who  stood  by, 
Call  to  his  mind  this  martial  strain, 

His  favorite  once,  ere  Beauty's  eye 

Had  ffiught  his  soldier-heart  to  sigh  : — 

1  The  najne  which  the  Greeks  give  to  the  Virgin  Mury. 


SONG. 

March  !  nor  heed  those  arms  that  liold  thee, 

Though  so  fondly  close  they  come  ; 
Closer  still  wmH  they  enfold  thee. 

When  thou  bring'st  fresh  laurels  home. 
Dost  thou  dote  on  woman's  brow  ? 

Dost  thou  live  but  in  her  breath  ? 
March  !^-one  hour  of  victory  now 

Wins  thee  woman's  smile  till  death. 

Oh,  what  bliss,  when  war  is  over, 

Beauty's  long-miss'd  smile  to  meet. 
And,  when  wreaths  our  temples  cover. 

Lay  them  shining  at  her  feet ! 
Who  would  not,  that  hour  to  reach. 

Breathe  out  life's  expiring  sigh, — 
Proud  as  waves  that  on  the  beach 

Lay  their  war-crests  down,  and  die 

There  !  I  see  thy  soul  is  burning — 

She  herself,  who  clasps  thee  so. 
Paints,  ev'n  now,  thy  glad  returning. 

And,  while  clasping,  bids  thee  go. 
One  deep  sigh,  to  passion  given. 

One  last  glowmg  tear,  and  then — 
March  ! — uor  rest  thy  sword,  till  Heaven 

Brings  thee  to  those  arms  again. 


Even  then,  ere  loath  their  hands  could  part, 

A  promise  the  youth  gave,  which  bore 
Some  balm  unto  the  maiden's  heart. 

That,  soon  as  the  fierce  fight  was  o'er. 
To  home  he'd  speed,  if  safe  and  free — 

Nay,  ev'n  if  dying,  still  would  come, 
So  the  blest  word  of  "  Victory  !" 

Might  be  the  last  he'd  breathe  at  home, 
"  By  day,"  he  cried,  "  thou'lt  know  my  bark  ; 
"  But,  sliould  I  come  through  midnight  dark, 
"  A  blue  light  on  the  prow  shall  tell 
"  That  Greece  hath  won,  and  all  is  well !" 

Fondly  the  maiden,  every  night. 
Had  stolen  to  seek  that  promised  light ; 
Nor  long  her  eyes  had  now  been  tuni'd 
From  watching,  when  the  signal  burn'd. 
Signal  of  joy — for  her,  for  all — 

Fleetly  the  boat  now  nears  the  land. 
While  voices,  from  the  shore-edge,  call 

For  tidings  of  the  long-w:-!i'd  band. 

Oh  the  blest  hour,  when  those  wlio'vc  been 
Through  peril's  paths  by  land  or  sea. 


1 


EVENINGS 

IN  GREECE.                                       335 

Lock'd  in  our  arms  again  are  seen 

And  call'd   the  young  Genii   of  Wit,    Love,   and 

Smiling  in  glad  security  ; 

Joy, 

Wlien  heart  to  lieart  we  fondly  strain, 

To  witness  and  hallow  its  birth. 

Questioning  quickly  o'er  and  o'er — 

The  fruit  was  full-grown,  like  a  raby  it  flamed, 

Tlien  hold  them  off,  to  gaze  again. 

Till  the  sunbeam  that  kiss'd  it  look'd  pale : 

And  ask,  though  answcrM  oft  before, 

"  'Tis  the  Vine  !    'tis  the  Vine !"   ev'iy   Spirit   ex- 

If  they,  indeed,  are  ours  once  more  ? 

claim'd. 

"  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail  1" 

Such  is  the  scene,  so  full  of  joy. 

Whicii  welcomes  now  this  warrior-boy, 

First,  fleet  as  a  bird,  to  the  summons  Wit  flew. 

As  fathers,  sisters,  friends  all  run 

While  a  light  on  the  vine-leaves  there  broke, 

Bounding  to  meet  him — all  but  one, 

In  flashes  so  quick  and  so  brilliant,  all  knew 

Who,  slowest  on  his  neck  to  fall, 

'Twas  the  light  from  his  lips  as  he  spoke. 

Is  yet  the  happiest  of  them  all. 

"  Bright  tree  I    let  thy  nectar  but  cheer  me,"  ne 

cric.d, 

And  now  behold  him,  circled  round 

"  And  the  fount  of  Wit  never  can  fail ;"' 

With  beaming  faces,  at  that  board, 

"  'Tis  the  Vine !    'tis  the  Vine !"  hills  and  valleys 

While  cups,  with  laurel  foliage  crown'd, 

reply. 

Are  to  the  coming  warriors  pour'd, — • 

"  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail !" 

Coming,  as  he,  their  herald,  told, 

With  blades  from  "vnct'ry  scarce  yet  cold, 

Next,  Love,  as  ho  lean'd  o'er  the  plant  to  admire 

With  hearts  untouch'd  by  Moslem  steel. 

Each  tendril  and  cluster  it  wore. 

And  wounds  that  home's  sweet  breath  will  heal 

From  his  rosy  mouth   sent  such  a  breath  of  de- 

" Ere  mom,"  said  he, — and,  while  he  spoke. 

sire, 
As  made  the  tree  tremble  all  o'er. 

Tura'd  to  the  east,  where,  clear,  and  pale, 

Oh,  never  did  flow'r  of  the  earth,  sea,  or  sky, 

The  star  of  dawn  already  broke — 

Such  a  soul-giving  odor  inhale  : 

"  We'll  greet,  on  yonder  wave,  their  sail  I" 

"  'Tis  the  Vine  !    'tis  the  Vine !"    all   re-echo   the 

Then,  wherefore  part  ?  all,  all  agree 

cry. 

To  wait  them  here,  beneath  this  bower ; 

"  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail !" 

And  thus,  while  ev'n  amidst  their  glee, 

Eacli  eye  is  turn'd  to  watch  the  sea. 

Last,  Joy,  without  whom  even  Love  and  Wit  die. 

\V  (h  song  they  cheer  the  anxious  hour. 

Came  to  crown  tlie  bright  hoiu-  with  his  ray ; 

And  scarce   had  that  mirth-waking  tree  met  his 
eye. 
When  a  laugh  spoke  what  Joy  could  not  say  ; — 

SONG. 

A  laugh  of  the  heart,  which  was  echoed  around 

Till,  like  music,  it  swell'd  on  the  gale  ; 

"  Ti9  the  Vine !  'tis  the  Vine !"  said  the  cup-loviug 

"  'Tis  the  Vine  1  'tis  the  Vine  !"  laughing  myriads 

boy, 

resound. 

As  he  saw  it  spring  bright  fiom  the  earth 

"  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail !" 

• 

336                                              MOORE'S  WORKS. 

LEGENDARY  BALLADS. 

TO 

THE   MISS   FEILDINGS, 

THIS   VOLUME    IS    INSCRIBED, 

BY    THEIR    FAITHFUL    FRIEND    AND    SERVANT, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 

THE  VOICE. 

No,  ne'er  came  she  back, — ^but  the  watchman  who 

stood 

It  came  o'er  her  sleep,  like  a  voice  of  those  days, 

That   night   in   the  tow'r  which   o'ershadows   the 

Wl-.cn  love,  only  love,  was  tlie  light  of  her  ways ; 

flood. 

And.  soft  as  in  moments  of  bliss  long  ago. 

Saw  dimly,  'tis  said,  o'er  the  moon-lighted  spray. 

It  whispcr'd  tier  name  from  the  garden  below. 

A  youth  on  a  steed  bear  the  maiden  away. 

"  Alas,"  sigh'd  the  maiden,  "  how  fancy  can  cheat  I 

"  Tlie  world  once  had  lips  that  could  whisper  thus 
sweet ; 

"  But  cold  now  they  slumber  in  yon  fatal  deep. 

■'  Where,  oh  that  beside  them  this  heart  too  could 

CUPID  AND  PSYCHE. 

sleep !" 

They  told  her  that  he,  to  whose  vows  she  had  lis- 

She  sunk  on  her  pillow— but  no,  'twas  in  vain 

ten'd 

To  chase  tlio  illusion,  that  Voice  came  again ! 

Through  night's  fleeting  hours,  was  a  Spirit  un- 

Slie  flew  to  the  casement — ^but,  luish'd  as  the  grave, 

bless'd ; — 

In  moonlight  lay  slumbering  woodland  and  wave. 

Unholy  the  eyes,  that  beside  her  had  glisten'd. 

And  evil  the  lips  she  in  darkness  had  press'd. 

"  Oh  sleep,  come  and  shield  me,"   in  anguish  she 

said. 

"  When  ue.xt  in  thy  chamber  the  bridegroom  re- 

"  From  that  call   of  the  buried,  that   cry  of  tlie 

cliueth. 

Dead !" 

"  Bring  near  him  thy  lamp,  when  in  slumber  he 

.\nd   sleep   came    around   her — but,   starting,   she 

lies ; 

woke, 

"  And  there,  as  the   light   o'er   his  dark   features 

For  .still  from  the  garden  that  spirit  Voice  spoke  ! 

shineth. 

"  Thou'lt  see  what  a  demon  hatli   won  all  tin- 

"  I  come,"  she  exclaim"d,  "  bo  tliy  home  where  it 

sighs  !" 

may, 

'•  On  earth  or  in  heaven,  that  call  I  obey ;" 

Too  fond  to  believe  them,  yet  doubting,  yet  fearing. 

Then  forth  through  tlie  moonlight,  with  heart  beat- 

When calm  lay  the  sleeper  she  stole  with  her 

ing  fa.st 

light; 

And  loud  as  a  death-watch,  the  pale  maiden  )ia5s'd. 

And  saw — such  a  vision  ! — no  image,  appearing 

To  bards  in  their  day-dreams,  was  ever  so  bright. 

Still  round  her  the  scene  all  in  loneliness  shone ; 

And  still,  in  the  distance,  that  Voice  led  her  on  ; 

A  youth,  but  just  passing  from  childhood's  sweet 

'    But  whither  she  wander'd,  by  wave  or  by  shore. 

moniing, 

None  ever  could  tell,  for  she  came  back  no  more. 

While  round  him  still  linger'd  its  innocenl  ray  ; 

LEGENDARY  BALLADS.                                     337 

Though  gleams,  from  beneath  his  shut  eyelids  gave 

warning 

Of  summer-noon  lightnings  that  imder  them  lay. 

THE  LEAF  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN. 

His  brow  had  a  grace  more  tlian  mortal  around  it, 

"  Tell  me,  kind  Seer,  I  pray  thee. 

While,  glossy  as  gold  from  a  fairy-land  mine, 

"  So  may  the  stars  obey  thee. 

His  surmy  hair  hung,  and  the  flowers  that  crown'd  it 

**  So  may  each  airy 

Seem'd  fresh  from  tlie  breeze  of  some  garden  di- 

" Moon-elf  and  fairy 

vine. 

"  Nightly  their  homage  pay  thee ! 

"  Say,  by  what  spell,  above,  below. 

Entranced  stood  the  bride,  on  that  miracle  gazing. 

"  In  stars  that  wink  or  flow'is  that  blow. 

What  late  was  but  lovo  is  idolatry  now  ; 

"  I  may  discover, 

But,  ah — in  her  tremor  the  fatal  lamp  raising — 

"  Ere  night  is  over. 

A  sparkle  flew  from  it  and  dropp'd  on  hi»  brow. 

"  Whether  my  love  loves  me  or  no. 

"  Whether  my  love  loves  me." 

\irs  lost — with  a  start  from  his  rosy  sleep  waking. 

The  Spirit  flash'd  o'er  her  his  glances  of  fire ; 

"  Maiden,  the  dark  tree  nigh  thee 

Then,  slow  from  the  clasp  of  her  snowy  arms  break- 

" Hath  charms  no  gold  could  buy  thee  ; 

ing, 

"  Its  stem  enchanted. 

Thus  said,  in  a  voice  more  of  sorrow  than  ire : 

"  By  moon-elves  planted. 

"  Will  all  thou  seek'st  supply  thee. 

"  Farewell — what    a    dream    thy    suspicion    hath 

"  Climb  to  yon  boughs  that  highest  grow. 

broken  ! 

"  Bring  thence  their  fairest  leaf  below  ; 

"  Thus  ever  Affection's  fond  vision  is  cross'd ; 

"  And  thou'It  discover, 

"  Dissolved  are  her  spells  wlien  a  doubt  is  but  spo- 

" Ere  night  is  over. 

ken. 

"  Whether  thy  love  loves  thee  or  no, 

"  And  love,  once  distrusted,  forever  is  lost !" 

"  Whether  thy  love  loves  thee." 

• 

"  See,  up  the  dark  tree  going, 

"  With  blossoms  round  me  blowing. 

"  From  thence,  oh  Father, 

HERO  AND  LEANDER. 

"  This  leaf  I  gather. 

"  Fahest  that  there  is  growing. 

"  The  night-wind  is  moaning  with  mournful  sigh, 

"  Say,  by  what  sign  I  now  shall  know 

"  There  gleameth  no  moon  in  tlie  misty  sky. 

"  If  in  this  leaf  lie  bliss  or  wo ; 

"  No  star  over  Helle's  sea  ; 

"  And  thus  discover. 

"  Yet,  yet,  there  is  sliining  one  holy  light. 

"  Ere  night  is  over. 

"  One  love-kindled  star  througli  the  deep  of  night, 

"  Whether  my  love  loves  me  or  no. 

"  To  lead  me,  sweet  Hero,  to  thee  !" 

"  Whether  ray  love  loves  me." 

Thus  saying,  he  plunged  in  the  foamy  stream, 

"  Fly  to  yon  fount  that's  welling. 

Still  fixing  his  gaze  on  that  distant  beam 

"  Where  moonbeam  ne'er  had  dwellmg. 

No  eye  but  a  lover's  could  see  ; 

"  Dip  in  its  water 

And  still,  as  the  surge  swept  over  his  head. 

"  That  leaf,  oh  Daugh^»^r, 

"  To-night,"  he  said  tenderly,  ■'  living  or  dead, 

"  And  mark  the  tale  'tis  telluig  ;' 

"  Sweet  Hero,  I'll  rest  with  thee !" 

"  AVatch  thou  if  pale  or  bright  it  grow. 

"  List  thou,  the  while,  that  fountain's  flow. 

But  fiercer  around  him  the  wild  waves  speed ; 

"  And  thou'It  discover 

Oh,  Love  I  in  that  hour  of  thy  votary's  need, 

"  Whether  thy  lover. 

Where,  where  could  thy  Spirit  be  ? 

"  Loved  as  he  is,  loves  thee  or  no. 

He     struggles — he    sinks — while    the    hurricane's 

"  Loved  as  he  is,  loves  thee." 

breath 

Bears  rudely  away  his  last  farewell  in  death — 

Forth  flew  the  nymph,  delighted. 

"  Sweet  Hero,  I  die  for  tliee !" 

To  seek  that  fomit  benighted ; 

I  The  ancients  had  a  mode  of  divination  somewhat  simi- 

to consult  the  Fountain  of  Castalia,  plucking  a  bay-leaf  and 

lar  to  this  :  and  we  find  the  Emjieror  Adrian,  when  he  wen: 
t 

dipping  it  into  the  sacred  water. 

338                                             MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

But,  scaren  a  minute 

"  Tell  me,  what's  Love  ?"  said  Youth  once  more, 

The  leaf  lay  in  it, 

Fearful,  yet  fond,  of  Age's  lore. — 

When,  lo,  its  bloom  was  bliglitcd  ! 

"  Soft  as  a  passing  summer's  wind  : 

And  as  she  ask'd,  witli  voice  of  wo — 

"  Wouldst  know  the  blight  it  leaves  bcliind? 

List'nin;;,  the  while,  that  fountain's  flow — 

"  Repentance  I  Repentance  ! 

"  Sliall  I  recover 

"  And  this  is  Love — when  love  Ls  o'er  " 

"  My  truant  lover  ?" 

Tlic  fountain  seem'd  to  answer,  "  No ;" 

"  Tell  me,  what's  Love?"  said  Youth  again, 

The  fountain  answer'd,  "  No." 

Trusting  thfi  bliss,  but  not  the  paiu. 

"  Sweet  as  a  May  tree's  scented  air — 

"  Mark  ye  what  bitter  fruit  'twill  bear, 

"  Repentance  1  Repentance  1 

"  This,  this  is  Love — sweet  Youth,  beware." 

CEPIIALUS  AND  PROCRIS. 

Just  then,  young  Love  himself  came  by. 

A  iiiiNTER  once  in  that  grove  recluied, 

And  cast  on  Youth  a  emiling  eye ; 

To  s!mn  the  noon's  briglit  eye, 

Who  could  resist  that  glance's  ray? 

And  oft  he  woo'd  the  wandering  wind, 

In  vain  did  Age  his  warning  say, 

To  cool  his  brow  with  its  sigh. 

"  Repentance  !  Repentance  !" 

While  mute  lay  ev'n  the  wild  bee's  hum, 

Youth  laughing  went  with  Love  away 

Nor  breath  could  stir  the  aspen's  hair, 

!        His  song  was  still,  "  Sweet  air,  oh  come !" 

i           While  Echo  answer'd,  "  Come,  sweet  Air !" 

1 

But,  liark,  what  sounds  from  the  thicket  rise ! 

What  raeanelh  that  rustling  spray? 
"  'Tis  the  white-horn'd  doe,"  the  Hunter  cries. 

THE  DYING  WARRIOR 

"  I  have  sought  since  break  of  day." 

A  WOUNDED  Chieftain,  lying 

Quick  o'er  ti\o  sunny  glade  he  springs, 

By  the  Danube's  leafy  side. 

Tiio  arrow  flies  from  iiis  sounding  bow, 

Thus  faintly  said,  in  dying. 

*'  Hillilio — hilliho  !''  he  gayly  sings. 

"  Oh  !  bear,  thou  foaming  tide, 

While  Echo  siglis  forth  "  HiUitio  !" 

"  This  gift  to  my  lady-brtdo  " 

Alas,  'twas  not  the  white-horn'd  doe 

'Twas  then,  in  life's  last  quiver. 

He  saw  in  the  rustling  grove, 

He  flung  the  scai'f  he  wore 

But  tlie  bridal  veil,  as  pure  as  snow, 

Into  the  foaming  river. 

Of  his  own  young  wedded  love. 

Which,  ah  too  quickly,  bore 

And,  ah,  too  sure  that  arrow  sped, 

Tliat  pledge  of  one  no  more  ! 

For  pah  at  his  feet  ho  sees  her  he  ; — 

"  I  die,  I  die, '  was  all  she  said, 

With  fond  impatience  burning, 

While  Echo  murmurVV  *'  I  die,  I  die  !'* 

The  Chieftain's  lady  stood, 

To  watch  her  love  returning 

In  triumph  down  the  flood. 
From  that  day's  field  of  blood. 

YOUTH  AND  AGE.* 

But,  field,  alas,  iU-fated  • 

The  lady  saw,  instead 

"  Tell  me,  what's  Love  ?''  said  -Youth,  one  day, 

Of  the  bark  whoso  speed  she  waited. 

To  drooping  Ago,  who  cross'd  his  way. — 

Her  hero's  scarf,  all  red 

"  It  is  a  sunny  hour  of  play, 

With  the  drops  his  heart  had  shed. 

"  For  which  repentance  dear  doth  pay; 

"  Repentance !  Repentance  ! 

One  shriek — and  all  was  over — 

"  And  this  is  Love,  as  wise  men  say." 

Her  life-pulse  ceased  to  beat ; 

1  The  air  to  which  I  have  adnprrd  these  words  was  com- 

ject to  relain  as  much  of  the  structure  and  phraseolo^  of 

posed  by  Mra.  Arkwrichl  to  some  old  verses.  "Toll  me 

tlie  original  words  as  possible. 

■what's  love,  kind  shepherd,  pray  ?*'  and  It  has  been  my  ob- 

i^ 


4# 


«  'H 


T.F.OPivrriARv  r*t  t  afig 


I 


V 


340                                               MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Thus  epoke  the  proud  damsel,  with  scorn  looking 

"  A  sail  1  a  sail !"  he  cries  ; 

round  her 

"  She  comes  from  the  Indian  shore. 

On  Knif;hls  and  on  Nobles  of  highest  degree  ; 

"  And  to-night  sliall  bo  our  prize. 

Who  humbly  and  hopelessly  left  as  they  found  her, 

"  With  her  freight  of  golden  ore : 

And  worehipp'd  at  distance  the  high-bom  Ladye. 

"  Sail  on  !  sail  on  !" 

When  mommg  shone 

At  length  came  a  Knight,  from  a  far  land  to  woo 

He  saw  the  gold  still  clearer  ; 

her, 

But,  though  so  fast 

With  plumes  on  his  helm  like  the  foam  of  the 

The  waves  he  pass'd, 

sea ; 

That  boat  seem'd  never  the  nearer 

His  vizor  was  down — but,  with  voice  that  thrill'd 

through  her. 

;•.     Bright  daylight  came, 

He  whisper'd  his  vows  to  the  high-born  Ladye. 

"  ■■     And  still  the  same 

Rich  bark  before  him  floated  ; 

"  Proud  maiden  1  I  come  with  high  spousals  to  grace 

While  on  the  prize 

thee, 

His  wishful  eyes 

"  In  me  the  great  conqu'ror  of  conquerors  see  ; 

Like  any  young  lover's  doted ; 

"  Enthroned  in  a  hall  fit  for  monarchs  I'll  place 

"  More  sail !  more  sail  1"  he  cries, 

thee, 

While  the  waves  o'ertop  the  mast ; 

"  And    miue    thou'rt    forever,    thou    high-bom 

Aiil  ais  bounding  galley  flies. 

Ladye !" 

Like  an  anow  before  the  blast. 

% 

Thus  on,  and  on. 

The  maiden  she  smiled,  and  in  jewels  array'd  her, 

Till  day  was  gone. 

Of  thrones  and  tiaras  already  dreamt  she  ; 

And  the  moon  through  heav'n  did  hie  her. 

And  proud  was  the  step,  as  her  bridegroom  convey'd 

He  swept  the  mam, 

her 

But  all  in  vain. 

In  pomp  to  his  home,  of  that  high-bom  Ladye. 

That  boat  seem'd  never  the  nigher. 

"  But  whither,"  she,  starting,  exclaims,  "  have  you 

And  many  a  day 

led  me? 

To  night  gave  way, 

"  Here's  naught  but  a  tomb  and  a  dark  cypress 

And  many  a  mom  succeeded : 

tree ; 

While  still  his  flight, 

"  Is  this  the  bright  palace  in  which  thou  wouldst 

Tlirough  day  and  night. 

wed  me  ?" 

That  restless  mariner  speeded. 

With   scorn   in   her   glance,  said  the  high-bom 

Who  knows — who  knows  what  seas 

Ladye. 

He  is  now  careering  o'er  ? 

Behind,  the  eternal  breeze. 

'"Tis  the  home,"  he  replied,  "of  earth's  loftiest 

And  that  mocking  bark;  before  ! 

creatures" — 

For,  oh,  till  sky 

Then  lifted  his  helm  for  the  fair  one  to  see  ; 

And  earth  shall  die. 

But  she  sunk  on  the  ground — 'twas   a  skeleton's 

And  their  death  leave  none  to  rue  it. 

features. 

That  boat  must  flee 

And  Death  was  the  Lord  of  the  high-bom  Ladye  ! 

O'er  the  boundless  sea, 

And  that  ship  in  vain  pursue  it. 

THE  INDLVN  BOAT 

THE  STRANGER 

'TwAS  midnight  dark, 

Come    list,   wliile    I    tell    of    the    heart-wounded 

The  seaman's  bark. 

Stranger 

Swift  o'er  the  waters  bore  him, 

Wlio  sleeps   her  last   slumber   in   this   haunted 

When,  through  the  night, 

ground ; 

He  spied  a  light 

Where  often,  at  midnight,  the  lonely  wood-ranger 

Shoot  o'er  the  wave  before  him. 

Hears  soft  fairy  music  re-echo  around. 

\\ 


A  MELOLOGUE  UPON  NATIONAL  MUSIC. 


341 


None  e'er  knew  the  name  of  that  heart-stricken 
lady, 
Her  language,  though  sweet,  none  could  e'er  un- 
derstand ; 
But  her  features  so  sunn'd,  and  her  eyelash  so  shady. 
Bespoke  her  a  child  of  some  far  Eastern  land. 

'Twas  one   summer   night,  when   the  village  lay 
sleeping, 
A  soft  strain  of  melody  came  o'er  our  ears ; 
So  sweet,  but  so  mournful,   half   song    and   half 
weeping, 
Like  music  that  Sorrow  had  steep'd  in  her  tears. 

We  tlionght  'twas  an  anthem  some  angel  had  sung 
us; — 
But,  soon  as  the  day-beams  had  gush'd  from  on 
high, 
With  "wonder  we  saw  this  bright  stranger  among  us. 
All  lovely  and  lone,  as  if  stray'd  from  the  sky. 

Nor  long  did  her  life  for  this  sphere  seem  intended. 
For  pale  was  her  cheek,  with  that  spurit-Iike  hue, 


Which  comes  wlicn   tlic  day  of  this  world  is  nigh 
ended, 
And  light  from  anotlier  already  sliineB  through. 

Then  her  eyes,  when  she  sung — oh,  but  once  to 
liave  seen  them — 
Left  thoughts  in   tlie  soul   that  can  never  de- 
part ; 
While  her  looks  and  her  voice  made  a  language 
between  them, 
Tliat  spoke  more  tlian  lioliest  words  to  the  heart. 

But  she  pass'd  like  a  daj-dream,  no  skill  could  re- 
store her — 

Whate'er  was  her  sorrow,  its  ruin  came  fast ; 
She  died  with  the  same  spell  of  mystery  o'er  her. 

That  song  of  past  days  on  her  lips  to  the  last. 

Nor  ev'u  in  the  grave  is  hei  ;ad  heart  reposing — 
Still  hovers  the  spirit  of  grief  round  her  tomb  ; 

For  oft,  when  the  shadows  of  midnight  are  closing, 
The  same  strain  of  u]usic  is  heaid  tluough  the 
gloom. 


A  MELOLOGUE  UPON  NATIONAL  MUSIC. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

These  verses  were  written  for  a  Benefit  at  the 
Dublin  Theatre,  and  were  spoken  by  Miss  Smith, 
with  a  degree  of  success  which  they  owed  solely 
to  her  admirable  manner  of  reciting  them.  I 
^vrote  them  in  haste  ;  and  it  very  rarely  happens 
that  poetrj',  which  has  cost  but  little  labor  to  the 
writer,  is  productive  of  any  great  pleasure  to  the 
reader.  Under  this  impression,  I  certainly  should 
not  have  published  them  if  they  had  not  found 
their  way  into  some  of  the  newspapers,  with  such 
an  addition  of  errors  to  theu-  own  original  stock, 
that  I  thouglit  it  but  fair  to  limit  their  responsi- 
bility to  thos6  faults  alone  which  really  belong  to 
them. 

With  respect  to  the  title  which  I  have  invented 


for  this  Poem,  I  feel  even  more  than  the  scruples 
of  the  Emperor  Tiberius,  when  he  humbly  asked 
pardon  of  the  Roman  Senate  for  using  "  the  out- 
landish term,  monopoly."  But  the  truth  is,  having 
written  the  Poem  with  the  sole  view  of  serving  a 
Benefit,  I  thought  that  an  unintelligible  word  of 
this  kind  would  not  be  without  its  attraction  for 
the  multitude,  witli  whom,  "  If  'tis  not  sense,  at 
least  'tis  Greek."  To  some  of  my  readers,  how- 
ever, it  may  not  be  superfluous  to  say,  that  by 
"  Melologue,"  I  mean  that  mLvture  of  recitation 
and  music,  which  is  frequently  adopted  in  the  per- 
fonnance  of  Collins's  Ode  on  the  Passions,  and  of 
which  the  most  striking  example  I  can  remember 
is  the  prophetic  speech  of  Joad  in  the  Athalie  of 
Racine. 

T.  M. 


342 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


MELOLOGUE. 


A  snoRT  Strais  or  Mrsic  from  the  ORCiiesTRi. 
There  hreathos  a  lan;jiiu!.fc,  known  and  felt 
Far  as  tlie  piiro  air  spreads  its  livins;  zone  ; 
Wlierever  rugo  can  rouse,  or  pity  niclt, 

Tliat  language  of  the  soul  is  felt  and  known. 
From  tliose  meridian  plains, 
Where  oft,  of  old,  on  some  high  tow'r, 
Tho  soft  Peruvian  pour'd  his  midnight  strains, 
And  caird  his  distant  love  with  such  swoet  pow'r, 

That,  when  she  heard  tlie  lonely  lay, 
Not  worlds  could  keep  her  from  his  arms  away — ' 
To  the  bleak  climes  of  polar  night, 
Where  blithe,  beneath  a  sunless  sky,- 
The  Lapland  lover  bids  his  reindeer  fly. 
And  s'ngs  along  the  leugth'ning  waste  of  snow, 
Gayly  as  if  the  blessed  light 
Of  vernal  Phoebus  burn'd  upon  his  brow  ; 
Oh  Music  I  thy  celestial  claim 
Is  still  resistless,  still  the  same ; 
And,  faithful  as  the  mighty  sea 
To  tho  pale  star  that  o'er  its  realm  presides. 

The  spell-bound  tides 
Of  Inmian  passion  rise  and  fall  for  thee ! 


List !  'tis  a  Grecian  maid  that  sings, 
While,  from  Ilissus'  silv'ry  springs, 
She  draws  the  cool  lymph  iu  her  graceful  urn ; 
And  by,  her  side,  in  Btusic's  charm  dissolving. 
Some  patriot  youth,  the  glorious  past  revolving, 
Dreams  of  bright  days  that  never  can  return  ; 
When  Athens  nursed  her  olive  bough, 

WMt  hands  by  tyrant  pow'r  uuchaiu'd  ; 
And  braided  for  the  muse's  brow 
A  wreath  by  tyrant  touch  unstain'd. 
When  heroes  trod  each  classic  field 

Where  coward  feet  now  faintly  falter ; 
When  ev'ry  arm  was  Freedom's  shield, 
And  ev'rj'  heart  was  Freedom's  altar ! 

FLornisn  op  Trumpets. 

Hark,  'tis  the  sound  that  charms 
The  war-steed's  wak'ning  ears ! — 

Oh  !  many  a  mother  folds  her  arms 
Round  her  boy-soldier  when  that  call  she  hears  ; 

And,  though  her  fond  heait  sink  with  fears, 


>  "  A  certain  !:<pnniar(l,  one  nigbt  lato,  met,  an  Indian 
woman  in  tlie  slicels  of  Co7,co,  nnd  wotilil  liave  taken  her 
to  liis  honic,  hat  she  cried  out,  '  Fur  Cod's  sake,  Plr,  let  nie 
go  ,  for  that  pipe,  which  you  heir  in  yonder  tower,  calls 


Is  proud  to  feel  his  young  pulse  bound 
With  valor's  fever  at  the  sound. 
See,  from  his  native  hills  afar 
The  rude  Helvetian  flies  to  war ; 
Careless  for  what,  for  whom  he  fights. 
For  slave  or  despot,  wrongs  or  rights  : 

A  conqueror  oft — a  hero  never — 
Yet  lavish  of  his  life-blood  still, 
As  if  'twere  like  his  mountain  rill, 

And  gush'd  forever ! 

Yes,  Music,  here,  even  here, 
Amid  this  thoughtless,  vague  career, 
Thy  soul-felt  charm  asserts  its  wondrous  pow'r. — 

There's  a  wild  air  wiiicli  oft,  among  the  rocks 
Of  his  own  loved  land,  at  eveumg  liour, 

Is  heard,  when  shepherds  homeward  pipe  their 
flocks, 
Wlioso  every  note  hath  power  to  thrill  his  mind 

With  tend'rest  thoughts;  to  bring  around  his  knees 
The  rosy  children  whom  he  left  behind, 
And  fill  each  little  angel  eye 
With  speaking  tears,  that  ask  him  why 
He  wander'd  from  his  hut  for  scenes  like  these. 
Vain,  vain  is  then  the  trumpet's  brazen  roar ; 

Sweet  notes  of  home,  of  love,  are  all  he  heai's : 
And  the  stern  eyes,  that  look'd  for  blood  before, 
Now  melting,  mournful,  lose  themselves  in  tears. 

Swiss  Air. — "  R.\nz  des  Vaches." 

But,  wake  the  trinnpet's  blast  again, 
And  rouse  the  ranks  of  warrior-men  I 

Oh  War,  when  Truth  thy  arm  employs, 
And  Freedom's  spirit  guides  the  laboring  stomi, 
'Tis  then  thy  vengeance  takes  a  hallow'd  form. 

And,  like  Heaven's  lightning,  sacredly  destroys. 

Nor,  Music,  through  thy  breathing  sphere. 

Lives  there  a  sound  more  grateful  to  the  ear 
Of  Him  who  made  all  liarmony, 
Than  the  bless'd  sound  of  fetters  breaking, 
And  the  first  hymn  that  man,  awaking 

From  Slavery's  slumber,  breathes  to  Liberty. 

Spanish  Chorus. 
Hark!  from  Spain,  indignant  Spain, 
Bursts  the  bold,  enthusiast  strahi. 
Like  morning's  music  on  the  air  ; 
And  seems,  in  every  note,  to  swear 
By  Saragossa's  ruiu'd  streets, 

By  brave  Gerona's  dcathful  storj', 


me  with  great  passion,  .and  I  cannot  refuse  the  summons  • 
for  love  constrains  nie  to  go,  that  I  may  be  his  wife,  and 
he  my  husband.' " — Oarcilasso  dc  la.  Viga,  in  Sir  Paul 
Itycaut's  translation. 


SET  OF  GLEES. 


343 


Tliat,  while  one  Spaniard's  life-blood  beats, 
That  blood  shall  stain  tho  couqu'ror's  glory. 

Spanish  Air. — "Va  Desperto." 
But  ah  !  if  vaiu  the  patriot's  zeal, 
If  neither  valor's  force  nor  wisdom's  light 
Can  break  or  melt  that  blood-cemented  seal, 
Which  shuts  so  close  the  book  of  Europe's  right- 


What  song  shall  then  in  sadness  tell 
Of  broken  pride,  of  prospects  shaded, 

Of  biuricd  hopes,  remember'd  well, 
Of  ardor  quench'd,  and  honor  faded  ? 

What  muse  shall  mourn  the  deatiiless  brave, 
In  sweetest  dlrgo  at  Memory's  shrine  ? 

What  harp  shall  sigh  o'er  Freedom's  grave  ? 
Oh  Erm,  Tliine  ! 


SET   OF   GLEES. 


MUSIC  BY  MOORE. - 


THE  MEETING  OF  THE  SHIPS. 

When  o'er  the  silent  seas  alone,  • 

For  days  and  nights  we've  cheerless  gone, 
Oil  they  who've  felt  it  know  how  sweet. 
Some  siuiny  morn  a  sail  to  meet. 

Sparkling  at  once  is  ev'ry  eye, 
"  Ship  ahoy  !  ship  ahoy  !"  our  joyful  cry  ; 
While  answering  back  the  sounds  we  hear 
"Ship   ahoy!    ship   ahoy  I    what   cheer? 
cheer?" 

Then  sails  are  back'd,  we  nearer  come, 
Kind  words  are  said  of  friends  and  home 
And  soon,  too  soon,  we  part  with  pain. 
To  sail  o'er  silent  seas  again. 


what 


HIP,  HIP,  HURRA  ! 

Come,  fdl  round  a  bumper,  fill  up  to  the  brim. 

He  who  shrinks  from  a  bumper  I  pledge  not  to 

him  ; 
"  Here's  the  girl  that  each  loves,  be  her  eye  of  what 

hue, 
"  Or  lustre,  it  may,  so  her  heart  is  but  true." 

Charge !  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hiura ! 

Come,  charge  high  again,  boys,  nor  let  the  full  wine 
Leave  a  space  m  the  brimmer,  wheio  daylight  may 
shine  ; 


'•  Here's  the  friends  of  our  youth — though  of  some 

we're  bereft, 
"  May  the  links  that  are  lost  but  endear  what  aro 

left  I" 

Charge  !  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra ! 

Once  more  fill  a  bumper — ne'er  talk  of  the  hour  ; 
On  hearts  thus  united  old  Time  has  no  pow'r. 
"  May  our  lives,  tho',  alas !  like  the  W'ine  of  to-night, 
"  They  must  soon  have  an  end,  to  the  last  flow  as 
bright." 

Charge  !  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra  ! 

Quick,  quick,  now,  I'll  give  you,  since  Time's  glass 

will  run 
Ev'n  faster  than  ours  doth,  three  bumpers  in  one  ; 
"  Here's  the   poet  who   sings — here's   the  warrior 

who  fights— 
"  Here's  the  statesman  who  speaks,  in  the  cause  of 

men's  rights  !" 

Charge  !  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra  ! 

Come,  once  more,  a  bumper ! — then  drink  as  you 

please, 
Tho',  loho  could  ^\l  half-way  to  toast  such  as  these  ? 
"  Here's  our  next  joyous  meeting — and  oh  when  we 

meet, 
"  May  our  wine  be  as  bright  and   our   union   as 

sweet !" 

Charge  !  (drhiks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra  I 


HUSH,  HUSH . 

'  HuBii,  hush  '." — how  well 
That  sweet  word  sounds, 


344                                               MOORE'S 

WORKS 

When  Love,  the  liule  sentinel, 

WATCHMAN. 

Walks  his  night-rounds ; 

Past  one  o'clock — past  one. 

Then,  if  a  foot  but  dare 

One  rose-leaf  crush. 

Yet  stay  a  moment  longer — 

Myriads  of  voices  in  the  air 

Alas  !  why  is  it  so. 

Wliisper,  "  Hush,  hush  !" 

The  wish  to  stay  grows  stronger, 

The  more  'tis  time  to  go  ? 

"  Hark,  hark,  'tis  he !" 

The  night-elves  cry, 

WATCHMAN. 

And  hush  their  fairy  harmony. 
While  he  steals  by ; 

Past  two  o'clock — past  two. 

But  if  his  silv'ry  feet 

One  dew-drop  brush, 

Now  wrap  thy  cloak  about  thee — 

Voices  are  heard  in  chorus  sweet, 

The  hours  must  sure  go  wrong. 

Whisp'ring,  "  Hush,  hush  !" 

For  when  they're  pass'd  without  thee. 

They're,  oh,  ten  tunes  as  long. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past  three  o'clock — past  three. 

THE  PARTING  BEFORE  THE  BATTLE. 

Again  that  dreadful  warning  ! 

Had  ever  time  such  flight  ? 

HE. 

And  see  the  sky,  'tis  morning — 

O.N  to  the  field,  our  doom  is  seal'd, 

•        So  now,  indeed,  good  night. 

To  conquer  or  be  slaves : 

This  sun  shall  see  our  nation  free. 

WATCHMAN. 

Or  set  upon  our  graves. 

Past  three  o'clock — past  three 

SHE. 

Good  night,  good  night 

Farewell,  oh  farewell,  my  love, 

May  Heav'n  thy  guardian  be, 
And  send  bright  angels  from  above 

To  bring  thee  back  to  me. 

SAY,  WHAT  SHALL  WE  DANCE? 

BE. 

Say,  what  shall  we  dance  ? 

On  to  the  field,  the  battle-field. 

Shall  we  bound  along  the  moonlight  plain. 

Where  Freedom's  standard  waves, 

To  music  of  Italy,  Greece,  or  Spain  ? 

This  sun  shall  see  our  tyrant  yield, 

Say,  what  shall  we  dance  ? 

Or  shine  upon  our  graves. 

Shall  we,  like  those  who  rove 

Through  bright  Grenada's  grove. 

To  the  light  Bolero's  measures  move  ? 

Or  choose  the  Guaracia's  languishing  lay. 
And  thus  to  its  sound  die  away  ? 

THE  WATCHMAN 

Strike  the  gay  chords. 
Let  us  hear  each  strain  from  ev'ry  shore 

A  TRIO. 

That  music  haunts,  or  }'oung  feet  wander  o'er. 

Hark  !  'tis  the  light  march,  to  whose  measured  time, 

WATCHMAN. 

The  Polish  lady,  by  her  lover  led. 

Past  twelve  o'clock — past  twelve. 

Delights  through  gay  saloons  with  step  untired  to 

tread. 

Good  night,  good  night,  my  dearest — 

Or  sweeter  still,  through  moonlight  walks. 

How  fast  the  moments  fly  ! 

Whose  shadows  serve  to  hide 

'Tis  time  to  part,  thou  hearcst 

The  blush  that's  raised  by  him  who  talks 

That  hateful  watchman's  cry 

Of  love  the  while  by  her  side  ; 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


345 


Tlieu  comes  the  smooth  waltz,  to  whose  floating 

sound 
Like  dreanis  we  go  gliding  around, 
Say,   which    shall   we    dance  ?    which    shall   we 

dance  ? 


THE  EVENING  GUN 

Rememb'rest  thou  that  setting  sun, 
The  last  I  saw  with  thee, 


When  loud  we  heard  the  ev'ning  gun 

Peal  o'er  tiie  twilight  sea  ? 
Boom  I — the  sounds  appear'd  to  sweep 

Far  o'er  the  verge  of  day, 
Till,  into  realms  beyond  the  deep, 

They  seem'd  to  die  away. 

Oft,  when  the  toils  of  day  are  done, 

In  pensive  dreams  of  thee, 
I  sit  to  hear  that  ev'ning  gun. 

Peal  o'er  the  stormy  sea.  - 

Boom  1 — and  while,  o'er  billows  curl'd. 

The  distant  sounds  decay, 
I  weep  and  wish,  tjrom  tliis  rough  w^rld. 

Like  them,  to  die  away. 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS, 


ETC. 


TO-DAY,  DEAREST !  IS  OURS. 

To-DAY,  dearest !  is  ours  ; 

Why  should  Love  carelessly  lose  it  ? 
This  life  shines  or  lowers 

Just  as  we,  weak  mortals,  use  it. 
'Tis  time  enough,  when  its  flow'rs  decay. 

To  think  of  the  thorns  of  Sorrow ; 
And  Joy,  if  left  on  the  stem  to-day, 

INIay  wither  before  to-morrow. 

Then  why,  dearest !  so  long 

Let  the  sweet  moments  fly  over? 
Though  now,  bloommg  and  young, 

Thou  hast  me  devoutly  thy  lover : 
Yet  Time  from  both,  in  his  silent  lapse, 

Some  treasure  may  steal  or  borrow  ; 
Thy  charms  may  be  less  in  bloom,  perhaps, 

Or  I  less  in  love  to-morrow. 


WHEN  ON  THE  LIP  THE  SIGH  DELAYS. 

When  on  the  lip  the  sigh  delays, 
As  if  'twould  Unger  there  forever ; 


When  eyes  would  give  the  world  to  gaze. 
Yet  still  look  down,  and  venture  never ; 

When,  though  with  fau-est  njnnphs  we  rove, 
Ther3's  one  we  dream  of  more  than  any — 

If  all  this  is  not  real  love, 

'Tis  something  wondrous  like  it,  Famiy  1 

To  think  and  ponder,  when  apart, 

On  all  we've  got  to  say  at  meeting  ; 
And  yet  when  near,  with  heart  to  heart. 

Sit  mute,  and  listen  to  their  beating : 
To  see  but  one  bright  object  move, 

The  only  moon,  where  stars  are  many — 
If  all  this  is  not  downright  love, 

I  prithee  say  what  is,  my  Fanny  ! 

When  Hope  foretells  the  brightest,  best. 

Though  Reason  on  the  darkest  reckons  ; 
When  Passion  drives  us  to  the  west, 

Though  Prudence  to  the  eastward  beckons  ; 
When  all  turns  round,  below,  above, 

And  our  own  heads  the  most  of  any — 
If  this  is  not  stark,  staring  love. 

Then  you  and  I  are  sages,  Fanny 


346 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


HERE,  TAKE  MY  HEART. 

IIcRE,  take  my  heart — 'twill  bo  safe  in  thy  keeping, 
While  I  go  wand'ring  o'er  laud  and  o'er  sea ; 

Smiling  or  sorrowing,  waking  or  sleeping. 
What  need  I  care,  so  my  heart  is  with  thee  ? 

Il',  in  the  race  wo  are  destined  to  run,  love. 
They  who  have  light  hearts  the  happiest  be, 

Then,  happier  stjll  must  be  tliey  who  have  none, 
love, 
And  that  wiU  bo  my  case  when  mine  is  with  thee. 

It  matters  not  where  I  may  now  be  a  rover, 
I  caro  not  how  many  bright  eyes  I  may  see  ; 

Should  Venus  herself  come  and  ask  me  to  love  her, 
I'd  tell  her  I  couldn't — my  heart  is  with  thee. 

And  there  let  it  lie,  growing  fonder  and  fonder — 
For,  even  should  Fortune  turn  truant  to  mc, 

W^hy,  let  her  go — I've  a  treasure  beyond  her. 
As  long  as  my  heart's  out  at  int'rest  with  thee  '. 


Oil,  CALL  IT  BY  SOME  BETTER  NAME. 

On,  call  it  by  some  bettor  name, 

For  Friendship  sounds  too  cold. 
While  Love  is  now  a  worldly  fliame. 

Whose  shrine  must  be  of  gold  ; 
And  Passion,  like  the  sun  at  noon, 

That  burns  o'er  all  ho  sees. 
Awhile  as  warm,  will  set  as  soon — 

Then,  call  it  none  of  these. 

Imagine  something  purer  far, 

More  free  from  stain  of  clay 
Than  Friendship,  Love,  or  Fassioii  are> 

Yet  human  still  as  they : 
And  if  thy  lip,  for  love  like  this, 

No  mortal  word  can  frame, 
Go,  ask  of  angels  wliat  it  is 

And  call  it  by  that  name 


POOR  WOUNDED  HEART. 

Poor  wounded  heart,  farewell ! 

Thy  hour  of  rest  is  come  ; 

Thou  soon  wilt  reach  thy  home, 
Poor  wounded  heart,  farewell ! 


The  pain  thou'lt  feel  in  breaking 

Less  bitter  far  will  be. 
Than  that  long,  deadly  achmg, 

This  life  lias  been  to  thee. 

There — broken  heart,  farewell  1 
The  pang  is  o'er — 
The  parting  pang  is  o'er  ; 
Thou  now  wilt  bleed  no  more, 
Poor  broken  heart,  farewell ! 
No  rest  for  thee  but  dying — 

Like  waves,  whose  strife  is  past, 
On  death's  cold  sliore  thus  lying. 
Thou  sleep'st  in  peace  at  last — 
Poor  broken  heart,  fai-ewell ! 


THE  EAST  INDIAN. 

Come,  May,  with  all  thy  flowers, 

Thy  sweetly-scented  thorn, 
Thy  cooling  ev'ning  showcre. 

Thy  fragrant  breath  at  mora  : 
When  May-flics  haunt  the  willow. 

When  May-buds  tempt  the  bee. 
Then  o'er  the  shining  billow 

My  love  will  come  to  me. 

From  Eastern  Isles  she's  winging 

Through  wat'iy  wilds  her  way. 
And  on  her  check  is  bringing 

The  bright  sun's  orient  ray : 
Oh,  come  and  court  her  hither. 

Ye  breezes  mild  and  warm — 
One  winter's  gale  would  wither 

So  soft,  so  pure  a  form. 

The  fields  where  she  was  straying 

Are  blest  with  endless  light. 
With  zephjTS  always  playing 

Through  gardens  always  bright. 
Then  now,  sweet  May  I  be  sweeter 

Than  e'er  thou'st  been  before  ; 
Let  sighs  from  roses  meet  her 

When  she  comes  near  our  shore. 


POOR  BROKEN  FLOWER 

Poor  broken  flow'r !    what  art  can   now   recover 
tliee  ? 
Tom  from  the  stem  that  fed  thy  rasy  brealli — 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


347 


In  vaiu  the  sunbeams  seek 
Xo  warm  that  faded  clieek ; 
The  dews  of  heav'u,  that  once  liko  balm  fell  over 
thee, 
Now  are  but  tears,  to  weep  thy  earlj'  death. 

So  droops  the  maid  whoso  lover  hath  forsaken  her, — 
Thrown  from  his  arms,  as  lone  and  lost  as  thou ; 
In  vain  the  smiles  of  all 
Like  sunbeams  round  her  fall ; 
The  only  smile  that  could  from  death  awaken  her, 
That  smile,  alas  !  is  gone  to  others  now. 


THE  PRETTY  ROSE-TREE. 

Beln'G  weary  of  love, 

I  flew  to  the  grove. 
And  chose  me  a  tree  of  the  fairest ; 

Saying,  "  Pretty  Rose-tree, 

"  Thou  my  mistress  shalt  be, 
"  And  I'll  worship  each  bud  thou  bearest. 
"  For  the  hearts  of  this  world  are  hollow, 
"  And  fickle  the  smiles  we  follow  ; 

'*  And  'tis  sweet,  when  all 

"  Their  witch'ries  pall, 
"  To  have  a  pure  love  to  fly  to : 

"  So,  my  pretty  Rose-tree, 

"  Thou  my  mistress  shalt  be, 
"  And  the  only  one  now  I  shall  sigh  to." 

When  the  beautiful  hue 

Of  thy  cheek  througli  the  dew 
Of  morning  is  bashfully  peeping, 

"  Sweet  tears,"  I  shall  say, 

(As  I  brush  them  away,) 
"  At  least  there's  no  art  in  this  weeping." 
Although  thou  shonldst  die  to-morrow, 
'Twill  not  be  from  pain  or  sorrow ; 

And  the  thorns  of  thy  stem 

Ai-e  not  like  them 
With  which  men  wound  each  other: 

So,  my  pretty  Rose-tree, 

Thou  my  mistress  shalt  be, 
And  I'll  ne'er  again  sigh  to  another 


SHINE  OUT,  STARS! 

Shine  out.  Stars !  let  Heav'n  assemble 

Round  us  ev'iy  festal  ray, 
Lights  that  move  not,  lights  that  tremble, 

All  to  grace  tliis  Eve  of  May. 


Let  the  flow'r-beds  all  lie  waking, 

And  the  odors  shut  up  there, 
From  their  downy  prisons  breaking. 

Fly  abroad  through  sea  and  air. 

And  would  Love,  too,  bring  his  sweetness, 

AVith  our  otlier  joys  to  weave, 
Oh  what  gloiy,  what  completeness, 

Tlien  would  crown  this  bright  May  Eve ! 
Shine  out,  Stars  I  let  night  as.semb!e 

Round  us  every  feslal  ray, 
Lights  that  move  not,  lights  that  tremble. 

To  adorn  this  Eve  of  May. 


THE  YOUNG  MULETEERS  OF  GRENADA. 

On,  the  joys  of  our  ev'niug  posada, 

Where,  resting  at  close  of  day. 
We,  young  Mulelcere  of  Grenada, 

Sit  and  sing  the  sunshine  away  ; 
So  merr)',  that  even  the  slumbers. 

That  round  us  hung,  seem  gone ; 
Till  the  lute's  soft  drowsy  numbers 

Agam  beguile  them  on. 
Oh,  the  joys,  &c.  . 

Then  as  each  to  his  loved  sultana 

In  sleep  still  breathes  the  sigh, 
The  name  of  some  black-eyed  Tirana 

Escapes  our  lips  as  we  lie. 
Till,  with  morning's  rosy  twinkle, 

Again  we're  up  and  gone — 
While  the  mule-bell's  di-owsy  tinkle 

Beguiles  the  rough  way  on. 
Oh,  the  joys  of  our  merry  posada, 

Where,  resting  at  close  of  day, 
We,  yomig  Muleteers  of  Grenada, 

Thus  suig  the  gay  moments  away. 


TELL  HER,  OH,  TELL  IIER. 

Tell  her,  oh,  tell  her,  the  lute  she  left  lying 
Beneath  the  green  arbor,  is  stiil  lying  there ; 

And  breezes,  like  lovci-s,  around  it  are  sigliing, 
But  not  a  soft  whisper  replies  to  tiicir  pray'r 

Tell  her,  oh,  tell  her,  the  tree  that,  in  going, 
Beside  the  green  arbor  she  playfully  set, 

As  lovely  as  ever  is  blushing  and  blowinij, 
And  not  a  bright  leaflet  has  fall'n  from  it  yet. 


348 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


So  wliilo  away  from  that  arbor  forsaken, 
Tlio  maiden  is  wandering,  still  let  her  be 

As  true  as  the  lute,  that  no  sighing  can  waken, 
And  blooming  forever,  unchanged  as  the  tree  I 


NIGHTS  OF  MUSIC. 

Nights  of  music,  nights  of  loving, 

Lost  too  soon,  reniember'd  long. 
When  we  went  by  moonlight  roving. 

Hearts  all  love,  and  lips  all  song. 
When  this  faithful  lute  recorded 

AH  my  spirit  felt  to  thee  ; 
And  that  smile  the  song  rewarded — 

Worth  whole  years  of  fame  to  me ! 

Nights  of  song,  and  nights  of  splendor, 

Fill'd  with  joys  too  sweet  to  last — 
Joys  that,  like  the  starlight,  tender. 

While  they  shone,  no  shadow  cast 
Though  all  other  happy  hours 

From  my  fading  mem'ry  fly. 
Of  that  starlight,  of  those  bowers, 

Not  a  beam,  a  leaf  shall  die ! 


OUR  FIRST  YOUNG  LOVE. 

Our  first  young  love  resembles 

That  short  but  brilliant  ray, 
AVhic',  smiles,  and  weeps,  and  trembles 

Through  April's  earliest  day. 
And  not  all  life  before  us, 

Howe'cr  its  lights  may  play. 
Can  shed  a  lustre  o'er  us 

Like  that  first  April  ray. 

Our  summer  sun  may  squander 

A  blaze  serener,  grander  ; 

Our  autunui  beam 

May,  like  a  dream 

Of  heav'u,  die  calm  away ; 

But,  no — let  life  before  us 

Bring  all  tlie  light  it  may, 
'Twill  ne'er  shed  lustre  o'er  us 
Like  that  first  youthful  ray. 


BLACK  AND  BLUE  EYES. 

The  brilliant  black  e^-e 

May  in  triumph  let  fly 
All  its  darts  without  caring  who  feels  'em ; 

But  the  soft  eye  of  blue, 
^  Though  it  scatter  wounds  too. 
Is  much  better  pleased  wheii  it  heals  'em — 

Dear  Fanny  I 

But  the  soft  eye  of  blue. 

Though  it  scatter  wounds  too. 
Is  much  better  pleased  when  it  heals  'em. 

The  black  eye  may  say, 

"  Come  and  worsliip  my  ray — 
"  By  adoring,  perhaps,  you  may  move  me  !' 

But  the  blue  eye,  half  hid. 

Says,  from  under  its  lid, 
"  I  love,  and  am  yours,  if  you  love  me !" 

Yes,  Fanny ! 

The  blue  eye,  half  hid. 

Says,  from  under  its  lid, 
"  I  love,  and  am  yours,  if  you  love  me !" 

Come  tell  me,  then,  why. 

In  that  lovely  blue  eye. 
Not  a  charm  of  its  tint  I  discover ; 

Oh,  why  should  you  wear 

The  only  blue  pair 
That  ever  said  "  No"  to  a  lover  ? 

Dear  Fanny  I 

Oh,  why  should  you  wear 

The  only  blue  pair 
That  ever  said  "  No"  to  a  lover  ? 


I 


DEAR  FANNY. 

"She   has  beauty,  but  still  you  must  keep  your 
heart  cool ; 
"  She  has  wit,  but  you  mustn't  be  caught  so:" 
Thus  Reason  advises,  but  Reason's  a  fool, 
And  'tis  not  the  first  time  I  have  thought  so. 

Dear  Fanny, 
'Tis  uot  the  fii-st  ti.Tio  I  have  thought  so. 

"  She  is  lovely ;  then  love  her,  nor  let  the  bliss  fly 
"  'Tis  the  charm  of  youth's  vanishing  season  :" 

Thus  Love  has  advised  me,  and  who  will  deny 
Tliat  Love  reasons  much  better  than  Reason, 

Dear  Fanny  ? 
Love  reasons  much  better  than  Reason. 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


349 


FROM  LIFE  WITHOUT  FREEDOM. 

From  life  without  freedom,  say,  who  would  not  fly? 
For  one  day  of  freedom,  oh  !  who  would  not  die  ? 
Hark  ! — hark  ! — 'tis  the  trumpet !    the   call  of  the 

brave. 
The  death-song  of  tjiauts,  the  dirge  of  the  slave. 
Our  country  lies  bleeding — haste,  haste  to  her  aid ; 
One  arm  that  defends  is  worth  hosts  that  invade. 

In  death's  kindly  bosom  our  last  hope  remains — 
The  dead  fear  no  tjTants,  the  grave  has  no  chains. 
On,  on  to  the  combat ;  the  heroes  tliat  bleed 
For  virtue  and  mankind  are  heroes  indeed. 
And  oh,  ev'n  if  Freedom  from  this  world  be  driven. 
Despair  not — at  least  we  shall  find  her  in  heaven. 


HERE'S  THE  BOWER. 

Here's  the  bower  she  loved  so  much, 

And  tlie  tree  she  planted ; 
Here's  the  harp  she  used  to  touch — 

Oh,  how  that  touch  enchanted ! 
Roses  now  unheeded  sigh  ; 

Where's  the  hand  to  wreath  them  ? 
Songs  around  neglected  lie  ; 

Where's  the  lip  to  breathe  them? 
Here's  the  bower,  &c. 

Spring  may  bloom,  but  she  we  loved 

Ne'er  shall  feel  its  sweetness ; 
Time,  that  once  so  fleetly  moved. 

Now  hath  lost  its  fleetness. 
Years  were  days,  when  here  she  stray'd. 

Days  were  moments  near  her ; 
Heav'n  ne'er  form'd  a  brighter  maid, 

Nor  Pity  wept  a  dearer ! 

Here's  the  bower,  &c. 


J  SAW  THE  MOON  RISE  CLEAR. 

k   FINI^ND   LOVE   SONG 

I  SAW  the  moon  rise  clear 

O'er  hills  and  vales  of  snow, 
Nor  told  my  fleet  reindeer 

The  track  I  wish'd  to  go. 
Yet  quick  he  bounded  forth  ; 

For  well  my  reindeer  knew 
I've  but  one  path  on  earth — 

The  path  which  leads  to  you. 


The  gloom  that  winter  cast 

How  soon  the  heart  forgets. 
When  Summer  brings,  at  last. 

Her  sun  that  never  sets ! 
So  dawu'd  my  love  for  you  ; 

So,  fix'd  tlirough  joy  and  pain, 
Than  summer  sun  more  true, 

'Twill  never  set  again. 


LOVE  AND  THE  SUN-DIAL. 

Young  Love  found  a  Dial  once,  in  a  dark  shade, 
Where   man    ne'er    had   wander'd    nor    sunbeam 

play'd ; 
"  Why  thvis  in  darkness  lie,"  whisper'd  young  Love . 
"  Thou,  whose  gay  hours  in  sunshine  should  move?" 
"  I  ne'er,"  said  the  Dial,  "  have  seen  the  warm  sun, 
"  So  noonday  and  midnight  to  me.  Love,  are  one." 

Then  Love  took  the  Dial  away  from  the  shade, 
And    placed    her   where    Heaven's   beam   warmly 

play'd. 
There  she  reclined,  beneath  Love's  gazing  eye. 
While,  mark'd  all  with  sunshine,  her  hours  flew  by. 
"  Oh,  how,"  said  the  Dial,  "  can  any  fair  maid, 
"  That's  born  to  be  shone  upon,  rest  in  the  shade?" 

But  night  now  comes  on,  and  the  simbeam's  o'er, 
And  Love  stops  to  gaze  on  the  Dial  no  more. 
Alone  and  neglected,  wliile  bleak  rain  and  winds 
Are  storming  around  her,  with  sorrow  she  finds 
That  Love  had  but  number'd  a  few  sunny  hours, — 
Then  left  the  remainder  to  darkness  and  showers ! 


LOVE  AND  TIME. 

'Tis  said — but  whether  tnie  or  not 

Let  bards  declare  who've  seen  'em- 
That  Love  and  Time  have  only  got 

One  pair  of  wings  between  'em. 
In  courtship's  first  delicious  hour, 

The  boy  full  oft  can  spare  'em  ; 
So,  loit'ring  in  his  lady's  bower. 

He  lets  the  grey-beard  wear  'em 
Then  is  Time's  hoiu-  of  play ; 
Oh,  how  ho  flies,  flies  away  ! 


350                                              MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

• 

But  short  tho  moments,  short  as  bright. 

■ 

When  he  tho  wings  can  borrow ; 

LOVE,  WANDRING  THROUGH  THE 

If  Time  to-day  has  had  his  fliglit, 

GOLDEN  MAZE. 

Love  takes  his  turn  to-morrow. 

Ah  !  Time  and  Love,  yonr  change  is  then 

Love,  wand'ring  through  the  golden  maze 

Tlio  saddest  and  most  trying. 

Of  my  beloved's  hair. 

Wlien  one  begins  to  limp  again, 

Traced  every  lock  with  fond  delays. 

And  I'otlier  takes  to  flying. 

And,  doting,  linger'd  there. 

Then  is  Love's  hour  to  stray  ; 

And  soon  lie  found  'twere  vain  to  fly ; 

Oh,  liow  he  flies,  flies  away  ! 

His  heart  was  close  confined. 

For,  every  ringlet  was  a  tie — 

But  there's  a  nymph,  whose  chains  I  feel. 

A  chain  by  beauty  twined. 

And  bless  the  silken  fetter, 

Wlio  knows,  the  dear  one,  how  to  deal 

With  Love  and  Time  much  better. 

So  well  she  checks  their  wanderings, 

So  peacefully  she  pairs  'em. 

That  Love  with  her  ne'er  thinks  of  wings, 

MERRILY  EVERY  BOSOM  BOUNDETH. 

And  Time  forever  wears  'em. 

THE    TVROLESE    SONG    OF    LIBERTY. 

This  is  Time's  holiday ; 

Oh,  how  he  flies,  flies  away ! 

Merrily  ever}'  bosom  boundeth, 

Merrily,  oh ! 

Where  the  song  of  Freedom  soundeth. 
Merrily,  oh  1 

There  the  warrior's  arms 

LOVE'S  LIGHT  SUMMER-CLOUD. 

Shed  more  splendor ; 

There  the  maiden's  charms 

Pain  and  sorrow  shall  vanish  before  us — 

Shine  more  tender ; 

Youth  may  witiier,  but  feeling  will  last; 

Ev'ry  joy  tlie  laud  suiroundeth. 

All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  us. 

Merrily,  oh !  merrily,  oh  I 

Love's  liglit  summer-cloud  only  shall  cast 

Oh,  if  to  love  thee  more 

Wearily  every  bosom  pineth, 

Each  hour  I  number  o'er 

Wearily,  oh  ! 

If  tliis  a  passion  be 

Where  the  bond  of  slavery  twinetli 

Worthy  of  thee. 

Wearily,  oh ! 

Then  be  happy,  for  thus  I  adore  tjice. 

There  the  warrior's  dart 

Cliarins  may  wither,  but  fi'eling  shall  laet: 

Hath  no  flcctncss ; 

All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  thee. 

There  llie  maiden's  heart 

Love's  light  summer-cloud  sweetly  shall  cast 

Hath  no  sweetness — 

Ev'iy  flow'r  of  life  decliucth, 

Rest,  dear  bosom,  no  sorrows  shall  pain  thee. 

Wearily,  oh  !  wearily,  oh ! 

Sighs  of  pleasure  alone  slialt  thou  steal ; 

Beam,  bright  eyelid,  no  weeping  shall  stain  tliee, 

Cheerily  then  from  hill  and  valley, 

Tears  of  rapture  alone  shalt  thou  feel. 

Clieerily,  oh  I 
Like  your  native  fountauis  sally. 
Cheerily,  oh  ! 

Oh,  if  there  bo  a  charm 

In  love,  to  banish  harm — 

If  pleasure's  truest  spell 

If  a  glorious  death, 

Be  to  love  well, 

Won  by  bravery, 

Then  bo  happy,  for  thus  I  adore  thee. 

Sweeter  be  than  breath 

Charms  may  wither,  but  feeling  shall  last: 

Sigh'd  in  slaveiy. 
Round  the  flag  of  Freedom  rally. 

All  tho  shadow  tliat  e'er  sliall  fall  o'er  thee. 

Love's  light  summer-cloud  sweetly  shall  cast 

Cheerily,  oh !  cheerily,  oh  ! 

i 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


351 


REMEMBER  THE  TIME. 

TlIE  CASTILIAN  MAID. 

Re5IE>iber  the  time,  in  La  M?.nclia*s  shades, 

Wlicii  our  momeuls  so  blissfully  flew  ; 
Wiea  you  call'd  me  the  flower  of  CastiUan  maids, 

Aud  I  blush'd  to  be  call'd  so  by  you ; 
When  I  taught  you  to  warble  the  gay  seguadille. 

And  to  dance  to  the  light  Castanet ; 
Oh,  never,  dear  youth,  let  you  roam  where  you  will, 

Tlio  delight  of  those  moments  forget. 

They  tell  me,  you  lovers  from  Erin's  green  isle, 

Every  hour  a  new  passion  cau  feel ; 
And  that  soon,  in  the  light  of  some  loveUer  smile. 

You'll  forget  the  poor  maid  of  Castile. 
But  they  know  not  how  brave  in  the  battle  you  are, 

Or  they  never  could  think  you  would  rove ; 
For  'tis  always  the  spirit  most  gallant  ui  war 

That  is  fondest  and  truest  in  love. 


OH,  SOON  RETURN. 

Our  white  sail  canght  the  ev'ning  ray. 

The  wave  beneath  us  seem'd  to  bum, 
■Wlien  all  the  weeping  maid  could  say 

"Was,  "  Oh,  soon  return  !" 
Through  many  a  clime  our  ship  was  driven, 

O'er  many  a  billow  rudely  thrown  ; 
Now  chill'd  beneath  a  northern  heaven. 

Now  sunn'd  in  summer's  zone : 
And  still,  wliere'er  we  bent  oin  way. 

When  evening  bid  the  west  wave  bum, 
I  fancied  still  I  heard  her  say, 

"  Oh,  soon  return  !" 

If  ever  yet  my  bosom  found 

Its  thoughts  one  moment  tuni'd  from  thee, 
'Twas  when  the  combat  raged  around. 

And  brave  men  look'd  to  me. 
But  though  the  war-field's  wild  alarm 

For  gentle  Love  was  all  uumeet. 
He  lent  to  Glory's  brow  the  chanm. 

Which  made  even  danger  sweet. 
And  still,  when  vict'ry's  calm  came  o'er 

The  hearts  where  rage  had  ceased  to  bum. 
Those  parting  words  I  heard  once  more, 

"  Oh,  soon  retiun  I — Oh,  soon  return !" 


LOVE  THEE? 

Love  thee  ? — so  well,  so  tenderly 

Tliou'it  loved,  adored  by  me. 
Fame,  fortune,  wealth,  and  liberty, 

Were  worthless  without  thee. 
Though  brimm'd  with  blessings,  pure  and  rare 

Life's  cup  before  mo  lay, 
Unless  thy  love  were  mingled  there, 

I'd  spurn  the  draught  away. 
Love  thee? — so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou'rt  loved,  adored  by  me. 
Fame,  fortune,  wealth,  and  liberty. 

Are  worthless  without  thee. 

Without  thy  smile,  the  monarch's  lot 

To  me  were  dark  and  lone. 
While,  with  it,  ev'n  the  humblest  cot 

Were  brighter  than  his  throne. 
Those  worlds,  for  which  the  conqueror  sighs, 

For  me  would  have  no  charms ; 
My  only  world  thy  gentle  eyes — 

My  throne  thy  circling  arms ! 
Oh,  yes,  so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou'rt  loved,  adored  by  me. 
Whole  realms  of  light  aud  liberty 

V/ore  v/orihless  ^vithcut  thee. 


ONE  DEAR  SMILE 

CouLDST  thou  look  as  dear  as  when 

First  I  sigh'd  for  thee  ; 
Couldst  thou  make  me  feel  again 
Every  wish  I  breathed  thee  then. 

Oh,  how  blissfiU  life  would  be  I 
Hopes,  that  now  beguiling  leave  me, 

Joys,  that  lie  in  slumber  cold — 
All  would  wake,  couldst  thou  but  give  me 

One  dear  smile  like  those  of  old. 

No — there's  nothing  left  us  now 

But  to  mourn  the  past ; 
Vain  was  every  ardent  vow — 
Never  yet  did  heaven  allow 

Love  so  warm,  so  wild,  to  last. 
Not  even  hope  could  now  deceive  me — 

Life  itself  looks  dark  aud  cold: 
Oh,  thou  ne'^er  more  canst  give  mo 

Oue  dear  smile  like  those  of  old. 


352                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

The  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  mountains. 

YES,  YES,  WHEN  THE  BLOOM. 

Till  Victory's  self  shall,  smiling,  say, 

"  Yom*  cloud  of  foes  hath  pass'd  away. 

Yes.  ye.<!,  when  the  bloom  of  Love's  boyhood  is  o'er, 

"  And  Freedom  comes,  with  new-bom  ray. 

He'll  turn  into  friendship  that  feels  no  decay  ; 

"  To  gild  your  vines  and  light  your  fountains." 

And,  though  Time  may  take  from  him  the  wings  ho 

Oh,  never  till  that  glorious  day 

once  wore, 

Shall  Lusitania's  sons  be  gay. 

The  charms  that  remain  will  be  bright  as  before, 

Or  hear,  sweet  Peace,  thy  welcome  lay 

And  he'll  lose  but  liis  young  trick  of  flying  away. 

Resounding  through  her  sunny  moimtains. 

Then  let  it  console  thee,  if  Love  should  not  stay. 
That  Friendship   our   last  happy  moments  will 

crown  : 

Like  the  shadows  of  morning,  Love  lessens  away. 

While  Friendship,  like  those  at  the  closing  of  day, 

THE  YOUNG  ROSE. 

Will  linger  and  lengthen  as  life's  smi  goes  down. 

The  young  rose  I  give  thee,  so  dewy  and  bright. 

Was  the  flow'ret  most  dear  to  the  sweet  bird  of  night. 

Who  oft,  by  the  moon,  o'er  her  blushes  hath  hung, 

And  thriU'd  every  leaf  with  the  wild  lay  he  sung. 

Oh,  take  thou  tliis  young  rose,  and  let  her  life  be 

THE  DAY  OF  LOVE. 

Prolong'd  by  the  breath  she  will  borrow  from  thee  ; 

For,  while  o'er  her  bosom  thy  soft  notes  shall  thrill. 

The  beam  of  morning  trembling 

She'll  think  the  sweet  night-bird  is  coiuling  her  still 

Stole  o'er  the  momitain  brook, 

With  timid  ray  resembling 

Affection's  early  look. 
Thus  love  begins — sweet  morn  of  love ! 

The  noontide  ray  ascended, 

WHEN  MIDST  THE  GAY  I  MEET. 

And  o'er  the  valley's  stream 

DifTused  a  glow  as  splendid 

When  midst  the  ga.y  I  meet    . 

As  passion's  riper  dream. 

That  gentle  smile  of  thine, 

Thus  love  expands — warm  noon  of  love  ! 

Though  still  on  me  it  turns  most  sweet. 

I  scarce  can  call  it  mine : 

But  evefking  came,  o'ershading 

But  when  to  me  alone 

The  glories  of  the  sky. 

Your  secret  tears  you  show, 

Like  faith  and  fondness  fading 

Oh,  then  I  feel  those  tears  my  own. 

From  passion's  alter'd  eye. 

And  claim  them  while  they  flow. 

Thus  love  declines — cold  eve  of  love  ! 

Then  still  with  bright  looks  bless 

The  gay,  the  cold,  the  free  ; 

Give  smiles  to  tliose  who  love  you  less. 

But  keep  your  tears  for  me. 

The  snow  ou  Jura's  steep 

LUSITANIAN  WAR-SONG 

Can  smile  in  many  a  beam. 

Yet  still  in  chains  of  coldness  sleep, 

The  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  mountains, 

How  bright  soe'er  it  seem. 

Till  not  one  hateful  link  remains 

But,  when  some  deep-felt  ray. 

Of  slavery's  lingering  chains ; 

Whose  touch  is  fire,  appears, 

Till  not  one  tjTant  tread  our  i)lains, 

Oh,  then  the  smile  is  warm'd  away. 

Nor  traitor  lip  pollute  our  fountains.    .' 

And,  melting,  turns  to  tears. 

No !  never  till  that  glorious  day 

Then  still  with  bright  looks  bless 

Shall  Lusitania's  sons  be  gay. 

The  gay,  the  cold,  the  free  ; 

Or  hear,  oh  Peace,  thy  welcome  lay 

Give  smiles  to  those  who  love  you  less, 

Resounding  through  her  sunny  mountains. 

L 

But  keep  your  tears  for  me. 

I 


I 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC.                                         353 

WHEN  TWILIGHT  DEWS. 

HOW  HAPPY,  ONCE. 

When  twilight  dews  are  falling  soft 

How  happy,  once,  though  wmg'd  with  siglis, 

Upon  the  rosy  sea,  love, 

My  moments  flew  along. 

I  watch  the  star,  whose  beam  so  oft 

While  looking  on  those  smiling  eyes, 

Has  lighted  me  to  thee,  love. 

And  list'ning  to  thy  magic  song  ! 

And  thou,  too,  on  that  orb  so  dear, 

But  vanish'd  now,  like  summer  dreams. 

Dost  often  gaze  at  even, 

Those  moments  smile  no  more  ; 

And  think,  thongh  lost  forever  here, 

For  me  that  eye  no  longer  beams. 

Thou'lt  yet  be  mine  in  heaven. 

That  song  for  me  is  o'er. 

Mine  the  cold  brow. 

There's  not  a  garden  walk  I  tread, 

Tliat  speaks  thy  alter'd  vow. 

There's  not  a  flow'r  I  see,  love. 

While  otiiers  feel  thy  sunshine  now. 

But  brings  to  mind  some  hope  that's  fled. 

Some  joy  tliat's  gone  witii  tiiee,  love. 

Oh,  could  I  change  my  love  like  thee. 

And  still  I  wish  that  liour  was  near, 

One  hope  miglit  yet  be  mine — 

When,  friends  and  foes  forgiven. 

Some  other  eyes  as  bright  to  see. 

The  pains,  the  ills  we've  wept  through  here, 

And  hear  a  voice  as  sweet  as  thine . 

May  turn  to  smiles  in  heaven. 

But  never,  never  can  tliis  heart 

Be  waked  to  life  again  ; 

With  thee  it  lost  its  vital  part, 
And  withered  tlien  ! 

YOUNG  JESSICA. 

Cold  its  pulse  lies. 

And  mute  are  ev'n  its  sighs. 

Young  Jessica  sat  all  the  day. 

Ail  other  grief  it  now  defies. 

With  heart  o'er  idle  love-thoughts  pining ; 

Her  needle  bright  beside  her  lay, 

So  active  once  1— now  idly  shining. 

Ah,  Jessy,  'tis  in  idle  iiearts 

That  love  and  mischief  are  most  nimble ; 

I  LOVE  BUT  THEE. 

The  safest  shieW  against  the  darts 

If,  after  all,  you  still  will  doubt  and  fear  me. 

Of  Cupid,  is  Minerva's  thimble. 

And  thiiJc  this  heart  to  other  loves  will  stray. 

If  I  must  swear,  then,  lovely  doubter,  hear  me  ; 

Tlie  child,  who  with  a  magnet  plays. 

By  ev'ry  dream  I  have  wlien  thou'rt  away. 

Well  knowing  all  its  arts,  so  wily. 

By  ev'ry  throb  I  feel  when  thou  art  near  me. 

The  tempter  near  a  needle  lays. 

I  love  but  thee — I  love  but  thee  ! 

And  laughing,  says,  "  We'll  steal  it  slyly." 

The  nc!edle,  having  naught  to  do. 

By  those  dark  eyes,  where  light  is  ever  playing. 

,   Is  pleased  to  let  the  magnet  wheedle  ; 

Where   Love,   in   depth    of   shadow,   holds   his 

Till  closer,  closer  come  the  two. 

tin-one, 

.\nd — off,  at  length,  elopes  the  needle. 

And   by   those   lips,   which   give  whate'er   tliou'rt 

Now,  had  this  needle  turn'd  its  eye 

saying. 
Or  grave  or  gay,  a  music  of  its  own. 

To  some  gay  reticule's  construction. 

A  music  far  beyond  all  minstrel's  playing. 

It  ne'er  had  siray'd  from  duty's  tie. 

I  love  but  thee — I  love  but  thee  ! 

Nor  felt  the  magnet's  sly  seduction. 

Thus,  girls,  would  you  keep  quiet  hearts. 

By  that  fair  brow,  where  Innocence  reposes, 

Your  snowy  fingers  must  be  nimble ; 

As  pure  as  moonlight  sleeping  upon  snow. 

The  safest  shield  against  the  darts 

And  by  that  cheek,  whose  fleeting  blush  discloses 

Of  Cupid,  is  Minerva's  thimble. 

A  hue  too  bright  to  bless  this  world  below. 

And  only  fit  to  dwell  on  Eden's  roses, 

I  love  but  thee — I  love  but  thee ! 

354                                             MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

LET  JOY  ALONE  BE  REMEMBER'D  NOW. 

MY  HEART  AND  LUTE. 

Let  tliy  joys  aloiio  be  remembcr'd  now, 

I  cn'E  thee  all — I  can  no  more — 

Let  lliy  sorrows  go  sleep  awhile  ; 

Though  poor  the  ofi"riug  be  ; 

Or  if  tlioiiglil's  dark  cloud  come  o'er  thy  brow, 

Bly  heart  and  hite  are  all  the  store 

Let  Love  lij:fht  it  up  with  his  smile 

That  I  can  bring  to  thee. 

For  thus  to  meet,  and  thus  to  find, 

'          A  lute  whose  gentle  song  reveals 

'I'liat  Time,  whose  touch  cau  chill 

The  soul  of  love  full  well ; 

Each  flower  of  fomi,  each  grace  of  mind. 

And,  better  far,  a  heart  that  feels 

Ilath  left  thee  blooming  still, — 

Much  more  than  luto  could  tell. 

Oh,  joy  alone  should  be  thought  of  now, 

Let  our  sorrows  go  sleep  awhile  ; 

Though  love  and  song  may  fail,  alas '. 

Or,  should  thouglit's  dark  cloud  come  o'er  thy  brow, 

To  keep  life's  clouds  away, 

Let  Love  light  it  up  witli  his  smile. 

At  least  'twill  make  them  lighter  pass 

Or  gild  them  if  they  stay. 

When  the  flowers  of  life's  sweet  garden  fade. 

And  ev'n  if  Care,  at  moments,  flings 

If  but  one  bright  leaf  remain. 

A  discord  o'er  lif,.  a  happy  strain. 

Of  the  many  tliat  once  its  glory  made, 

Let  love  but  gently  touch  the  strings, 

It  is  not  for  us  to  complain. 

'Twill  all  bo  sweet  again  ! 

But  tims  to  meet  and  thus  to  wake 

In  all  Love's  early  bliss  ; 
Oh,  Time  all  other  gifts  may  take, 

So  he  but  leaves  us  this  ! 

Then  let  joy  alono  bs  remembcr'd  now. 
Let  our  sorrows  go  sleep  awhile  ; 

PEACE,  PEACE  TO  HIM  THAT'S  GONE! 

Or  if  thought's  dark  cloud  come  o'er  thy  brow, 

WiiE.v  I  am  dead 

Let  Love  light  it  up  with  his  smile  ! 

Then  lay  my  head 

lu  some  lone,  distant  dell. 

Where  voices  ne'er 
Shall  stir  the  air. 

Or  break  its  silent  spell. 

LOVE  THEE,  DEAREST?  LOVE  THEE? 

• 

If  any  sound 

Love  thee,  dearest  ?  love  thee  ? 

Be  heard  around. 

Yes,  by  yonder  star  I  swear, 

Let  the  sweet  bird  alone. 

Which  through  tears  above  thee 

That  weeps  in  song 

Shines  so  sadly  fair  ; 

Sing  all  night  long, 

Though  often  dim. 

"  Peace,  peace,  to  him  that's  gone  !" 

^Vith  tears,  like  him. 

Like  him  my  truth  will  shine. 

Yet,  oh,  were  mmo                                 • 

And — love  thee,  dearest  ?  love  thee  ? 

One  sigh  of  thine. 

Yes,  till  death  I'm  thine. 

One  pitying  word  from  thee, 

Like  gleams  of  lieav'n, 

Leave  thee,  dearest?  leave  thee? 

To  sinners  giv'n. 

No,  that  star  is  not  more  true  ; 

Would  be  that  word  to  mo. 

When  my  vows  deceive  thee, 

lie  will  wander  too. 

Howo'er  unbless'd. 

A  cloud  of  night 

My  shade  would  rest 

May  veil  his  light, 

While  list'ning  to  that  tone  ; — 

And  death  shall  darken  mine — 

Enough  'twould  be 

But — leave  thee,  dearest  ?  leave  thee  1 

To  hear  from  thee, 

No,  till  death  I'm  thine. 

"  Peace,  peace,  to  him  that's  gono  I" 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC.                                       355 

KOSE  OF  THE  DESERT. 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME.' 

Rose  of  the  Desert !  thou,  wlioso  bhishing  ray. 

There's  a  song  of  the  olden  time. 

Lonely  aud  lovely,  fleets  unseen  away ; 

Falling  sad  o'er  the  ear. 

No  hand  to  cull  thee,  none  to  woo  thy  sigh, — 

Like  tlie  dream  of  some  village  chime. 

In  vestal  silence  left  to  live  and  die, — 

Which  in  youth  we  loved  to  hear. 

Rose  of  the  Desert  !  thus  should  woman  be. 

And  ev'n  amidst  the  grand  aud  gay. 

Shining  uucoiulcd,  lono  and  safe,  like  thee. 

When  Music  tries  her  gentlest  art. 

I  never  hear  so  sweet  a  lay. 

Rose  of  the  Garden,  how  unlike  thy  doom ! 

Or  one  that  hangs  so  round  my  heart. 

Destined  for  others,  not  thyself,  to  bloom  ; 

As  that  song  of  the  olden  time. 

Cuird  ere  thy  beauty  lives  through  half  its  day ; 

Falling  sad  o'er  the  ear. 

A  moment  cherislfd,  and  then  cast  away  ; 

Like  the  dream  of  some  village  chime, 

Rose  of  the  Garden  !  such  is  woman's  lot, — 

Which  in  youth  we  loved  to  hear. 

Worehipp'd,  while  blooming — when  she  fades,  for- 

got 

And  when  all  of  this  life  is  gone, — 

Ev'n  the  hope,  ling'ring  now. 

Like  the  last  of  the  leaves  left  on 

Autumn's  sere  and  faded  bough, — 
'Twill  seem  as  still  those  friends  were  near. 

Who  loved  me  in  youth's  early  day. 

If  in  that  parting  hour  I  hear 

'TIS  ALL  FOR  THEE. 

The  same  sweet  notes,  and  die  away, — 

To  that  soug  of  the  olden  time, 

If  life  for  me  hath  joy  or  light. 

Breathed,  like  Hope's  farewell  strain, 

'Tis  all  from  thee. 

To  say,  in  some  brighter  clime. 

My  thonglus  by  day,  my  dreams  by  night, 

Ijfe  and  youth  wJl  shine  again ! 

Are  but  of  thee,  of  only  tliee. 

Whate'er  of  hope  or  peace  I  laiow, 

l\Iy  zest  in  joy,  my  balm  in  wo, 

To  tliose  dear  eyes  of  thine  I  owe, 

'Tis  all  from  thee. 

WAKE  THEE,  MY  DEAR. 

My  heart,  ev'u  ere  I  saw  those  eyes, 

Seem'd  doom'd  to  thee ; 

Wake  thee,  my  dear — thy  di-caming 

Kept  pure  till  then  from  other  ties. 

Till  darker  hours  will  keep  ; 

'Twas  all  for  thee,  for  only  thee. 

While  such  a  moon  is  beaming, 

Like  plants  that  sleep,  till  sunny  May 

'Tis  wrong  tow'rds  Heav'n  to  sleep. 

Calls  forth  then-  life,  my  spu-it  lay, 

Till,  tonch'd  by  Love's  awak'ning  ray. 

Moments  there  are  we  number. 

It  lived  for  thee,  it  lived  for  thee. 

Moments  of  pain  and  care. 

Which  to  oblivious  slumber 

When  Fame  would  call  me  to  her  heights, 

Gladly  the  wretch  would  spare. 

She  speaks  by  thee  ; 

But  now — who'd  think  of  dreaming 

And  dim  would  shine  her  proudest  lights. 

When  Love  his  watch  should  keep? 

Unshared  by  thee,  unshared  by  thee. 

While  such  a  moon  is  beaming,. 

Whene'er  I  seek  the  Muse's  slirine. 

'Tis  wrong  tow'rds  Heav'n  to  sleep. 

Where  Bards  have  hung  their  wreaths  diyme, 

And  wish  those  wreaths  of  glory  muie. 

If  e'er  the  Fates  should  sever 

'Tis  all  for  thee,  for  only  thee. 

My  life  aud  liopes  from  thee,  love. 

The  sleep  that  lasts  forever 

Would  then  be  sweet  to  me,  love  ; 
>  In  this  snnf,  which  is  one  of  the  many  set  to  music  by 

myself,  the  occasicinal  lawlessness  of  the  metre  arises,  I 

' 

need  hardly  say,  from  the  peculiar  structure  of  the  air. 

356 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But  now, — away  with  dreaming  ! 

Till  darker  hours  'twill  keep ; 
While  such  a  moon  is  beaming, 

'Tis  wrong  tow'rds  Ileav'n  to  sleep. 


THE  BOY  OF  THE  ALPS.' 

Lightly,  Alpine  rover, 

Tread  the  mountains  over  ; 

Rude  is  the  path  thuu'st  yet  to  go ; 

Snow  clifis  hanging  o'er  thee, 

Fields  of  ice  before  thee, 
'While  the  hid  torrent  moans  below 
Hark,  the  deep  thunder, 
Through  the  vales  yonder ! 
'Tis  »'he  huge  av'lanche  downward  cast ; 

From  rock  to  rock 

Rebounds  the  shock. 
But  courage,  boy !  the  danger's  past 

Onward,  youthfu]  rover, 

Tread  the  glacier  over. 
Safe  shall  thou  reach  thy  liorae  ct  last 
On,  ere  light  forsake  thee, 
Soon  will  dusk  o'ertake  thee : 
O'er  yon  ice-bridge  lies  thy  way ! 

Now,  for  the  risk  prepare  thee  ; 

Safe  it  yet  may  bear  thee. 
Though  'twiU  melt  in  morning's  ray. 

,  Hark,  that  dread  howling ! 
'Tis  the  wolf  prowling, — 
Scent  of  tliy  track  the  foe  hath  got ; 

And  cliff  and  shore 

Resound  his  roar. 
But  courage,  boy, — tlie  danger's  past  I 

Watching  eyes  have  found  thee. 

Loving  arms  are  round  thee. 
Safe  hast  thou  reach'd  thy  father's  cot. 


FOR  THEE  ALONE. 

For  thee  alone  I  bravo  the  boundless  deep. 
Those  eyes  my  light  through  cv'ry  distant  sea ; 

My  waking  thoughts,  the  dream  that  gilds  my  sleep, 
The  noontide  rev'ry,  all  are  giv'n  to  thee, 
To  thee  alone,  to  thco  alone. 


1  This  and  the  Songs  that  follow,  (as  far  as  page  366,) 
have  been  published,  with  music,  by  Messrs.  Addison  and 
Beale,  Regent  Street. 


Though  future  scenes  present  to  Fancy's  eye 
Fair  forms  of  light  that  crowd  the  distant  air, 

When  nearer  view'd,  the  fairy  phantoms  fly, 
The  crowds  dissolve,  and  thou  alone  art  there, 
Thou,  thou  alone. 

To  win  thy  smile,  I  speed  from  shore  to  shore, 
^VhiIe  Hope's  sweet  voice  is  hoard  in  every  blast, 

Still  whisp'ring  on,  that  w^hen  some  years  are  o'er. 

One  bright  reward  shall  crown  my  toil  at  last, 

Tliy  smile  alone,  thy  smile  alone. 

Oh,  place  beside  the  transport  of  that  hour 

All  earth  can  boast  of  fair,  of  rich,  and  bright. 
Wealth's  radiant  mines,  the  lofly  thrones  of  pow- 
er,— 
Then  ask  where  first  thy  lover's  choice  would 
light? 

On  thee  alone,  on  thee  alone. 


HER  LAST  WORDS.  AT  PARTING. 

Her  last  words,  at  parting,  how  can  I  forget  ? 
Deep  treasiu-ed  tlirongh  life,  in  my  heart  they 
shall  stay ; 
Like  music,  whose  charm  in  the  soul  lingers  yet. 
When  its  sounds  from  the  ear  have  long  melted 
away. 
Let  Fortime  assail  me,  her  threat'nings  are  vain  ; 
Those   still-breathing   words   shall   my  talisman 
be,— 
"  Remember,  in  absence,  in  sorrow,  and  pain, 
"  There's  one  heart,  unchanging,  that  beats  but 
for  thee." 

From  the  desert's  sweet  well  tho'  the  pilgrim  must 
hie. 
Never  more  of  that  fresh-springing  fountain  to 
taste, 
He  hath  still  of  its  bright  drops  a  treasured  supply, 
Whose  sweetness  lends  life  to  his  lips  through  the 
waste. 
So,  dark  as  my  fate  is  still  doom'd  to  remain. 

These  words  shall    my  well   in  the   wilderness 
be, — 
"  Remember,  in  absence,  in  sorrow,  and  pain, 
"  There's  one  heart,  imchanging,  that  beats  but 
for  thee." 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


357 


LET'S  TAKE  THIS  WORLD  AS  SOME 
WIDE  SCENE 

Let's  take  this  world  as  some  wide  scene, 

Tlirongh  whicli,  ia  frail,  but  buoyant  boat, 
With  skies  now  dark  and  now  serene, 

Togetlier  thou  and  I  must  float ; 
Bcliolding  oft,  on  eitlier  shore. 

Bright  spots  where  we  sliould  love  to  stay ; 
But  Time  phes  swift  his  flying  oar. 

And  away  we  speed,  away,  away. 

Sliould  chilling  winds  and  rains  come  on. 

We'll  raise  our  awnmg  'gainst  the  show'r ; 
Sit  closer  till  the  stonn  is  gone. 

And,  smiling,  wait  a  sunnier  hour. 
And  if  tliat  sunnier  hour  sliould  shine, 

"We'll  know  its  brightness  canuot  stay. 
But  happy,  while  'tis  thine  and  mine, 

Complain  not  when  it  fades  away. 

So  sliall  we  reach  at  last  that  Fall 

Down  which  life's  currents  all  must  go, — 
The  dark,  the  briUiant,  destined  all 

To  sink  into  the  void  below. 
Nor  ev'u  that  hour  shall  want  its  charms. 

If,  side  by  side,  still  fond  we  keep. 
And  calmly,  in  each  other's  amis 

Together  Uuk'd,  go  down  the  steep. 


LOVE'S  VICTORY. 

Si.VG  to  Love — for,  oh,  'twas  he 

Who  won  the  glorious  day  ; 
Strew  the  wreaths  of  victory 

Along  the  conqu'ror's  way. 
Yoke  the  Muses  to  his  car. 

Let  them  sing  each  trophy  won  ; 
While  his  mother's  joyous  star 

Shall  light  the  triumph  on. 

Hail  to  Love,  to  mighty  Love, 

Let  spirits  sing  around  ; 
While  the  hill,  the  dale,  and  grove, 

With  '•  mighty  Love"  resound  ; 
Or,  should  a  sigh  of  sorrow  steal 

Amid  the  sounds  thus  echo'd  o'er, 
'Twill  but  teach  tlie  god  to  feel 

His  victories  the  more. 

See  his  wings,  like  amethyst 
Of  sunny  Ind  their  hue  ; 


Bright  as  wnen,  by  Psyche  kiss'd. 
They  trembled  through  and  througli. 

Flowers  6])rlng  beneath  his  feet ; 
Angel  forms  beside  him  run  ; 

While  unnumber'd  lips  repeat 
"  Love's  victory  is  won  !" 

Hail  to  Love,  to  mighty  Love,  &c. 


SONG  OF  HERCULES  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER. 

"  I've  been,  oh,  sweet  daughter, 

**  To  fountain  and  sea, 
"  To  seek  in  their  water 

''  Some  bright  gem  for  thee. 
"  Where  diamouds  were  sleepuig, 

"  Their  sparkle  I  sought, 
"  Where  crystal  was  weeping, 

"  Its  tears  I  have  caught 

**  The  sea-nymp!i  I've  courted 

"  In  rich  coral  halls ; 
"  With  Naiads  have  sported 

"  By  bright  waterfalls. 
"  But  sportive  or  tender, 

'*  Still  sought  I,  around, 
"  That  gem,  with  whose  splendor 

"  Thou  yet  shalt  be  crown'd. 

*'  And  see,  while  I'm  speaking, 

**  Yon  soft  light  afar  ; — ■ 
"  The  pearl  I've  been  seeking 

"  There  floats  like  a  star  1 
"  In  the  deep  Indian  Ocean 

"  I  see  the  gem  shine, 
"  And  quick  as  light's  motion  ■ 

"  Its  wealth  shall  be  thine." 

Then  eastward,  like  lightning. 

The  hero-god  flew. 
His  sminy  looks  hright'ning 

The  air  he  went  through 
And  sweet  was  the  duty, 

And  hallow'd  the  hour, 
Which  saw  thus  young  Beauty 

Embellish'd  by  Power 


^  Founded  on  the  fable  reported  by  Arrian,  (in  Indicis,)  of 
Hercules  having  searched  the  Indian  Ocean,  to  lind  the  {learl 
with  which  he  adorned  his  daughter  Pandoja. 


358 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  DREAM  OF  HOME. 

Who  has  not  felt  how  sadly  sweet 

The  dream  of  home,  the  dieain  of  homo, 
Steals  o'er  the  heart,  too  soon  to  fleet. 

When  far  o'er  sea  or  land  wc  roam  ? 
Snnlight  more  soft  may  o'er  us  fall. 

To  greener  shores  our  hark  may  como  ; 
But  far  more  hriglit,  more  dear  than  all, 

That  dream  of  home,  that  dream  of  homo. 

Ask  of  the  sailor  youth  wlien  far 

His  light  bark  bounds  o'er  ocean's  foam, 
AVhat  charms  him  most,  when  cv'uing's  star 

Smiles  o'er  the  wave  ?  to  dream  of  home. 
Fond  thoughts  of  absent  friends  and  loves 

At  tliat  sweet  hour  around  him  como  ; 
His  heart's  best  joy  where'er  lie  roves. 

That  dream  of  home,  that  dream  of  homei. 


THEY  TELL  ME  THOU'RT  THE 
FAVOR'D  GUEST.' 

TnEV  tell  me  thou'rt  the  favor'd  gnest 
Of  every  fair  and  brilliant  throng ; 

No  wit  like  thine  to  wake  the  jest, 

No  voice  like  thine  to  breathe  the  song : 

And  none  could  guess,  so  gay  thou  art, 

That  thou  and  I  are  far-  apart. 

Alas  !  alas  1  how  d  fTrent  flows 
With  thee  and  me  the  time  away .' 

Not  that  I  wish  thee  sad — heav'n  knows— 
Still  if  thou  canst,  be  light  and  gay  ; 

I  only  know,  that  without  thee 

Tlio  Buu  himself  Is  dark  to  me. 

Do  I  thus  lia-sto  to  hall  and  bower 
Among  the  proud  and  gay  to  shine  ? 

Or  deck  my  hair  with  gem  and  flower, 
To  flatter  other  eyes  than  thine? 

Ah,  no,  with  mo  love's  smiles  are  past. 

Thou  hadst  the  first,  thou  hadst  the  last 


THE  YOUNG  INDIAN  MAID. 

There  came  a  nymph  dancing 
Gracefully,  gracefully, 

»  Part  y  a  trnnslation  of  some  Latin  verses,  supposed  to 
have  bei*i  *J(lressetl  by  Hippolyla  Taurclla  to  her  husbanti, 


Her  eye  a  light  glancing 

Like  the  blue  sea  ; 
And  while  all  this  gladness 

Around  her  steps  hung, 
Such  sweet  notes  of  sadness 
Her  gentle  lips  sung, 
That  ne'er  while  I  live  from  my  mem'ry  shall  fide 
The  song,  or  the  look,  of  that  yoimg  Indian  maid. 

Her  zone  of  bells  ringing 

Cheerily,  cheerily. 
Chimed  to  her  singing 

Light  echoes  of  glee  ; 
But  in  vain  did  she  borrow 
Of  mirth  the  gay  tone. 
Her  voice  spoke  of  sorrow, 
And  sorrow  alone. 
Nor  e'er  while  I  live  from  my  mem'ry  shall  fade 
The  song,  or  the  look,  of  that  young  Indian  maid. 


THE  HOMEWARD  MARCH. 

Be  still,  my  heart :  I  hear  them  come  : 
Those  sounds  announce  my  lover  near : 

The  march  that  brings  our  warriors  home 
Proclaims  he'll  soon  bo  here. 

Hark,  the  distant  tread. 

O'er  the  mountain's  head, 
While  hills  and  dales  repeat  the  sound  ; 

And  the  forest  deer 

Stand  still  to  hear. 
As  those  echoing  steps  ring  round. 

Be  still,  my  heart,  I  hear  them  como, 

Those  sounds  that  speak  my  soldier  near  ; 

Those  joyous  steps  seem  wing'd  for  home, — 
Rest,  rest,  he'll  soon  bo  here. 

But  hark,  more  faint  the  footsteps  grow. 
And  now  they  wind  to  distant  glades; 

Not  here  their  home, — alas,  they  go 
To  gladden  happier  maids  I 

Like  sounds  in  a  dream. 

The  footsteps  seem. 
As  down  the  hills  they  die  away  ; 

And  the  march,  whose  song 

So  peal'd  along. 
Now  fades  like  a  funeral  lay. 

during  his  absence  at  the  ?ay  court  of  Leo  the  Tenth.    The 
verses  may  be  found  in  the  Appendix  10  Roscoe's  Wofk. 


BALLADS, 

SONGS,  ETC.                                      359 

'Tis  past,  'tis  o'er, — hush,  heart,  tliy  pain ! 

And  thouffh  not  here,  alas,  they  come. 

THE  EXILE. 

Rejoice  for  thoce,  to  whom  that  strain 

Brings  sons  end  lovers  liome. 

Night  waneth  fast,  the  morning  star 

Saddens  with  light  the  glimm'ring  sea. 

Whose  waves  shall  soon  to  realms  afar 

Waft  me  from  hope,  from  love,  and  thee. 
Coldly  the  beam  from  yonder  sky 

1 

Looks  o'er  the  waves  that  onward  stray ; 

WAKE  UP,  SWEET  MELODY. 

But  colder  still  the  stranger's  eye 

To  him  whose  home  is  far  away. 

Wake  up,  sweet  melody  I 

Now  is  the  hour 

Oh,  not  at  hour  so  chill  and  bleak. 

Wlien  young  and  loving  hearts 
Feel  most  thy  pow'r. 

Lot  thoughts  of  me  come  o'er  thy  breast ; 

But  of  the  lost  one  think  and  speak. 

One  note  of  music,  by  moonlight's  soft  ray — 

When  siunmer  suns  sink  calm  to  rest. 

Oh,  'tis  worth  thousands  heard  coldly  by  day. 

So,  as  I  wander.  Fancy's  dream 

Tlien  wake  up,  sweet  melody ! 

Shall  bring  me  o'er  the  sunset  seas. 

Now  is  the  hoiu- 

Thy  look,  in  ev'ry  melting  beam, 

When  yoimg  aud  loving  hearts 
Feel  most  thy  pow'r. 

Thy  wliisper,  In  each  dying  breeze. 

Ask  the  fond  nightingale, 
Wlien  his  sweet  flow'r 

Loves  most  to  hear  his  song. 

la  her  green  bow'r  ? 

Oh,  he  will  tell  thee,  through  summer-nights  long. 

THE  FANCY  FAIR. 

Fondest  she  lends  her  whole  soul  to  his  song. 

Tlien  wake  up,  sweet  melody ! 

Come,  maids  and  youths,  for  here  we  sell 

Now  is  the  hour              ^ 

All  wondrous  tilings  of  earth  and  air  ; 

When  yoimg  and  loring  hearts 

Whatever  wild  romancers  tell. 

Feel  most  thy  pow'r. 

Or  poets  sing,  or  lovers  swear. 

You'll  find  at  this  our  Fancy  Fair. 

Here  eyes  are  made  like*  stars  to  shine. 
And  kept,  for  years,  in  such  repair. 

That  ev'n  when  turn'd  of  thirty-nine. 

They'll  hardly  look  the  worse  for  wear, 

CALM  BE  THY  SLEEP. 

If  bought  at  this  our  Fancy  Fail-. 

Calm  be  thy  sleep  as  infants'  slumbers  '. 

We've  lots  of  tears  for  bards  to  show'r. 

Pure  as  angel  thoughts  thy  dreams ! 

And  hearts  tliat  such  ill  usage  bear, 

INIay  ev'ry  joy  this  bright  world  numbois 

That,  though  they're  broken  ev'ry  hour. 

Shed  o'er  thee  their  mingled  beams ! 

They'll  still  in  rhyme  fresh  breaking  bear. 

Or  if,  where  Pleasure's  wmg  hath  glided, 

If  purchased  at  our  Fancy  Fair. 

There  ever  must  some  pang  remam. 

Still  be  thy  lot  with  me  divided, — 

As  fashions  change  in  ev'ry  thing, 

Thine  all  the  bliss,  and  mine  the  pain ! 

We've  goods  to  suit  each  season's  air. 

Eternal  friendships  for  the  spring. 

Day  and  night  my  thoughts  shall  hover 

And  endless  loves  for  summer  wear, — 

Round  thy  steps  where'er  they  stray ; 

All  sold  at  this  our  Fancy  Fair. 

As,  ev'n  when  clouds  his  idol  cover. 

Fondly  the  Persian  tracks  its  ray. 

We've  reputations  white  as  snow 

If  this  be  wrong,  if  Heav'n  offended 

That  long  will  last,  if  used  with  care. 

By  worship  to  its  creature  be, 

Nay,  safe  through  all  life's  journey  go. 

Then  let  my  vows  to  both  be  blended. 

If  pack'd  and  mark"d  as  "  brittle  ware," — 

Half  breathed  to  Heav'n  and  half  to  thee. 

Just  purchased  at  the  Fancy  Fair. 

!  360                                              MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

• 

But,  one  sad  night,  when  winds  were  high. 

IF  THOU  WOULDST  HAVE  ME  SING 

Nor  earth,  nor  heaven,  could  hear  her  cry, 

AND  PLAY. 

She  saw  his  boat  come  tossing  over 

Midnight's  wave, — but  not  Iier  lover ! 

If  thou  wouldst  have  me  sing  and  play, 

No,  never  more  her  lover. 

As  once  I  play'd  and  sung. 

First  take  this  time-worn  lute  away. 

And  still  that  sad  dieam  loath  to  leave. 

And  bring  one  freshly  strung. 

She  comes  with  waud'ring  mind  at  eve, 

Call  back  the  time  when  pleasure's  sigh 

And  oft  we  hear,  wlien  uiglit  is  falling, 

First  breathed  among  the  strings ; 

Faint  her  voice  through  twilight  calling. 

And  Time  himself,  in  flitting  by, 

Mournfully  at  twilight  calling. 

Made  music  with  his  wings. 

But  how  is  this?  though  new  the  lute, 

« 

And  shining  fresh  the  chords. 

Beneath  this  hand  they  slumber  mute, 

Or  speak  but  dreamy  words. 

In  vain  I  seek  the  soul  that  dwelt 

Within  tliat  once  sweet  shell, 

THE  SUMMER  WEBS. 

Which  told  so  wannly  what  it  felt. 

And  felt  what  naught  could  tell. 

The  summer  webs  that  float  and  shine, 

The  summer  dews  that  fall. 

Oh,  ask  not  then  for  pa.ssion's  lay, 

Though  light  they  be,  this  heart  of  mine 

From  lyre  bo  coldly  strung ; 

Is  lighter  still  than  all. 

With  this  I  ne'er  can  sing  or  play, 

It  tells  me  everj'  cloud  is  past 

As  once  I  play'd  and  sung. 

Which  lately  seem'd  to  low'r ; 

No,  bring  that  long-loved  lute  again, — 

That  Hope  hath  wed  young  Joy  at  last. 

Though  cliill'd  by  years  it  be, 

And  now's  their  nuptial  hour  i 

If  tliou  wilt  call  the  slumb'ring  strain, 

'Twill  wake  again  for  thee. 

With  Ughi  thus  round,  within,  above. 

With  naught  to  wake  one  sigh. 

Though  time  have  froz'n  the  tuneful  stream 

Except  the  wish,  that  all  we  love 

Of  thoughts  that  gush'd  along. 

Were  at  this  moment  nigh, — 

One  look  from  thee,  like  summer's  beam, 

It  seems  as  if  life's  brilliant  sun 

Will  thaw  them  into  song. 

Had  stopp'd  in  full  career. 

Then  give,  oh  give,  that  wak'ning  ray, 

To  make  this  hour  its  brightest  one. 

And  once  more  blilhe  and  young. 

And  rest  in  radiance  here. 

Thy  bard  again  will  sing  and  play 

As  once  he  play'd  and  sung. 

STILL  WHEN  DAYLIGHT. 

MIND  NOT  THOUGH  DAYLIGHT. 

Still  when  daylight  o'er  the  wave 

Mind  not  though  daylight  around  us  is  breaking, — 

Bright  and  soft  its  farewell  gave, 

Who'd  think  now  of  sleeping  when  mom's  but  just 

I  used  to  hear,  while  liglit  was  falling, 

waking  ? 

O'er  the  wave  a  sweet  voice  calling, 

Sound  the  merry  viol,  and,  daylight  or  not. 

Mournfully  at  distance  calling. 

Be  all  for  one  hour  in  the  gay  dance  forgot. 

Ah  !  once  how  blest  that  maid  would  come, 

See  young  Aurora,  up  heaven's  hill  advancing. 

To  meet  her  sea-boy  liast'ning  home  ; 

Though   fresh   from   her   pillow,   ev'n   she    too   is 

And  through  the  night  those  sounds  repeating. 

dancing : 

Hail  liis  bark  with  joyous  greeting. 

AVhile  thus  all  creation,  earth,  heaven,  and  sea. 

Joyously  his  light  bark  greeting. 

Are  dancing  around  us,  oh,  why  should  not  we  ? 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


361 


Who'll  say  that  momeuts  we  use  thus  are  wasted? 
Such  sweet  drops  of  time  ouly  flow  to  be  tasted  ; 
While  heails  are   high  beatiug,  aud  harps  full  iu 

tunc, 
The  fault  is  all  moruing's  for  coming  so  soon 


THEY  MET  BUT  ONCE 

They  met  but  once,  in  youth's  sweet  hour, 

And  never  since  that  day 
Hath  absence,  time,  or  grief  had  pow'r 

To  chase  that  dream  away. 
They've  seen  the  suns  of  other  skies. 

On  other  shores  have  sought  delight ; 
But  never  more,  to  bless  their  eyes, 

Can  come  a  dream  so  bright ! 
They  met  but  once, — a  day  was  all 

Of  Love's  young  hopes  they  knew  ; 
Ani  still  their  hearts  that  day  recall, 

As  freslr  as  then  it  flew. 

Sweet  dream  of  youth  !  oh,  ne'er  aga'm 

Let  either  meet  the  brow 
They  left  so  smooth  and  smihng  then. 

Or  see  what  it  is  now. 
For,  Youth,  the  spell  was  only  thine  ; 

From  thee  alone  th'  enchantment  flows, 
That  makes  the  world  around  thee  shine 

With  light  thyself  bestows. 
They  met  but  once, — oh,  ne'er  again 

Let  either  meet  the  brow 
They  left  so  smooth  and  smihng  then. 

Or  see  what  it  is  now. 


WITH  MOONLIGHT  BEAMING 

With  moonlight  beaming 

Thus  o'er  the  deep. 
Who'd  linger  dreaming 

In  idle  sleep  ? 
Leave  joyless  souls  to  live  by  day, — 
Our  life  begins  with  yonder  ray ; 
And  while  thus  brightly 

The  moments  flee, 
Our  barks  skim  lightly 

The  shming  sea. 

To  halls  of  splendor 

Let  great  ones  hie  ; 
Through  light  more  tender 

Our  pathways  he. 


While  round,  from  banks  of  brook  or  lake, 
Our  company  blithe  echoes  make  ; 
And,  as  we  lend  'em 

Sweet  word  or  strain, 
Still  back  they  send  'em. 

More  sweet,  again. 


CHILD'S  SONG.    FROM  A  MASQUE. 

I  HAVE  a  garden  of  my  own, 

Shining  with  flow'rs  of  ev'ry  hue  ; 
I  loved  it  dearly  while  alone, 

But  I  shall  love  it  more  with  you  : 
And  there  the  golden  bees  sliall  come. 

In  summer-time  at  break  .:^mom, 
Aud  wake  us  with  their  busy  ;  >un 

Around  the  Siha's  fragrant  thorn. 

I  have  a  fawn  from  Aden's  land. 

On  leafy  buds  and  berries  nursed  ; 
And  you  shall  feed  him  from  your  hand. 

Though  he  may  start  with  fear  at  first 
And  I  will  lead  you  where  he  lies 

For  shelter  in  the  noontide  heat ; 
And  you  may  touch  his  sleeping  eyes. 

And  feel  his  httle  silv'ry  feet. 


THE  HALCYON  HANGS  O'ER  OCEAN. 

The  halcyon  hangs  o'er  ocean. 
The  sea-lark  skims  the  brine  ; 

This  bright  world's  all  in  motion. 
No  heart  seems  sad  but  mine. 

To  walk  through  sun-bright  places. 
With  heart  all  cold  the  while ; 

To  look  in  smiling  faces. 

When  we  no  more  can  smile  ; 

To  feel,  while  earth  and  heaven 
Around  thee  shine  with  bliss, 

To  thee  no  light  is  given, — 
Oh,  what  a  doom  is  this  ! 


THE  WORLD  WAS  HUSH'D. 

The  world  was  hush'd,  the  moon  above 
Sail'd  through  ether  slowly, 


362                                              MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

When,  near  the  casement  of  my  love, 

While  he  of  earth,  too  fully  bless'd 

Thus  I  whispcr'd  lonly, — 

With  this  bright  world  to  dream  of  more, 

"  Awake,  awake,  how  canst  tliou  sleep  ? 

Sees  all  his  heav'n  on  Beauty's  breast : — 

"  Tlic  field  I  seek  to-morrow 

Then,  tell  me  %vhich. 

"  Is  one  wliere  man  halh  fame  to  reap, 

Tell  me  which  shall  wo  adore  ? 

"  And  woman  gleans  but  sorrow." 

The  maid  who  heard  the  poet  sing 

"  Let  battle's  field  be  what  it  may," 

Tlieso  twin-desires  of  earth  and  sky. 

Tims  spoke  a  voice  replying, 

And  saw,  while  one  inspired  his  string. 

"  Think  not  thy  love,  while  thou'rt  away, 

The  other  glistcn'd  in  his  eye, — 

"  Will  liere  sit  idly  sigliing. 

To  name  the  earthlier  boy  ashamed, 

"  No— woman's  soul,  if  not  for  fame, 

To  choose  the  other  fondly  loath. 

"  for  love  can  brave  all  danger  '." 

At  length,  all  blushing,  she  exclaim'd, — 

Then  forth  from  out  the  casement  came 

"  Ask  not  which. 

A  plumed  and  armed  stranger. 

"  Oh,  ask  not  wliieh — w(>'ll  worship  both. 

A  stranger  ?  No  ;  'twas  she,  the  maid. 

"  Th'  extremes  of  each  thus  taught  to  shun, 

Herself  before  me  beaming, 

"  AVitli  hearts  and  souls  between  them  given, 

With  casque  array 'd,  and  falchion  blade 

"  When  weary  of  this  earth  with  one. 

Beneath  her  girdle  gleaming ! 

"  We'll  with  the  other  wing  to  heaven." 

Close  side  by  side,  in  freedom's  fight. 

Tlius  pledged  the  maid  her  vow  of  blLss  ; 

That  blessed  morning  found  us  ; 

And  while  one  Love  wrote  down  the  oath. 

In  Vict'ry's  light  we  stood  ere  night, 

The  other  seal'd  it  witli  a  kiss  ; 

And  Love,  the  morrow,  crowu'd  us  1 

And  Heav'n  iook'd  on, 

Heav'n  Iook'd  on,  and  hallow'd  both. 

THE  TWO  LOVES 

THE  LEGEND  OF  PUCK  THE  FAIRY. 

There  are  two  Loves,  the  poet  smgs, 

Both  bora  of  Beauty  at  a  birth  : 

WoLLDST  know  what  tricks,  by  the  pale  moonlight, 

The  one,  akin  to  heaven,  hath  wings. 

Are  play'd  by  me,  the  merry  little  Sprite, 

The  other,  earthly,  wallvs  on  earth. 

Who  wing  through  air  from  the  camp  to  the  court. 

With  this  through  bowers  below  we  play, 

From  king  to  clown,  and  of  all  make  sport ; 

With  that  through  clouds  above  wo  soar  ; 

Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite 

With  both,  perchance,  may  lose  our  way  :— 

Of  the  merry  midnight. 

Then,  tell  rae  wliich. 

Wlw  laugh  at  weak  mortals,  and  love  the  moon- 

Tell mo  whi/'h  shall  we  adore  ? 

light  ? 

The  one,  when  tempted  down  from  air, 

To  a  miser's  bed,  where  he  snoring  slept 

At  Pleasure's  fount  to  lave  his  lip. 

And  dreamt  of  his  cash,  I  slyly  crept ; 

Nor  lingers  long,  nor  oft  will  dare 

Chink,  chink  o'er  his  pillow  like  money  I  raug. 

His  wing  within  the  wave  to  dip. 

And  he  waked  to  catch — but  away  I  sprang. 

While,  plunging  deep  and  long  beneath. 

Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite,  &c. 

The  other  bathes  him  o'er  and  o'er 

In  that  sweet  current,  ev'n  to  death  : — 

I  saw  through  the  leaves,  in  a  damsel's  bower. 

Tlien,  tell  me  which, 

She  was  waiting  her  love  at  that  starlight  hour : 

»         Tell  me  which  shall  we  adore  ? 

"  Hist — hist  I"  quoth  I,  with  an  amorous  sigli. 

And  she  flew  to  the  door,  but  away  flew  I, 

Th«  boy  of  heav'n,  even  while  he  lies 

Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite,  &c. 

In  Beauty's  lap,  recalls  his  home  ; 

And  when  most  happy,  inly  siglis 

While  a  bard  sat  inditing  an  ode  to  his  love. 

For  sometliing  happier  still  to  come. 

Like  a  pair  of  blue  meteors  I  stared  from  above. 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


363 


And  he  swoon'd — for  he  thought  'twas  the  ghost, 

poor  man  ! 
Of  his  lady's  eyes,  while  away  I  ran. 
Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite,  &c. 


BEAUTY  AND  SONG 

Down  in  yon  summer  vale, 

Wiiere  the  rill  flows, 
Thus  said  a  Nightingale 

To  his  loved  Rose  :— 
"  Tiiough  ricli  the  pleasures 
"  Of  song's  sweet  measures, 
"  Vain  were  its  melody, 
"  Rose,  without  thee." 

Then  from  the  green  recess 

Of  her  night-bow'r, 
Beaming  with  baslifulness. 

Spoke  the  bright  flow'r : — 
"  Though  morn  should  lend  her 
"  Its  sunniest  splendor, 
"  What  would  the  Rose  be, 
"  Unsung  by  theo  7" 

Thus  still  let  Song  attend 
Woman's  bright  way  ; 

Thus  still  let  woman  lend 
Light  to  the  lay. 

Like  stars,  througli  heaven's  sea. 

Floating  in  harmony. 

Beauty  shall  glide  along, 

Circled  by  Song. 


WHEN  THOU  ART  NIGH. 

When  thou  art  nigh,  it  seems 

A  new  creation  round ; 
The  sun  hath  fairer  beams. 

The  lute  a  softer  sound. 
Though  thee  alone  I  see. 

And  hear  alone  thy  sigh, 
'Tis  Ught,  'tis  song  to  me, 

'Tis  all — when  thou  art  nigh. 

When  thou  art  nigh,  no  ti.ought 
Of  grief  comes  o'er  my  heart ; 

1  On  the  Tower  of.thc  Winiis,  at  Athens,  there  is  a  conch- 
shell  placed  in  the  hands  of  Boreas.— See  Stuart's  Antiquities. 
'The  north  wind,"  says  Herodotus,  in  speaking  of  the  Hy- 
perboreans, "  never  blows  with  them." 

»  '•  Sub  ipso  sideruni  cardine  jaccDt." — Pompon.  Meh. 


I  only  think — could  aught 
But  joy  be  where  thou  art  ? 

Life  seems  a  waste  of  breath, 
When  far  from  theo  I  sigh ; 

And  death — ay,  even  death 
Were  sweet,  if  thou  wert  nigh. 


SONG  OF  A  HYPERBOREAN 

I  COME  from  a  land  in  the  sun-bright  deep. 

Where  golden  gardens  grow ; 
Where  the  winds  of  the  north,  becalm'd  in  sleep, 
Their  conch-shells  never  blow.' 
Haste  to  that  holy  Isle  with  me. 
Haste — haste  ! 

So  near  the  track  of  the  stars  are  we," 

That  oft,  on  night's  pale  beams, 
The  distant  sotmds  of  their  harmouy 

Come  to  our  ears,  like  dreams. 

Then,  haste  to  that  holy  Isle  with  me,  &c.  &c 

The  Moon,  too,  brings  her  world  so  nigh,^ 

That  when  the  night-seer  looks 
To  that  shadowless  orb,  in  a  vernal  sky. 

He  can  niraiber  its  hills  and  brooks. 

.  Then,  haste,  &.c.  &c. 

To  the  Sun-god  all  our  hearts  and  lyres' 

By  day,  by  night,  belong  ; 
And  the  breath  wo  draw  from  liis  living  fires. 

We  give  him  back  in  song. 

Then,  haste,  &c.  &c. 

From  us  descends  the  maid  who  brings 

To  Delos  gifts  divine ; 
And  our  wild  bees  lend  their  rainbow  wings 
To  glitter  on  Delphi's  shrine.' 

Then,  haste  to  that  holy  Isle  with  me, 
Haste — haste  ! 


THOU  BIDD'ST  ME  SING. 

Thou  bidd'st  me  sing  the  lay  I  sung  to  thee 
In  other  days,  ere  joy  hud  left  this  brow ; 

>  "  They  can  show  the  moon  very  near."— Diodob.  ?icrL. 

*  Hecatrus  tells  us,  that  this  Hyperborean  island  was  ded- 
icated to  Apollo ;  and  most  of  the  inhabitants  were  either 
priests  or  songsters. 

'•>  Pansan. 


361    '                                         MOORE'S  WORKS. 

Bui  thiuk,  though  still  unchanged  the  notes  may 

Round,  round,  while  thus  we  go  round. 

be, 

The  best  thing  a  man  can  do, 

How  (iifTronl  feels  the  heart  that  breathes  them 

Is  to  make  it,  at  least,  a  merry-go-round, 

now! 

By — sending  the  wine  round  too. 

The  rost  tliou  wear'st  to-niglit  is  still  the  same 

We  saw  tliis  nioruiug  on  its  stem  so  gay  ; 

Our  first  gay  stage  of  life  is  when 

But,   all !    that  (lew  of   dawn,   that  breath  which 

Youth,  in  its  dawn,  salutes  the  eye — 

camo 

Season  of  bliss  !  Oh,  who  wouldn't  then 

Like  life  o'er  all  its  leaves,  hath  pass'd  away. 

Wish  to  cry,  "  Stop  !"  to  earth  and  sky  ? 

But,  round,  round,  both  boy  and  girl 

Since  first  tliat  music  toucli'd  thy  lieart  and  mine. 

Are  whisk'd  tlirough  that  sky  of  blue  ; 

How  many  a  joy  and  pain  o'er  both  have  pass'd, — 

And  much  would  tlieir  hearts  enjoy  the  whirl. 

The  joy,  a  light  too  precious  long  to  shine. 

If — their  heads  didn't  whirl  round  too. 

The  pain,  a  cloud  whose  shadows  always  last 

And  thougli  tliat  lay  would  like  the  voice  of  home 

Next,  we  enjoy  our  glorious  noon, 

Breathe  o'er  our  ear,  'twould  waken  now  a  sigh — 

Tliiiiking  all  life  a  life  of  light ; 

Ah !  not,  as  then,  for  fancied  woes  to  come. 

But  shadows  come  on,  'tis  evening  soon. 

But,  sadder  far,  for  real  bliss  gone  by. 

And,  ere  wo  can  say,  "How  short  1" — 'tisnighL 

Round,  round,  still  all  goes  round, 

Ev'n  while  I'm  thus  singing  to  you ; 

And  the  best  way  to  make  it  a  mcrry-go-round. 
Is  to — chorus  my  song  round  too. 

CUPID  ARMED 

Plice  tlie  helm  on  thy  brow, 

OH,  DO  NOT  LOOK  SO  BRIGHT  AND 

In  thy  hand  take  the  spear  ; 

BLEST. 

Thou  art  arm'd,  Cupid,  now, 

And  thy  battle-liour  is  near. 

Oh,  do  not  look  so  bright  and  blest. 

March  OL. .  march  on  !  thy  shaft  and  bow 

For  still  there  comes  a  fear. 

Were  weak  against  such  charms  ; 

When  brow  like  thine  looks  happiest. 

March  ou  1  march  on  !  so  proud  a  foe 

That  grief  is  then  most  near. 

Scorns  all  but  martial  arms. 

There  lurks  a  dread  in  all  delight, 

A  shadow  near  each  ray, 

See  tlie  darts  in  her  eyes, 

That  warns  us  then  to  fear  their  flight, 

Tipp'd  with  scorn,  how  they  shine ! 

When  most  we  wish  their  stay. 

Ev'ry  shaft,  as  it  fbes, 

Then  look  not  thou  so  bright  and  blest. 

Mocking  proudly  at  thine. 

For  all !  there  comes  a  fear. 

March  on  !  marcli  ou  !  thy  feather'd  darts 

When  brow  like  thine  looks  happiest. 

Soft  bosoms  soon  might  move ; 

That  grief  is  then  most  near. 

But  ruder  amis  to  ruder  hearts 

Must  teacli  what  'tis  to  love. 

Why  is  it  thus  that  fairest  things 

Place  tlie  helm  ou  thy  brow ; 

The  soonest  fleet  and  die  ? — 

In  tliy  Iiand  take  the  spear, — 

That  when  most  liglit  is  on  their  wings. 

Thou  art  arm'd,  Cupid,  now, 

They're  then  but  spread  to  fly  ! 

And  tliy  battle-hoiu-  is  near. 

And,  sadder  still,  tlie  paia  will  stay — 

The  bliss  no  more  appears  ; 

Ae  rainbows  take  their  light  away. 
And  leave  us  b'-it  the  tears  '. 

Then  look  not  thou  so  bright  and  blest. 

ROUND  THE  WORLD  GOES 

For  ah  !  there  comes  a  fear. 

When  brow  like  thine  looks  happiest, 

Round  the  world  goes,  by  day  and  night, 

That  grief  is  then  most  near. 

While  with  it  also  round  go  we ; 

And  in  the  flight  of  one  day's  ligltt 
An  image  of  all  life's  course  we  see. 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


365 


n 


THE  MUSICAL  BOX. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Rose,  witli  laughing  eyes, 

"  Within  tliis  box,  by  magic  liid, 
"  A  tuneful  Sprite  imprisoii'd  lies, 

"  Who  sings  to  me  \rhene'er  he's  bid 
"  Though  roving  ouce  his  voice  and  wing, 

'•  He'll  now  lie  still  the  whole  day  long ; 
"  Till  thus  I  touch  the  magic  spring — 

'*  Then  hark,  how  sweet  and  blithe  his  song !" 
(A  sym-phony.) 

"  Ah,  Rose,"  I  cried,  "  the  poet's  lay 

'  Must  ne'er  ev'n  Beauty's  slave  become  ; 
"  Through  earth  and  air  his  song  may  stray, 

"  If  all  the  while  his  heart's  at  home. 
"  And  thougli  in  Freedom's  air  he  dwell, 

"  Nor  bond  nor  chain  his  spirit  knows, 
"  Touch  but  the  spring  thou  know'st  so  well, 

"  And — hark,  how  sweet  the  love-song  flows!" 
{A  symphony.) 

Thus  pleaded  I  for  Freedom's  right ; 

But  when  young  Beauty  takes  the  field, 
And  wise  men  seek  defence  in  flight, 

The  doom  of  poets  is  to  yield. 
No  more  my  heart  tli'  enchantress  braves, 

I'm  now  in  Beauty's  prison  hid  ; 
The  Sprite  and  I  are  fellow-slaves. 

And  I,  too,  sing  whene'er  I'm  bid. 


WHEN    TO    SAD    MUSIC    SILENT    YOU 
LISTEN. 

When  to  sad  Music  silent  you  listen, 

And  tears  on  those  eyelids  tremble  like  dew. 
Oh,  then  there  dwells  in  those  eyes  as  they  glisten 

A  sweet  holy  charm  that  mirth  never  knew. 
But  when  some  lively  strain  resounding 

Lights  up  the  sunshine  of  joy  on  that  brow, 
Then  the  young  reindeer  o'er  the  hills  bounding 

Was  ne'er  in  its  mirth  so  graceful  as  thou. 

When  on  the  skies  at  midnight  thou  gazest, 

A  lustre  so  pure  thy  features  then  wear. 
That,   when   to   some   star  that  bright   eye  thou 
raisest. 

We  feel  'tis  thy  home  thou'rt  looking  for  there. 
But,  when  the  word  for  the  gay  dance  is  given. 

So  buoyant  thy  spirit,  so  heartfelt  thy  mirth, 
Oh  then  we  exclaim,  "  Ne'er  leave  earth  for  heaven, 

"  But  linger  BtUl  here,  to  make  heaven  of  earth." 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FLOWERS. 

Flv  s%vift,  my  light  gazelle. 

To  her  who  now  lies  waking. 
To  hear  thy  silver  bell 

The  midnight  silence  breaking. 
And,  when  thou  com'st,  with  gladsome  feet, 

Beneath  her  lattice  springing, 
Ah,  well  she'll  know  how  sweet 

The  words  of  love  thou';t  bringing. 

Yet,  no — not  words,  for  they 

But  half  can  tell  love's  feeling ; 
Sweet  flowers  alone  can  say 

What  passion  fears  revealing. 
A  once-bright  rose's  wither'd  leaf, 

A  tow'riug  lily  broken, — 
Oh  these  may  paint  a  grief 

No  words  could  e'er  have  spoken. 

Not  such,  my  gay  gazelle, 

The  wreath  thou  speedest  over 
Yon  moonlight  dale,  to  tell 

My  lady  how  I  love  her. 
And,  what  to  her  will  sweeter  bo 

Thau  gems,  the  richest,  rarest, 
From  Truth's  immortal  tree' 

One  fadeless  leaf  thou  bearest. 


tHE  DAWN  IS  BREAKING  O'ER  Ua 

The  dawn  is  breaking  o'er  us, 

See,  heaven  hath  caught  its  hue  ! 
We've  day's  long  light  before  us. 

What  sport  shall  we  pursue? 
The  hunt  o'er  hill  and  lea? 
The  sail  o'er  summer  sea  ? 
Oh  let  not  hour  so  sweet 
Unwing'd  by  pleasure  fleet 
The  dawn  is  breaking  o'er  us. 

See,  heaven  hath  cauglit  its  hue . 
We've  day's  long  light  before  us. 

What  sport  shall  we  pursue " 

But  see,  while  we're  deciding, 

What  morning  sport  to  play, 
The  dial's  hand  is  gliding, 

And  morn  hath  pass'd  away ! 
Ah,  who'd  have  thought  that  uoMi 
W^ould  o'er  us  steal  so  soon, — 
That  mom's  sweet  hour  of  prime 
Would  last  so  short  a  time  ! 

>  The  tree,  called  in  the  East,  Amrita,  or  the  Immortal. 


3G6 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But  come,  weVo  day  before  us, 

That  light  we  thought  would  last, 

Slill  heaven  looks  bright  and  blue  : 

Behold,  ev'n  now,  'tis  past ; 

Quick,  quick,  ere  eve  comes  o'er 

us, 

And  all  our  morning  dreams 

Wliat  sport  shall  we  pursue  ? 

Have  vanish'd  with  its  beams  ! 
But  come  !  'twere  vain  to  borrow 

Alas  I  why  thus  delaying  ? 

Sad  lessons  from  this  lay. 

We're  now  at  evening's  hour ; 

For  man  will  be  to-mjrrow — 

Its  farewell  beam  is  playing 

Just  what  he's  been  to-day. 

O'er  iiill  and  wave  and  bower. 

SONGS  FROM  THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 


HERE  AT  THY  TOMB.' 

BY    SIELEAGER. 

Here,  at  thy  tomb,  these  tears  I  shed, 
Tears,  v.'hich  though  vainly  now  they  roll, 

Are  all  love  hath  to  give  the  dead. 

And  wept  o'er  thee  with  all  love's  soul ; — 

Wept  in  remembrance  of  that  light, 

AVhicli  nauglit  on  earth,  without  thee,  gives, 

Hope  of  my  heart !  now  quench'd  in  night,      « 
But  dearer,  dead,  than  aught  that  hves. 

WHiero  is  she?  where  the  blooming  bough 
That  once  my  life's  sole  lustre  made  ? 

Torn  off  by  death,  'tis  with'ring  now. 
And  all  its  flow'rs  in  dust  are  laid. 

Oh  eartli !  that  to  thy  matron  breast 
Hast  taken  all  those  angel  channs, 

Gently,  I  pray  thee,  let  her  rest, — 
Geutly,  as  in  a  mother's  arms. 


SALE  OF  CUPID.' 

JST  MCLEAGER. 

Who' LI,  buy  a  little  boy?    Look,  yonder  is  he, 
Fast  asleep,  sly  rogue,  on  his  mother's  knee ; 

>        AdKpva  aoi  Kal  vcpOs  dia  x^f»'05,  HAtotJw/ja. 

Ap.  Brukck. 

Ap.  Brcnck.  Analtct.  xcv. 


So  bold  a  young  imp  'tisn't  safe  to  keep. 

So  I'll  part  with  him  now,  while  he's  sound  asloisp. 

See  his  arch  little  nose,  how  sharp  'tis  cm-l'd. 

His  wnigs,  too,  ev'n  in  sleep  unfurl'd  ; 

And  those  fingers,  which  still  ever  ready  are  found 

For  mirth  or  for  mischief,  to  tickle,  or  wound. 

He'll  trj'  with  his  tears  your  heart  to  beguile. 
But  never  you  mind — he's  laughing  all  the  while  ; 
For  little  he  cares,  so  he  has  his  own  whim. 
And  weeping  or  laughing  are  all  one  to  him. 
His  eye  is  as  keen  as  the  lightning's  flash. 
His  tongue  like  the  red  bolt  quick  and  rash  ; 
And  BO  savage  is  he,  that  his  own  dear  mother 
Is  scaice  more  safe  in  his  hands  than  another. 

In  sliort,  to  sum  )ip  this  darling's  praise. 
He's  a  downright  pest  in  all  sorts  of  ways  ; 
And  if  any  one  wants  such  an  imp  to  employ. 
He  shall  have  a  dead  bargain  of  this  little  boy. 
But  see,  the  boy  wakes — his  bright  tears  flow — 
His  eyes  seem  to  ask  could  I  sell  him  ?  oh  no. 
Sweet  child,  no,  no — though  so  naughty  you  be. 
You  shall  live  evermore  with  my  Lcsbia  and  me. 


TO  WEAVE  A  GARLAND  FOR  THE  ROSE. 

BY  r.lUL,  THE    SILENTMRV. 

To  weave  a  garland  for  the  rose, 

And  thiidx  thus  crown'd  'twould  lovelier  be, 

Ap.  Bruncx.  .tvii 


SONGS  FROM  THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 


367 


Were  far  less  vain  than  to  suppose 

That  silks  and  gems  add  grace  to  thee 

Where  is  tlie  pearl  whose  orient  lustre 
Would  not,  beside  thee,  look  less  bright? 

What  gold  could  match  the  glossy  cluster 
Of  those  youug  ringlets  full  of  light  ? 

Bring  from  the  land,  where  fresh  it  gleams. 

The  bright  blue  gem  of  India's  mine. 
And  see  liow  soon,  though  bright  its  beams, 

'Twill  pale  before  one  glance  of  thine  : 
Those  lips,  too,  when  their  sounds  have  bles&'d  us 

With  some  divine,  mellifluous  air, 
Who  woidd  not  say  that  Beauty's  cestus 

Had  let  loose  all  its  witch'ries  there  1' 

Here,  to  this  conqu'ring  host  of  charms 

I  now  give  up  my  spell-bound  heart, 
Nor  blush  to  yield  ev'n  Reason's  arms. 

When  thou  her  bright-eyed  conqu'ror  art. 
Thus  to  the  wind  all  fears  are  given  ; 

Henceforth  those  eyes  alone  I  see, 
Where  Hope,  as  in  her  own  blue  heaven, 

Sits  beck'ning  me  to  bliss  and  thee ! 


WHY  DOES  SHE  SO  LONG  DELAY?' 

BY  PAUL,  TUE  SILENTIARY. 

AV'in-  does  she  so  long  delay  ? 
Night  is  waning  fast  away  ; 
Thrice  have  I  my  lamp  renew'd, 
Watcliing  here  in  solitude. 
Where  can  she  so  long  delay  ? 
Where,  so  Ion  j  delay  1 

Vainly  now  have  two  lamps  shone  ; 
See,  the  third  is  nearly  gone  :' 
Oh  that  Love  would,  like  the  ray 
Of  that  weai-j'  lamp,  decay  ! 
But  no,  alas,  it  burns  still  on, 
Still,  still,  bums  on. 

Gods,  how  oft  the  traitress  dear 
Swore,  by  Venus,  she'd  be  here  ! 
But  to  one  so  false  as  she 
What  is  man  or  deity  ? 
Neitlier  dotli  this  proud  one  fear, — 
No,  neither  doth  she  fear. 

1  ^;at  >'/  ylhipvpTOS  tKClvi) 

WfJi  apiiamri,  KCCTos  c(pv  no(Siijt 
1  ArjOuvct  KA£o0avrt5. 

Ap.  Brcnck.  xxvUL 


TWIN'ST  TIIOU  WITH  LOFTY  WREATH 
THY  BROW?< 

BY  PAUL,  TUE  SII.EXTIAKV. 

Twin'st  thou  with  lofty  wreath  thy  brow  ? 

Such  glory  then  tliy  beauty  sheds, 
I  almost  think,  while  awed  I  bow, 

'Tis  Rhea's  self  before  me  treads. 
Be  what  thou  wilt, — this  heart 
Adores  whatc'er  thou  art ! 

Dost  thou  thy  loosen'd  ringlets  leave, 
Like  sunny  waves  to  wander  free  ? 

Then,  such  a  chain  of  charms  they  wea^'e. 
As  draws  my  inmost  soul  from  me. 

Do  what  thou  wilt, — I  must 

Bo  charm'd  by  all  thou  dost ! 

Ev'n  when,  enwrapp'd  in  sUv'ry  veils,' 
Those  sunny  locks  elude  the  sight, — 

Oh,  not  ev'n  then  their  glory  fails 
To  haunt  me  with  its  unseen  light. 

Change  as  thy  beauty  may, 

It  charms  in  eveiy  way. 

For,  thee  the  Graces  still  attend, 

Presiding  o'er  each  new  attire, 
And  lending  ev'ry  dart  they  seud 

Some  new,  neculiar  touch  of  fire. 
Bo  what  thou  wilt, — this  heart 
Adores  whate'er  thou  art ! 


WHEN  THE  SAD  WORD.' 

BY  PAUL,  THE  SILENTIARY. 

When  the  sad  word,  "  Adieu,"  from  my  lip  is  nigh 
falling. 

And  with  it,  Hope  passes  away. 
Ere  the  tongue  hath  half  breathed  it,  my  fond  heart 
recalling 

That  fatal  farewell,  bids  me  stay. 
For  oh  !  'tis  a  penance  so  weary 

One  hom  from  thy  presence  to  bo. 
That  death  to  this  soul  were  less  dreary. 

Less  dark  than  long  absence  from  thee. 

*  KsKpV'Pa^ot  apiyyovai  tctjv  rptj^a  ; 

Ap-  Brcsck.  xutiv. 
6  Apyevvais  oOovriui  Karrjopa  (ioarp^X'^  KuOm. 

•  SwfeO  UOl  psWolV  EVCTIEtV. 

Ap.  BRnKCK.  xzxlx. 


368 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Thy  beauty,  like  Day,  o'er  the  dull  world  breakbig, 

Briiiijs  life  to  the  lieart  it  shines  o'er, 
And,  in  mine,  a  new  feeling  of  happiness  waking 

Made  light  what  was  darkness  before. 
But  mute  is  the  Day's  sunny  glor)-. 

While  thine  hath  a  voice,'  on  whose  breath, 
More  sweet  than  the  Syren's  sweet  story," 

My  hopes  hang,  through  life  and  through  death  ! 


MY  MOPSA  IS  LITTLE.' 

BY  PIIILODEMUS. 

My  Mopsa  is  little,  my  Mopsa  is  brown, 

But  her  cheek  is  as  smooth  as  the  peach's  soft  down. 

And,  for  blushing,  no  rose  can  come  near  her  ; 
In  short,  she  has  woven  such  nets  round  my  heart. 
That  I  ne'er  from  my  dear  little  Mopsa  can  part, — 

Unless  I  can  find  one  that's  dearer. 

Her  voice  hath  a  music  that  dwells  on  the  ear, 
And  her  eye  from  its  orb  gives  a  daylight  so  clear, 

That  I'm  dazzled  whenever  I  meet  her ; 
Her  ringlets,  so  curly,  are  Cupid's  own  net, 
And  her  lips,  oh  their  sweetness  I  ne'er  shall  for- 
get— 

Till  I  light  upon  lips  that  aro  sweeter. 

But  'tis  not  her  beauty  that  charms  me  alone, 
'Tis  her.  miud,  'tis  that  language  whose  eloquent 
tone 

From  the  depths  of  the  grave  could  revive  one : 
In  short,  hero  I  swear,  that  if  death  were  her  doom, 
I  would  iustanly  join  my  dead  love  in  the  tomb — 

Unless  I  could  meet  with  a  live  one. 


STILL,   LUvE   DEW   IN   SILENCE   FALL- 
ING.* 

DV  MELEAGER. 

Still,  like  dew  in  silence  falling. 
Drops  for  thee  the  nightly  tear ; 

Still  that  voice  the  past  recalling, 
Dwells,  like  echo,  on  my  ear, 
StUI,  still ! 

'      Il/iori  yip  act)  ^tyyos  bjiotiov.  aX\a  ro  iicv  nov 
ApQoyyov. 

Kcivo,  ro  Tctfuii'tiiv  y\vKvtpi>iTtpQV. 
3  ^liKKtl  Kat  [icXavcvaa  ^t\tvyiov. 

Ap.  BRUHrn.  I. 


Day  and  night  the  spell  hangs  o'er  me. 

Here  forever  fix'd  thou  art ; 
As  thy  form  first  shone  before  me. 

So  'tis  graven  on  this  heart, 
Deep,  deep ! 

Love,  oh  Love,  whose  bitter  sweetness, 
Dooms  me  to  this  lasting  pain. 

Thou  who  cam'st  with  so  much  fleetness, 
Why  so  slow  to  go  again  ?' 
Why?  why? 


UP,  SAILOR  BOY,  'TIS  DAY. 

Up,  sailor  boy,  'tis  day ! 

The  west  wind  blowing, 

The  spring  tide  flowing. 
Summon  thee  henco  away. 
Didst  thou  not  hear  yon  soaring  swallow  sing  ? 
Chirp,  chirp, — in  every  note  he  seem'd  to  say 
'Tis  Spring,  'tis  Spring. 
Up,  boy,  away, — 
Who'd  stay  on  land  to-day  ? 

The  very  flowers 

AVould  from  their  bowers 
Delight  to  wing  away  ! 

Leave  languid  youths  to  puie 

On  silken  pillows, 

But  be  the  billows 
Of  the  great  deep  thine. 

Hark,  to  the  sail  the  breeze  sings,  "  Let  U3  fly  j" 
While  soft  the  sail,  replying  to  the  breeze, 
Says,  with  a  yielding  sigh, 
"  Yes,  where  you  please." 
Up,  boy  !  the  wind,  the  ray, 

The  blue  sky  o'er  thee, 

The  deep  before  thee, 
All  cry  aloud,  "  Away  I" 


IN  MYRTLE  WREATHS. 

BY  ALCMVS. 

In  myrtle  wreaths  my  votive  sword  I'll  cover, 
Like  them  of  old  whose  one  immortal  blow 

Struck  off"  the  galling  fetters  that  hung  over 
Their  own  bright  land,  and  laid  her  tyrant  low. 

*  Ai£(  HOI  dvf£t  ii£v  £v  ovariv  i]Xf>5  Epwros. 

Ap.  Brunck.  liii. 

*  H  TTTavoi,  fijj  Kat  nnr*  l^tnTaadat  fi£v,  E/iurcs, 
Oiiaf,  anoT[TJ]vai  S*  ov6'  bcoi/  ioxvetc. 


UNPUBLISHED  SONGS,  ETC. 


369 


Yes,  loved  Harmodius,  thou'rt  imdying; 

Still  midst  tho  brave  and  free, 
In  isles,  o'er  ocean  lying, 

Thy  home  shall  ever  be. 

Cn  myrtle  leaves  my  sword  shall  hide  its  lightning, 
Like  his,  the  youth,  whose  ever-glorious  blade 


Leap'd  forth  like  flame,  the  midnight  banquet  bright- 
'ning. 

And  in  tho  dust  a  despot  victim  laid. 
Blest  youths,  how  bright  in  Freedom's  story 

Your  wedded  names  shall  be  ; 
A  tyrant's  death  j'our  glory, 

Your  meed,  a  nation  free .' 


UNPUBLISHED   SONGS, 


ETC. 


ASK  NOT  IF  STILL  I  LOVEl 

Ask  not  if  still  I  love. 

Too  plain  these  eyes  have  told  thee ; 
Too  well  their  tears  must  prove 

How  near  and  dear  I  hold  thee. 
If,  where  the  brightest  shine, 
To  see  no  form  but  thine. 
To  feel  that  earth  can  show 

No  bliss  above  thee,— 
If  this  be  love,  then  know 

That  thus,  that  thus,  I  love  thea. 

'Tis  not  in  pleasure's  idle  hour 

That  thou  canst  know  affection's  pow'r : 

No,  try  its  strength  in  griof  or  pain  ; 

Attempt,  as  now,  its  bonds  to  sever. 
Thou'lt  find  true  love's  a  chain 

That  binds  forever  I 


DEAR?    YES. 

Dear  ?  yes,  though  mine  no  more, 
Ev'n  this  but  makes  thee  dearer ; 

And  love,  since  hope  is  o'er. 
But  draws  thee  nearer. 

Change  as  thou  wilt  to  me. 
The  same  thy  qharm  must  be ; 
New  loves  may  come  to  weave 
Their  witch'ry  o'er  hee, 


Yet  still,  though  false,  believe 
That  I  adore  thee,  yes,  still  adore  thee. 

Think'st  thou  that  aught  but  death  could  end 

A  tie  not  falsehood's  self  can  rend  ? 

No,  when  alone,  far  off  I  die, 

No  more  to  see,  no  more  caress  thee, 

Ev'n  theu;  my  life's  last  sigh 

Shall  be  to  bless  thee,  yes,  still  to  bless  thee. 


UNBIND  THEE,  LOVE. 

Unbind  thee,  love,  unbind  thee,  love, 

From  those  dark  ties  mihiud  thee  ; 
Though  fairest  hand  the  chain  hath  wove, 

Too  long  its  links  have  twined  thee. 
Away  from  earth  ! — thy  wings  were  made 

In  yon  mid-sky  to  hover. 
With  eiAi  beneath  their  dove-like  shade. 

And  heaVn  all  radiant  over. 

Awake  thee,  boy,  awake  thee,  boy, 

Too  long  thy  soul  is  sleeping ; 
And  thou  may'st  from  this  minute's  joy 

Wake  to  eternal  weeping. 
Oh,  think,  this  world  is  not  for  thee  ; 

Though  hard  its  links  to  sever ; 
Though  sweet  and  bright  and  dear  they  be. 

Break,  or  thou'rt  lost  forever. 


370 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THERE'S  SOMETHING  STRANGE. 
(A  Buffo  Song.) 

Tiif.re's  something  strange,  I  know  not  what, 

Come  o'er  me. 
Some  phantom  I've  forever  got 

Before  me. 
I  look  on  high,  and  in  the  sky 

'Tis  sliining ; 
On  earth,  its  liglit  with  all  things  bright 

Seems  twining. 
In  vain  I  try  tins  goblin's  spells 

To  sever ; 
Go  where  I  will,  it  romid  me  dwells 

Forever. 

And  then  what  tricks  by  day  and  night 

It  plays  me  ; 
In  cvVy  shape  the  wicked  sprite 

\Vayla3's  me. 
Sometimes-like  two  bright  eyes  of  blue 

'Tis  glancing ; 
Sometimes  like  feet,  in  slippers  neat, 

Comes  dancing. 
By  whispers  round  of  every  sort 

I'm  taunted. 
NeT<i'  »-as  mortal  man,  in  itort, 

So  hamited. 


NOT  FROM  THEE. 

Not  from  thee  the  wound  should  come, 

No,  not  from  thee. 
I  care  not  what,  or  whence,  my  doom. 

So  not  from  thee  ! 
Cold  triumph  !  first  to  make 

This  heart  thy  own ; 
And  then  the  mirror  break 
Whore  fix'd  tliou  shin'st  alone. 
Not  from  thee  the  wound  sliould  ^me. 

Oil,  not  from  thee. 
I  care  not  what,  or  whence,  my  doom, 

So  not  from  thee. 

Yet  no — my  lips  that  wish  recall ; 

From  thee,  from  thee — 
If  ruin  o'er  this  head  must  fall, 

'Twill  welcome  be. 
Here  to  the  blade  I  bare 

Tiiis  faithful  heart ; 


Wound  deep — thou'lt  find  that  there. 

In  every  pulse  thou  art. 
Yes,  from  tlieo  I'll  hear  it  all : 

If  ruin  be 
Tlio  doom  that  o'er  this  heart  must  fall, 

'Twere  sweet  from  thee 


GUESS,  GUESS. 

I  LOVE  a  maid,  a  mystic  maid, 

Whose  folia  no  eyes  but  mine  can  see  ; 
She  comes  in  light,  she  comes  in  'shade. 

And  beautiful  iu  both  is  she. 
Her  shape  in  dreams  I  oft  behold, 

And  oft  slie  wliispcrs  in  my  ear 
Such  words  as  when  to  others  told. 

Awake  the  sigh,  or  wring  the  tear ; — 
Then  guess,  guess,  who  she. 
The  lady  of  my  love,  may  be. 

I  find  the  lustre  of  her  brow. 

Come  o'er  me  iu  my  darkest  ways ; 
And  feel  as  if  her  voice,  ev'n  now, 

Were  echoing  far  off  my  lays. 
There  is  no  scene  of  joy  or  wo 

But  she  dotli  gild  with  influence  bright ; 
And  shed  o'er  ail  so  rich  a  glow. 

As  makes  ev'n  tears  seem  full  of  light ; 
Then  guess,  guess,  who  she, 
The  lady  of  my  love,  may  be. 


WHEN  LOVE,  WHO  RULED. 

Whe.n  Love,  who  ruled  as  Admii-al  o'er 
His  rosy  mother's  isles  of  hght. 

Was  cruising  oiFthe  Paphian  shore, 
A  sail  at  sunset  hove  in  sight. 

"  A  cliase,  a  chase!  my  Cupids  all," 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

Aloft  the  wiiiged  sailors  sprung, 

And,  swarming  up  the  mast  like  bees. 

The  snow-white  sails  expanding  flung. 
Like  broad  magnolias  to  the  breeze. 

"  Yo  ho,  yo  ho,  my  Cupids  all !" 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

The  chase  was  o'er — the  bark  was  caught, 
The  wmged  crew  her  freight  explored ; 


UNPUBLISHED  SONGS,  ETC. 


371 


And  found  'twas  just  as  Lov9  had  thought. 

For  all  was  coiUraband  aboard. 
■■'  A  prize,  a  prize,  my  Cupids  all !" 
Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

Safe  Btow'd  in  many  a  package  there, 
And  labell'd  slyly  o'er,  as  "  Glass," 

Were  lots  of  all  th'  illegal  ware. 

Love's  Custom-House  forbids  to  pass. 

"  O'erhaul,  o'erhaul,  my  Cupids  all," 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

False  cmls  they  found,  of  every  hue, 
With  rosy  blushes  ready  made  ; 

And  teeth  of  ivor)',  good  as  new. 
For  veterans  in  the  smiling  trade. 

"  Ho  ho,  ho  ho,  my  Cupids  all," 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

Mock  sighs,  too, — kept  in  bags  for  use, 
Like  breezes  bought  of  Lapland  seers, — 

Lay  ready  here  to  be  let  loose. 

When  wauted,  in  young  spinsters'  ears. 

"  Ha  ha,  ha  ha,  my  Cupids  all," 

Said  Love,  the  liitle  Admiral. 

False  papers  next  on  board  were  found, 
Sham  invoices  of  flames  and  darts, 

Professedly  for  Paphos  bound. 

But  raeaut  for  Hymen's  golden  marts. 

"  For  shame,  for  shame,  my  Cupids  all !" 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

Nay,  still  to  every  fraud  awake, 

Those  pirates  all  Love's  signals  knew, 

And  hoisted  oft  his  flag,  to  make 
Rich  wards  and  heiresses  bring-to.' 

"  A  foe,  a  foe,  my  Cupids  all !" 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

"  This  must  not  be,"  the  boy  exclaims, 
"  In  vain  I  rule  the  Paphiau  seas, 

"  If  Love's  and  Beauty's  sovereign  names 
"  Are  lent  to  cover  frauds  like  these. 

"  Prepare,  prepare,  my  Cupids  all !" 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

Each  Cupid  stood  with  lighted  match — ■ 
A  broadside  struck  the  smuggling  foe. 

And  swept  tlie  whole  unhallow'd  batch 
Of  falsehood  to  the  depths  below. 

"  Huzza,  huzza  !  my  Cupids  all !" 

Said  L^rs,  the  little  Admiral. 


>  "To  BtiNo-TO,  to  check  the  coarse  of  a  ship." — fW- 
eoner. 


STILL  THOU  FLIEST. 

Still  thou  fliest,  and  still  I  woo  thee, 

Lovely  phantom, — all  in  vain  ; 
Restless  ever,  my  thoughts  pursue  thee. 

Fleeting  ever,  thou  mock'st  theu-  pain. 
Such  doom,  of  old,  that  youth  betided. 

Who  woo'd,  he  thought,  some  angel's  charms. 
But  found  a  cloud  that  from  him  glided, — 

As  thou  dost  from  these  outstretch'd  arms. 

Scarce  I've  said,  "  How  fair  thou  shinest," 

Ere  thy  light  hath  vanish'd  by  ; 
And  'tis  when  thou  look'st  divinest 

Thou  art  still  more  sure  to  fly. 
Ev'n  as  the  lightning,  that,  dividing 

The  clouds  of  night,  saith,  '■  Look  on  me," 
Then  flits  again,  its  splendor  hiding, — 

Ev'n  such  the  glimpse  I  catch  of  thee. 


THEN  FIRST  FROM  LOVE. 

Then  first  from  Love,  in  Nature's  bow'rs, 

Did  Painting  learn  her  fairy  skill. 
And  cull  the  hues  of  loveliest  flow'rs, 

To  picture  woman  lovelier  still. 
For  vain  was  every  radiant  hue, 

Till  Passion  lent  a  soul  to  art. 
And  taught  the  painter,  ere  he  drew, 

To  fix  the  model  in  his  heart. 

Thus  smooth  his  toil  awhile  went  on, 

Till,  lo,  one  touch  his  art  defies  ; 
The  brow,  the  lip,  the  blushes  shone. 

But  who  could  dure  to  paint  those  eyes  ? 
'Twas  all  in  vain  the  painter  strove  ; 

So  turning  to  that  boy  divine, 
"  Here  take,"  he  said,  "  the  pencil.  Love, 

"  No  hand  should  paint  such  eyes,  but  thine." 


HUSH,  SWEET  LUTE. 

Hdsh,  sweet  Lute,  thy  songs  remind  me 
Of  past  joys,  now  tum'd  to  pain  ; 

Of  ties  that  long  have  ceased  to  bind  me. 
But  wliose  burning  marks  remain. 

In  each  tone,  some  echo  falleth 
On  my  ear  of  joys  gone  by  ; 


372 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Ev'ry  note  some  dream  recalleth 
Of  bright  hopes  but  bora  to  die. 

Yet,  sweet  Lute,  though  pain  it  bring  me, 

Onco  more  let  tiiy  numbers  tlirill ; 
Though  death  were  in  the  strain  they  sing  me, 

I  must  woo  its  anguish  still. 
Since  no  time  can  e'er  recover 

Ijove's  sweet  light  when  once  'tis  set, — ■ 
Better  to  weep  such  pleasures  over. 

Than  smile  o'er  any  left  us  yet. 


of 


BRIGHT  MOON. 

Bright  moon,  that  high  in  heav'n  art  shining, 

All  smiles,  as  if  within  thy  bower  to-night 
Thy  own  Endymion  lay  reclining. 

And   thou   wouldst    wake    him    with    a    kiss 
light  I— 
By  all  the  bliss  thy  beam  discovers. 

By  all  those  visions  far  too  bright  for  day. 
Which  dreaming  bards  and  waking  lovers 

Behold,  this  night,  beneath  thy  ling'ring  ray, — 


I  pray  thee,  queen  of  that  bright  heaven. 

Quench  not  to-night  thy  love-lamp  in  the  sea, 
Till  Autlic,  in  this  bow'r,  hath  given 

Beneath  thy  beam,  her  long-vow'd  kiss  to  me. 
Guide  hither,  guide  her  steps  benighted. 

Ere  thou,  sweet  moon,  thy  bashful  crescent  hide ; 
Let  Love  but  in  this  bow'r  be  liglited. 

Then  shroud  in  darkness  all  the  world  beside. 


LONG  YEARS  H.A.VE  PASS'D. 

Loso  years  have  pass'd,  old  friend,  since  we 

First  met  in  life's  young  day  ; 
And  friends  long  loved  by  thee  and  me, 

Since  then  have  dropjj'd  away  ; — 
But  enough  remain  to  cheer  us  on, 

And  sweeten,  when  thus  we're  met, 
The  gla.ss  we  fill  to  the  many  gone, 

And  the  few  who'ro  left  us  yet. 

Our  locks,  old  friend,  now  thinly  grow, 
And  some  hang  white  and  chill ; 

While  some,  like  flow'rs  'mid  Autumn's  snow, 
Retain  youth's  color  still. 

And  so,  in  our  hearts,  though  one  by  one, 
Youth's  sunny  hopes  have  set. 


Thank  heav'n,  not  all  their  light  is  gone,- 
We've  some  to  cheer  us  yet. 

Then  here's  to  thee,  old  friend,  and  long 

May  thou  and  I  thus  meet, 
To  brighten  still  with  wine  and  song 

Tliis  short  life,  ere  it  fleet. 
And  still  as  death  comes  stealing  on, 

Let's  never,  old  friend,  forget, 
Ev'n  while  we  sigh  o'er  blessings  gone, 

How  many  arc  left  us  yet. 


DREAMING  FOREVER 

DkeaiMing  forever,  vainly  dream'mg, 

Life  to  the  last  pursues  its  flight ; 
Day  hath  its  visions  fairly  beaming, 

But  false  as  those  of  night. 
The  one  illusion,  the  other  real, 

But  both  the  same  brief  dreams  at  last ; 
And  when  we  grasp  the  bliss  ideal, 

Soon  as  it  shines,  'tis  past. 

Here,  then,  by  this  dim  lake  reposing. 

Calmly  I'll  watch,  while  light  and  gloom 
Flit  o'er  its  face  till  night  is  closmg — 

Emblem  of  life's  short  doom  ! 
But  though,  by  timis,  thus  dark  and  shuiiug, 

'Tis  still  milike  man's  changeful  day, 
Whose  light  retmns  not,  once  declining, 

Whose  cloud,  once  come,  will  stay. 


« 


THOUGH  LIGHTLY  SOUNDS  THE  SONG 
I  SING. 

A  Song  op  the  Alps. 

Though  lightly  sounds  the  song  I  sing  to  thee, 
Though  like  the  lark's  its  soaring  music  be, 
Thou'lt  find  ev'n  here  some  mournful  note  that  tells 
How  near  such  April  joy  to  weeping  dwells. 
'Tis  'mong  the  gayest  scenes  that  oft'uest  steal 
Those  sadd'ning  thoughts  we  fear,  yet  love  to  feel ; 
And  music  never  half  so  sweet  appears, 
As  when  her  mirth  forgets  itself  in  tears. 

Then  say  not  thou  this  Alpine  song  is  gay — 
It  comes  from  hearts  that,  like  their  mountain-lay. 
Mix  ioy  with  pain,  and  oft  when  pleasure's  breath 
Most  warms  the  surface,  feel  most  sad  beneath. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


373 


Tlie  very  beam  iu  which  the  snow-wreath  wears 
Its  gayest  smile  is  that  which  wins  its  tears, — 
And  passion's  pow'r  can  never  lend  the  glow 
Which  wakens  bliss  without  some  touch  of  wo 


THE  RUSSIAN  LOVER. 

Fleetly  o'er  the  moonlight  snows 

Speed  we  to  my  lady's  bow'r ; 
Swift  our  sledgo  as  hghtuing  goes, 

Nor  shall  stop  till  morning's  hour. 
Bright,  my  steed,  the  northern  star 

Lights  us  from  yon  jewell'd  skies ; 
But,  to  greet  us,  brighter  far. 

Mom  shall  bring  my  lady's  eyes. 


Lovers,  lull'd  in  sunny  bow'rs. 

Sleeping  out  their  dream  of  time, 
Know  not  half  the  bliss  that's  ours, 

In  this  snowy,  icy  clime. 
Like  yon  star  that  livelier  gleams 

From  the  frosty  heavens  around, 
Love  himself  the  keener  beams 

When  with  snows  of  coyness  crown'd. 

Fleet  then  on,  my  merry  steed, 

Bound,  my  sledge,  o'er  hill  and  dale  ;— 
What  can  matcli  a  lover's  speed  ? 

See,  'tLs  daylight,  breaking  pale  ! 
Brightly  hath  the  noii  hern  star 

Lit  us  from  you  radiant  skies  ; 
But,  behold,  how  brighter  far 

Yonder  shine  my  lady's  eyes  ! 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


SAMUEL  ROGERS,  ESQ. 

THIS     EASTERN     ROMANCE     19     INSCRIBED, 

DY   HIS   VERY    GRATEFUL  AND  AFFECTIONATE    FRIEND, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


May  19, 1817. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


In  the  eleventh  year  of  the  reign  of  Aurungzebe, 
Abdalla,  King  of  the  Lesser  Bucharia,  a  lineal  de- 
scendant from  the  Great  Zingis,  having  abdicated  the 
throne  iu  favor  of  his  son,  set  out  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
the  Shrine  of  the  Prophet ;  and,  passing  into  India 
throu<rh  the  delightful  valley  of  Cashmere,  rested 
for  a  short  time  at  Delhi  on  his  way.  He  was  en- 
tertained by  .\nrungzcbe  in  a  style  of  magnificent 
hospitality,  worthy  alike  of  the  visiter  and  the  host, 

1  These  parliculars  of  ihe  visit  of  the  King  nf  Bucliiiria  to 
Auranjizcbe  are  found  in  Dok^s  HUtary  of  HindosUtn,  vol. 
ii.,  p.  3i|2. 

2Tulip  chceli. 

3  The  mistress  of  Mejnoun,  upon  whose  story  so  many 
Romances  in  all  the  languages  of  the  East  arc  founded. 


and  was  afterwards  escorted  with  the  same  splen- 
dor to  Surat,  where  he  embarked  for  Arabia.' 
Diu-ing  the  stay  of  the  Royal  Pilgrim  at  Delhi,  a 
marriage  was  agreed  upon  between  the  Prince,  his 
son,  and  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  Emperor, 
Lalla  Rookh  ;■ — a  Princess  described  by  the  poets 
of  her  time  as  more  beautiful  than  Leila,^  Shirine,* 
Dewildc,^  or  any  of  those  heroines  whose  names 
and  loves  embellish  the  songs  of  Persia  and  Hin- 
dostan.  It  was  intended  that  the  nuptials  should 
bo  celebrated  at  Cashmere  ;  where  the  young 
King,  as  soon  as  the  cares  of  empire  would  permit, 
was  to  meet,   for  the  first  time,  his  lovely  bride> 

*  For  the  loves  of  this  celebrated  beauty  with  Khosron 
and  >vith  Ferhad,  see  D'Hcrbeht,  Gibbon,  Oriental  Collec- 
tions, &c. 

'  "The  history  of  the  loves  ofDewild*  and  Chizer,  the 
son  of  the  Emperor  All.i.  is  written  in  an  elegant  poem,  by 
the  noble  Chusero." — Fcriekta. 


374 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


and,  after  a  few  monthB*  repose  in  that  enchant- 
ing valley,  conduct  her  over  tlie  snowy  hills  into 
Bucharia. 

The  day  of  Lalla  Rookii*s  departure  from  Delhi 
was  as  splendid  as  sunsliino  and  pacjoantry  could 
mako.it.  The  bazaars  and  baths  were  all  covered 
with  the  richest  tapestry  ;  hundreds  of  gilded  barges 
npon  the  Jumna  floated  with  their  banners  shining 
in  the  water  ;  wliilo  Ihrougli  the  streets  groups  of 
beautiful  children  went  strewing  the  most  delicious 
flowers  around,  as  in  that  Persian  festival  called  the 
Scattering  of  the  Roses  ;*  till  every  part  of  the  city 
was  as  fragrant  as  if  a  caravan  of  musk  from 
Khoten  bad  passed  through  it.  The  Princess,  having 
taken  leave  of  her  kind  father,  who  at  parting  hung 
a  cornelian  of  Yemen  round  her  neck,  on  which  was 
inscribed  a  verse  from  the  Koran,  and  having  sent  a 
considerable  present  to  the  Fakirs,  who  kept  np  the 
Perpetual  Lamp  in  her  sister's  tomb,  meekly  ascended 
the  palankeen  prepared  for  her  ;  and,  while  Aurung- 
zebe  stood  to  take  a  last  look  from  his  balcony,  the 
procession  moved  slowly  on  the  road  to  Lahore. 

Seldom  had  the  Eastern  world  seen  a  cavalcade 
BO  superb.  From  the  gardens  in  the  suburbs  to  the 
Imperial  palace,  it  was  one  unbroken  line  of  splen- 
dor. The  gallant  appearance  of  the  Rajahs  and 
Mogul  lords,  distinguished  by  those  insignia  of  the 
Emperor's  favor,'^  tlie  feathers  of  the  egret  of  Cash- 
mere in  their  turbans,  and  the  small  silver-rimmed 
kettle-drums  at  the  bows  of  their  saddles  ; — the  costly 
armor  of  their  cavaliers,  who  vied,  on  this  occasion, 
witli  the  guards  of  the  great  Keder  Khan,'  in  the 


1  Gul  Renzee. 

3  "  One  murk  of  honor  or  knighthood  bestowed  l»y  the 
Kiiiperor  is  the  permission  to  wear  a  sni:ill  kettledrum  at 
the  hows  of  their  saddles,  which  at  first  was  invented  for 
llie  training  of  hawks,  and  to  call  them  to  the  lure,  and  is 
worn  in  the  field  by  all  sportsmen  to  that  end." — lYt/er's 
Travels 

"Those  on  whom  the  King  has  conferred  the  privilege 
must  wear  an  ornament  of  jewels  on  the  right  side  of 
ihe  turban,  surmounted  by  a  high  plume  of  the  feathers  of 
a  kind  of  egret.  This  bird  is  found  only  in  Cashmere, 
and  the  feathers  arc  carefully  collected  for  the  King,  wlio 
bestows  them  on  his  nobles." — Elphinatone's  Account  of 
Caubut. 

3  "Khcdnr  Khan,  the  Khakan,  or  Kin?  of  Turqueslan,  be- 
yond lhenihnn,(ni  the  end  of  the  cleventli  centurj',)  when- 
ever he  appeared  abroad  was  preceded  by  seven  hundred 
horsemen  with  silver  batlle-axes,  and  was  followed  by  an 
equal  number  bearing  maces  nf  gold.  He  was  a.  great  pntron 
of  poetry,  and  it  was  he  who  used  lo  preside  at  public  exer- 
cises of  genius,  with  four  basins  of  gold  and  silver  by  him  to 
dislrilmte  among  the  poets  who  excelled." — RichardsoiCa 
Dissertation  prelixed  to  liis  Dictionary. 

<  "  The  kubiieh,  a  large  golden  knob,  generally  in  the  shape 
of  a  pineapple,  on  tlio  top  of  the  canopy  over  the  Utlcr  or 
palanquin." — ScotVs  Notes  on  the  Dahardanush. 


brightness  of  their  silver  battle-axes  and  the  maesiness 
of  their  maces  of  gold  ; — the  glittering  of  the  giU  pine- 
apples'* on  the  tops  of  the  palankeens ; — the  em- 
broidered trappings  of  the  elephants,  bearing  on  their 
backs  small  turrets,  in  the  shape  of  little  antique  tem- 
ples, within  which  the  Ladies  of  Lalla  Rookh  lay 
as  it  were  enshrined  ; — the  rose-colored  veils  of  the 
Princess's  own  sumptuous  litter,^  at  the  front  of  winch 
a  fair  young  female  slave  sat  fanning  her  tlirougli 
the  curtains,  with  feathers  of  the  Argus  pheasant's 
wing  f  —  and  the  lovely  troop  of  Tartarian  and 
Cashmerian  maids  of  honor,  whom  the  young  King 
had  sent  to  accompany  liis  bride,  and  who  rode  on 
each  side  of  the  litter,  upon  small  Arabian  horses  ; — 
all  was  brilliant,  tasteful,  and  magnificent,  and 
pleased  even  the  critical  and  fastidious  Fadladeen, 
Great  Nazir  or  Chamberlain  of  the  Haram,  who 
was  borne  in  his  palankeen  immediately  after  the 
Princess,  and  considered  himself  not  the  least  im- 
portant personage  of  the  pageant. 

Fadladeen  was  a  judge  of  every  thing, — from 
the  pencilling  of  a  Circassian's  eyelids  to  the  deep- 
est questions  of  science  and  literature  ;  from  the 
mixture  of  a  conser\^e  of  rose-leaves  to  the  com- 
position of  an  epic  poem  :  and  sncli  influence  had 
his  opinion  upon  the  various  tastes  of  the  day, 
that  all  the  cooks  and  poets  of  Delhi  stood  in  awe 
of  him.  His  political  conduct  and  opinions  were 
founded  upon  that  line  of  Sadi,  —  "  Should  the 
Prince  at  noonday  say.  It  is  night,  declare  that 
you  behold  the' moon  and  stars." — And  his  zeal 
for  religion,  of  which  Aurungzebe  was  a  munifi- 
cent protector,'  was  about  as  disinterested  as  that 


6  In  the  Poem  of  Zohair,  in  the  Moallakat,  there  is  the  fol- 
lowing lively  description  of  "a  company  of  maidens  seated 
on  camels." 

"They  arc  mounted  in  carriages  covered  wiJh  costly  awn- 
ings, and  Avilh  rose-colored  veils,  the  linings  of  which  have 
the  hue  of  crimson  Andem-wood. 

"  When  they  ascend  from  the  bosom  of  the  vale,  they  sit 
forward  on  the  saddle-cloth,  with  every  mark  of  a  voluptuous 
gayety. 

"Now,  when  they  have  reached  the  brink  of  yon  bine- 
gushing  rivulet,  they  fix  the  poles  of  their  tents  like  the  Arab 
witli  a  settled  mansion." 

fl  See  Bernicr*s  description  of  the  attendants  on  Rancha- 
nara-Bcgum,  in  her  progress  to  Cashmere. 

'  This  hypocritical  Emperor  w'onld  have  made  a  worthy 
associate  of  certain  Holy  Leagues. — "  He  held  the  cloak  of 
religion  (says  Dow)  between  his  actions  and  the  vulgar:  and 
impiously  thanked  the  Divinity  for  a  success  which  he  owed 
to  his  own  wickedness.  When  he  was  murdering  and  per- 
secuting his  brothers  and  their  families,  he  was  building  a 
magnificent  mosque  at  Dellii,  as  an  olVering  to  God  for  his 
assistance  lo  him  in  the  civil  wars.  He  acted  as  high  piiest 
at  the  consecration  of  this  temple;  and  made  a  practiced  at- 
tending divincsenice  there,  in  the  hnmblo  dress  of  a  Fnkeer. 
But  when  he  lifted  one  hand  to  the  Divinity,  he,  with  the 
other,  signed  warrants  for  the  assaasinaliou  of  his  relations." 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


375 


of  tlio  g;ol(ismith  who  fel!  in  love  with  the  diamond 
eyes  of  the  idol  of  Jaglieniaut.* 

During  the  first  days  of  their  journey,  Lalla 
RooKH,  who  liad  passed  all  her  life  within  the  sha- 
dow of  the  Royal  Gardens  of  Dellii,'  found  enough 
in  the  beauty  of  tlie  scenery  tlirougii  which  they 
passed  to  interest  her  mind,  and  delight  her  imagi- 
nation ;  and  when  at  evening,  or  in  the  heat  of  the 
day,  they  turned  off  from  the  high  road  to  those  re- 
tired and  romantic  places  whicli  iiad  been  selected 
for  her  encampments, — sometimes  on  the  banks  of  a 
small  rivulet,  as  clear  as  the  waters  of  the  Lake  of 
Pearl  f  sometimes  under  the  sacred  shade  of  a  Ban- 
yan tree,  from  which  the  view  opened  upon  a  glade 
covered  with  antelopes  ;  and  often  in  lliose  hidden, 
embowered  spots,  described  by  one  from  the  Isles 
of  the  West,*  as  "  places  of  melancholy,  delight,  and 
safety,  where  all  the  company  around  was  wild 
peacocks  and  turtle-doves ;"— she  feltv  a  charm 
in  these  scenes,  so  lovely  and  so  new  to  her,  which, 
for  a  time,  made  her  indifferent  to  every  other 
amusement.  But  Lalla  Rookii  was  young,  and 
the  young  love  variety ;  nor  conld  the  conversation 
of  her  Ladies  and  the  Great  Chamberlain,  Fad- 
LADEEN,  (the  only  persons,  of  course,  admitted  to 
her  pavilion,)  sufficiently  enliven  those  many  va- 
cant iiours,  which  were  devoted  neither  to  the  pil- 
low nor  the  palanlceeu.  There  was  a  little  Per- 
sian slave  who  sung  sweetly  to  the  Vina,  and  who, 
now  and  then,  lulled  the  Princess  to  sleep  with 
the  ancient  ditties  of  her  country,  about  the  loves 
ofWamak  and  Ezra,-Mho  fair-haired  Zal   and  liis 


—History  nf  Hindostan,  vn*,.  iii.  p.  335.  See  also  the  curi- 
ous letter  of  Aurungzebe,  given  in  the  Oriental  Collections, 
vol.  i.  11-  330. 

1  "  The  idol  at  Jaghernat  has  two  fine  diamonds  for  eyes. 
No  goldsmith  is  suffered  to  enter  the  Pagoda,  one  having 
stole  one  of  these  eyes,  being  loclied  np  all  night  with  the 
Idol." — Taccmier. 

^  See  a  description  of  these  royal  Gardens  in  "  An  Account 
of  the  present  state  of  Delhi,  by  Lieut.  W.  Franklin." — 
^siat.  Research.,  vol.  iv.  p.  417. 

3  "  In  the  neighborhood  is  Notte  Gill,  or  the  Lake  of  Pearl, 
which  receives  this  name  from  its  pellucid  water."— Pcti- 
Tiant's  Hindostan. 

*' Nasir  Jung  encamped  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Lake  of 
Tonoor,  amused  himself  with  sailing  on  that  clear  and  beau- 
tiful water,  and  gave  it  the  fanciful  name  of  Motee  Talah, 
'  the  Lake  of  Pearls,*  which  it  still  retains." —  lfilks*s  South 
oflndia. 

*  Sir  Thomas  Roe,  Ambassador  from  James  I.  to  Jehan- 
guire. 

5  "  The  romance  Wemakwcazra,  written  in  Persian  verse, 
which  contains  the  loves  of  VVamak  and  Ezra,  two  celebra- 
ted lovers  who  lived  before  the  time  of  Mahomet."— JVo(e 
on  the  Oriental  Talcs. 

6  Their  amour  is  recounted  in  the  Shah-Nam6h  of  Fer- 
dousi ;  and  there  is  much  beauty  in  the  passage  which  de- 
scribes the  slaves  of  Rodahver  silting  on  the  bank  of  the 


mistress  Rodahver  ;*  not  forgetting  the  combat  of 
Rustam  witli  the  terrible  White  Demon.''  At  other 
times  she  was  amused  by  those  graceful  dancing- 
girls  of  Delhi,  wlio  had  been  permitted  by  the  Bra- 
mins  of  the  Great  Pagoda  to  attend  her,  much  to 
the  horror  of  the  good  Mussulman  Fadladf.kn, 
who  could  see  nothing  graceful  or  agreeable  in  idol- 
aters, and  to  whom  tlie  very  tinklmg  of  their  golden 
anklets^  was  an  abomination. 

But  these  and  many  other  diversions  were  re- 
peated till  they  lost  all  their  charm,  and  the  nights 
and  noondays  were  beginning  to  move  lieavily,  when, 
at  length,  it  was  recollected  that,  among  the  attend- 
ants sent  by  the  bridegroom,  was  a-yonng  poet  of 
Cashmere,  much  celebrated  throughi'ut  tlio  Valley 
for  his  manner  of  reciting  the  Stories  of  Ino  East,  on 
whom  his  Royal  Master  had  confei;"d  the  privilege 
of  being  admitted  to  the  pavilion  c'  the  Princess, 
that  he  might  help  to  beguile  the  tedicusaess  of  the 
journey  by  some  of  his  most  agreeable  recit&s.  At 
the  mention  of  a  poet,  Fadladeen  elevated  his 
critical  eyebrows,  and,  having  refreshed  his  faculties 
with  a  dose  of  tiiat  delicious  opium^  which  is  dis- 
tilled from  the  black  poppy  of  the  Thcbais,  gave 
orders  for  the  minstrel  to  be  fortliwith  introduced 
into  the  presence. 

The  Princess,  who  had  once  in  her  life  seen  a 
poet  from  behind  the  screens  of  gauze  in  her  Fa- 
ther's hall,  and  had  conceived  from  that  specimen  no 
very  favorable  ideas  of  the  Caste,  expected  but  little 
in  this   new    exhibition    to   interest   her ; — she  felt 


river  and  throwing  flowers  into  the  stream,  in  order  to  draw 
the  attention  of  the  young  Hero  who  is  encamped  on  the 
opposite  side. — See  Chavipion's  translation. 

'  Rustam  is  the  Hercules  of  the  Persians.  For  the  partic- 
ulars of  his  victory  over  the  Sepeed  Deeve,  or  White  Demon, 
see  Oriental  Collections,  vol.  ii.  p.  45. — Near  the  city  of  Shi- 
rauzis  an  immense  quadrangular  monument,  in  conunemo- 
ration  of  this  combat,  called  the  Kelaat-i-Deev  Sepeed,  or 
Castle  of  the  White  Giant,  which  Father  Angelo,  in  hisGa- 
zophilacium  Persicum,  p.  127,  declares  to  have  been  the 
most  memorable  monument  of  antiquity  which  he  had  seen 
in  Persia. — See  Ousclei/s  Persian  Miscellanies. 

s  "  The  women  of  the  Idol,  or  dancing-girls  of  Iho  Pagoda, 
have  little  golden  bells  fastened  to  their  feet,  the  soft  har- 
monious tinkling  of  which  vibrates  in  unison  with  the  ex- 
quisite melody  of  their  voices." — Maurice's  ln<lian  Anti- 
quities. 

"  The  Arabian  courtesans,  like  the  Indian  women,  have 
little  golden  beils  fastened  round  their  legs,  neck,  nnd  el- 
bows, to  the  sound  of  which  they  dance  before  the  King. 
The  Arabian  princesses  wear  golden  rings  on  their  fingers, 
to  which  little  bells  are  suspended,  as  welt  as  in  the  flowing 
tresses  of  their  hair,  that  their  superior  rank  nmy  be  known, 
and  they  themselves  receive  in  passing  the  homage  due  to 
them."— See  CalmeVs  Dictionary',  art.  Bells. 

»  "  Abou-Tige,  ville  de  la  Thebaide,  ou  il  crcit  beaucoop 
de  pavot  noir,  dont  se  fait  le  meilleur  opium  "—D*HtTbtiQt. 


376 


MOORE  S  WORKS. 


inclined,  liowover,  to  alter  her  opinion  on  the  very 
firet  appearance  of  Feramorz.  He  was  a  youth 
about  Lalla  Rookm's  own  age,  and  graceful  as  that 
idol  of  women,  Crislma,^ — such  as  ho  appears  to  tlieir 
yonnfj  iniag;iuation8,  heroic,  beautiful,  breathing  mu- 
sic from  his  verj'  eyes,  and  exalting  the  religion  of 
Iiis  worshippers  into  love.  His  dress  was  simple,  yet 
not  witliout  some  marks  of  costliness  ;  and  the  La- 
dies of  the  Princess  were  not  long  in  discovering 
tiiat  the  cloth,  which  encircled  his  high  Tartarian 
cap,  was  of  tho  most  delicate  kind  that  the  shawl- 
goats  of  Tibet  supply.^  Here  and  there,  too,  over 
his  vest,  which  was  confined  by  a  flowered  girdle  of 
Kashan,  hung  strings  of  fine  pearl,  disposed  with  an 
air  of  studied  negligence  ; — nor  did  the  exquisite  em- 
broidery of  his  sandals  escape  the  observation  of 
these  fair  critics ;  who,  however  they  might  give 
way  to  Fadladeen  upon  the  unimportant  topics  of 
religion  and  government,  had  the  spirit  of  martyrs  in 
evcrj'  thing  relating  to  such  momentous  matters  as 
jewels  and  embroidery. 

For  the  purpose  of  relieving  the  pauses  of  recita- 
tion by  music,  the  young  Cashmerian  held  in  his 
hand  a  kitar  ; — such  as,  in  old  times,  the  Arab  maids 
of  the  West  used  to  listen  to  by  moonlight  in  the 
gardens  of  the  Alliambra — and,  having  premised, 
with  much  humility,  that  the  story  he  was  about  to 
relate  was  founded  on  tlie  adventures  of  that  Veiled 
Prophet  of  Khorassan,^  who,  in  the  year  of  the  He- 
gira  1G3,  created  such  alann  throughout  the  Eastern 
Empire,  made  an  obeisance  to  the  Princess,  and  thus 
began : — 


1  The  Indian  Apollo.— "He  and  the  three  Rimas  are  de- 
scribed as  youths  of  perfect  beauty  ;  and  tlie  princesses  of 
Hindusiftn  were  all  passionately  in  love  willi  Chrishna,  wlio 
continues  to  this  hour  IhodarlinjrGod  of  the  Indian  women." 
—Sir  }V.  Jones,  on  the  Gods  of  Greece,  Italy,  and  India. 

3  See  TuTncr*s  Embassy  for  a  descripUon  of  this  animal, 
"the  most  beautiful  among  the  whole  tribe  of  goats."  The 
material  for  tlie  shawls  (which  is  carried  to  Cashmere)  is 
found  next  the  skin. 

3  For  the  real  history  of  this  Impostor,  whose  original 
name  was  Hakem  ben  Ilaschem,  and  who  was  called  Mo- 
cannafrom  the  veil  of  silver  gauze  {or,  as  others  say,  golden) 
which  he  always  wore,  sec  D" Hcrbclot. 

*  Khorassan  signifies,  in  iho  old  Persian  lanf  "lage,  Prov- 
ince or  Region  of  the  Sun. — Sir  IV.  Jones. 

fi  "The  fruits  of  Meru  are  finer  than  those  of  any  other 
place ;  and  one  cannot  sec  In  any  other  city  such  palaces 
with  groves,  and  streams,  and  gardens." — Ebn  JlaukaVs 
Geography. 

8  One  of  the  royal  cities  of  Khorassan. 


VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAN* 

In  that  delightful  Province  of  the  Sun, 
The  first  of  Persian  lands  ho  shines  upon. 
Where  all  the  loveliest  children  of  his  beam, 
Flow'rets  and  fruits,  blush  over  ev'ry  stream,' 
And,  fairest  of  all  streams,  the  Murga  roves 
Among  Merou's"  bright  palaces  and  groves; — 
There  on  that  throne,  to  which  the  blind  belief 
Of  millions  raised  him,  sat  the  Prophet -Chief, 
The  Great  Mokanna.     O'er  his  features  hung 
Tho  Veil,  the  Silver  Veil,  which  ho  had  flung 
In  mercy  there,  to  hide  from  mortal  sight 
His  dazzling  brow,  till  man  could  bear  its  light. 
For,  far  less  luminous,  his  votaries  said, 
Were  ev'n  the  gleams,  mh-aculoizsly  shed 
O'er  Moussa's''  cheek,®  when  down  the  Moimt  he 

trod. 
All  glowing  from  tho  presence  of  his  God ! 

On  either  side,  with  ready  hearts  and  hands, 
His  cliosen  guard  of  bold  Believers  stands  ; 
Young  fire-eyed  disputants,  who  deem  their  swords, 
On  points  of  faith,  more  eloquent  than  words ; 
And  such  their  zeal,  there's  not  a  youth  with  brand 
Uplifted  there,  but,  at  tlie  Chiefs  command, 
Would  make  his  own  devoted  heart  its  sheath. 
And  bless  the  lips  that  doom'd  so  dear  a  death! 
In  hatred  to  the  Caliph's  hue  of  night,^ 
Their  vesture,  helms  and  all,  is  snowy  white  ; 
Their  weapons  various — some  equipp'd,  for  speed, 
With  javelins  of  the  light  Kathaian  reed  ;*" 
Or  bows  of  buffalo  horn  and  shining  quivers 
Fill'd  with  the  sterns^'  that  bloom  on  Iran's  rivers  ;" 
Wliile  some,  for  war's  more  terrible  attacks, 
Wield  the  huge  mace  and  pond'rous  battle-axe ; 
And  as  they  wave  aloft  in  morning's  beam 
The  milk-white  plumage  of  their  helms,  they  seem 

'  Moses. 

8  "Ses  disciples  assuroient  qu'il  se  couvroit  le  visage, 
pour  ne  pas  tblnuir  ceux  qui  rapprochoientparl'tclat  deson 
visage  conuno  Moyse." — D'  flerbclot. 

9  IJiack  was  the  color  adopted  by  the  Caliphs  of  the  House 
of  Abbas,  in  their  garment':,  turbans,  and  standards.— "  II 
faut  remarqucr  ici  touchant  les  habits  blancs  iles  disciples 
de  Hakem,  que  la  couleur  des  habits,  des  coiffures  et  des 
6tcndarts  des  Khalifes  Abassides  etant  la  noire,  ce  chef  de 
Rebelles  ne  pouvoit  pas  choisir  une  que  lui  fut  plus  opposfee." 
—D'HcrbcJot. 

w  "  Our  dark  javelins,  exquisitely  wrought  of  Khathaian 
reeds,  slender  and  delicate." — Poem  of  Amru. 

"  Pichula,  used  anciently  for  arrows  by  the  Persians. 

•3  The  Persians  call  this  plant  Gaz.  The  celebrated  shaft 
of  Isfendiar,  one  of  their  ancient  lieroes,  was  made  of  it. — 
"Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  the  appearance  of  this 
plant  in  flower  during  the  rains  on  the  banks  of  rivers,  wliore 
it  is  usually  interwoven  with  a  lovely  twining  asclepias." — 
SirfV.  Jonc*,  Botanical  Observations  on  Select  Indian  Plants. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


377 


Like  a  chenar-treo  grove'  when  winter  throws 
O'er  all  its  tufted  heads  his  fealli'riug  suows. 

Between  tlio  porjiliyry  pillars,  that  uphold 
The  rich  morcsque-work  of  the  roof  of  gold. 
Aloft  the  Haram's  curtaiu'd  galleries  rise, 
Where  through  the  silken  network,  glancing  eyes. 
From  time  to  time,  like  sudden  gleams  that  glow 
Througli  autumn  clouds,  shine  o'er  the  pomp  be- 
low.— 
What   impious  tongue,    ye  blushing   saints,   would 

dare 
To  hint  that  aught  but  Heav'n  hath  placed  you 

there? 
Or  that  the  loves  of  this  light  world  could  bmd. 
In  their  gross  chain,  your  Prophet's  soaring  mind? 
No — wrongful  thought  I — commission'd  from  above 
To  people  Eden's  bowers  with  shapes  of  love, 
(Creatures  so  bright,  that  the  same  lips  and  eyes 
They  wear  on  earth  will  ser\'e  in  Paradise,) 
There  to  recline  among  Heav'n's  native  maids. 
And  crown  th'  Elect  with  bliss  that  never  fades — 
Well  hath  the  Propliet-Cliief  his  bidding  done  ; 
And  ev'ry  beauteous  race  beneath  the  sun. 
From  those  who  kneel  at  Brahma's  burning  founts,* 
To    the    fresh    nymphs    bounding    o'er    Yemen's 

mounts ; 
From  Persia's  eyes  of  full  and  fawn-like  ray, 
To  the  small,  half-shut  glances  of  Katiiav  ;' 
And  Georgia's  bloom,  and  Azab's  darker  smiles. 
And  the  gold  ringlets  of  tlio  Western  Isles  ; 
All,   all   are   there ; — each   Land   its   flower  hath 

given. 
To  form  that  fair  young  Nursery  for  Heav'n  1 

But  why  this  pageant  now  ?  this  arm'd  array  ? 
What  triumph  crowds  the  rich  Divan  to-day 
With  turban'd  heads,  of  ev'ry  hue  and  race, 
Bowing  before  that  veil'd  and  awfid  face. 
Like  tulip-beds,*  of  ditf' rent  shape  and  dyes. 
Bending  beneath  th'  invisible  West-wind's  sighs ! 
What  new-made  mystery  now,  for  Faith  to  sign, 
And  blood  to  seal,  as  genuine  and  divine. 
What  dazzling  mimickrj'  of  God's  own  power 
Hath  the  bold  Prophet  plann'd  to  grace  this  hour 

Not  such  the  pageant  now,  though  not  less  proud; 
Yon  warrior  youth,  advancing  from  the  crowd, 

1  The  orienl;il  plane.  "The  chenar  is  a  delightful  tree; 
its  bole  is  of  a  tine  white  and  smooth  b.trk;  anil  its  foliage, 
which  grows  in  a  tuft  at  the  summit,  is  of  a  bright  green." 
— Morifr's  Travels. 

>  The  burning  fountains  of  Brahma  near  Chittogong,  es- 
teemed as  holy. —  Turner. 

s   I'hina. 

«  ••The  name  of  nilip  is  said  to  he  of  Turkish  extraction, 


With  silver  bow,  witli  belt  of  broider'd  crape. 
And  fur-bound  bomiet  of  Bucharian  shape,* 
So  fiercely  beautiful  m  fonn  and  eye. 
Like  war's  wild  planet  in  a  summer  sky ; 
That  youth  to-day, — a  prosel_\-te,  worth  hordes 
Of  cooler  sjjirits  and  less  practised  swords, — 
Is  come  to  join,  all  bravery  and  belief. 
The  creed  and  standard  of  the  heav'n-sent  Chief. 

Though  few  his  j-ears,  the  West  already  knows 
Young  Azim's  fame  ; — beyond  th'  Olympian  snows 
Ere  manhood  darken'd  o'er  his  downy  cheek, 
O'erwhelm'd  in  fight,  and  captive  to  the  Greek,^ 
He  linger'd  there,  till  peace  dissolved  his  chains ; — 
Oh,  who  could,  e'en  in  bondage,  tread  the  plains 
Of  glorious  Greece,  nor  feel  his  spirit  I'so 
Kindling  within  him  ?  who,  with  heart  and  eyes. 
Could  walk  where  liberty  hac  ^ecn,  nor  see 
The  shining  foot-prints  of  her  Ueity, 
Nor  feel  those  godlike  breathings  in  the  air, 
AVliich  mutely  told  her  spirit  had  been  there? 
Not  he,  that  youthful  warrior, — no,  too  well 
For  his  soul's  quiet  work'd  th'  awak'iiing  spell ; 
And  now,  returning  to  his  own  dear  land. 
Full  of  those  dreams  of  good  that,  vainly  grand. 
Haunt  the  young  heart, — proud  views  of  human 

kmd. 
Of  men  to  Gods  exalted  and  refined, — 
False  views,  like  that  horizon's  fair  deceit, 
Where  earth  and  heav'n  but  srcm,  alas,  to  meet ! — 
Soon  as  he  heard  an  Arm  Divine  was  raised 
To  riglit  the  nations,  and  beheld,  emblazed 
On  the  white  flag,  IMokanxa's  host  nnfurl'd. 
Those  words  of  sunshine,  "  Freedom  to  the  World," 
At  once  his  faith,  his  sword,  his  soul  obey'd 
Th'  inspiring  summons  ;  every  chosen  blade 
That  fought  beneath  that  banner's  sacred  text 
Seem'd  doubly  edged,  for  this  world  and  the  next ; 
And  ne'er  did  Faitli  with  her  smooth  bandage  bind 
Eyes  more  devoutly  willing  to  bo  blind. 
In  virtue's  cause ; — never  was  soul  inspired 
With  livelier  trust  in  what  it  most  desired, 
Than  his,  th'  enthusiast  there,  who  kneeling,  pale 
With  pious  awe,  before  that  Silver  Veil, 
Believes  the  form,  to  which  he  bends  his  knee. 
Some  pure,  redeeming  angel,  sent  to  free 
This  fetter'd  world  from  every  bond  and  stam, 
And  bring  its  primal  glories  back  again  I 

and  given  to  the  flower  on  account  of  its  resembling  a  nir- 
ban." — Beckmann's  Flistorj'  of  Inventions. 

^  '•  The  inhabitants  of  Bucharia  wear  a  round  clotli  bonnet, 
shaped  much  after  the  Polish  fashion,  having  a  large  fur 
liorder.  They  tie  their  liaftans  about  the  mid<llc  with  a  gir- 
dle of  a  kind  of  silk  crape,  several  times  round  the  body." 
—.Account  of  Independent  Tartary,  in  Pinkerloii's  Colleetim. 

'  In  the  war  of  the  Caliph  Mahadi  against  the  Empress 
Irene,  for  an  account  of  which  vide  Gibbon^  vol.  x. 


378 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Low  as  young  Azni  knelt,  that  motley  crowd 
Of  all  earth's  nations  sunk  tlie  knee  and  bow'd, 
With  shouts  of"  Alla  !"  eclioing  long  and  loud  ; 
W  liile  higli  in  air,  above  the  Proijliet's  head, 
Ilnndreds  of  banners,  to  the  sunbeam  spread, 
Waviil,  like  the  wings  of  tlio  white  birds  that  fan 
The  Hying  throne  of  star-taught  Soli.man.' 
Then  thus  he  spoke : — "  Stranger,  tliough  new  the 

frame 
"  Thy  soul  inhabits  now,  I've  track'd  its  flame 
"  For  many  an  age,^  in  ev'ry  chance  and  change 
"  Of  tliat  existence,  through  whoso  varied  range, — 
"  As  throngli  a  torch-race,  where,   from  baud  to 

hand 
"  The  flying  youths  transmit  their  shining  brand, 
"  From  frame  to  frame  the  unextinguished  soul 
"  Rapidly  passes,  till  it  reach  the  goal ! 

"  Nor  think  'tis  ouly  the  gross  Spirits,  warm"d 
"  With  duskier  fire  and  for  earth's  medium  form'd, 
"  Tliat  run  thiscoui-se: — Beings,  the  most  divine, 
"  Tims  deign  through  dark  mortality  to  shine. 
"Sucli  was  the  Essence  that  in  Adam  dwelt, 
"To- which   all   Heav'u,    except  the  Proud  One, 

knelt:' 
"  Such  the  refined  Intelligence  that  glow'd 
"  In    Moussa's'    frame, — and,    thence    descending, 

flow'd 
"  Through   many   a   Prophet's   breast ; '' — in   Issa° 

slione, 
"  And  in  Mohammed  burn'd  ;  till,  hast'ning  on, 
"  (As  a  bright  river  that,  from  fall  to  fall 
"  In  many  a  maze  descending,  bright  through  all, 
"  Finds  some  fair  region  where,  each  labyrinth  pass'd, 
"  In  one  full  lake  of  light  it  rests  at  last,) 
"  That  Holy  Spirit,  settling  calm  and  free 
"  From  lapse  or  shadow,  centres  all  in  me  1" 

Agani,  throughout  th' assembly  at  these  words, 
Thousands  of  voices  rung :  tlie  warriors'  swords 
Were  pointed  up  to  heaven ;  a  sudden  wind 
In  th'  open  banners  play'd,  and  from  behind 


1  Tills  wonilcrful  Throne  was  called  The  Star  of  the  Genii. 
For  a  full  (Icscrliuion  nf  it,  see  the  Fragment,  tr.inshited  by 
Capliln  Franklin,  from  a  Persian  MS.  entitled  "  The  History 
of  Jerusalem."  Oriental  CoUutions,  vol.  i.  p.  2.35.— When 
Soliniiin  travelled,  the  eiislern  writers  say,  "  He  had  a  car- 
pet of  Kreen  silk  on  which  his  throne  was  placed,  being  of 
a  prndigiuui  length  and  breadth,  and  safilcient  for  all  his 
forces  to  stanil  upon,  the  men  placing  themselves  on  his 
right  hand,  and  the  spirits  on  his  left;  and  that  when  all 
were  in  order,  the  wind,  at  his  command,  took  up  the  car- 
|)ct  and  transported  It,  with  all  that  were  upon  it,  wherever 
he  pleased  ;  the  army  of  birds  at  the  same  time  (lying  over 
their  heads,  and  forming  a  kind  of  canopy  to  shntlo  them 
from  the  sun."— S(iic*»  Koran,  vol.  ii.  p.  214,  note. 

^  Tlie  transmigration  of  souls  was  one  of  his  doctrines. — 
Vide  D'Herbelot. 


Those  Persian  hangings,  that  bnt  ill  could  screen 
The  Ilaram's  loveliness,  white  hands  were  seen 
W'aving  embroider'd  scarves,  whose  motion  gave 
A  perfume  forth — like  those  the  Houris  wavo 
When     beck'iiing     to    their    bow'rs    th'  immortal 
Brave. 

"  But   these,"   pursued   the   Chief,   "  are   truths 
sublime, 
"  That  claim  a  holier  mood  and  calmer  time 
"  Tlian  earth  allows  us  now ; — this  sword  must  first 
"  The  darkling  prison-house  of  Mankind  burst, 
"  Ero  Peace  can  visit  them,  or  Truth  let  in 
"  Her  wakening  daylight  on  a  world  of  sin. 
"  But  then, — celestial  warriors,  then,  when  all 
"  Eartli's shrines  and  thrones  before  our  banner  fall; 
"  When  the  glad  Slave  shall  at  these  feet  lay  down 
"  His  broken  chain,  tlie  tyrant  Lord  his  crown, 
"  The  Priest  his  book,  the  Conqueror  his  wreath, 
"  And  from  the  lips  of  Truth  one  mighty  breath 
"  Shall,  like  a  whirlwind,  scatter  in  its  breeze 
"  That  whole  dark  pile  of  human  mockeries  ; — 
"  Then  shall  the  reign  of  mind  commence  on  earth, 
"  And  starting  fresh  as  from  a  second  birth, 
"  Man,  in  the  sunshine  of  the  world's  new  spiing, 
"  Shall  walk  transparent,  like  some  holy  thing! 
"  Then,  too,  your  Prophet  from  his  angel  brow 
"  Shall  cast  the  Veil  that  hides  its  splendors  now, 
"  And  gladdcn'd  Earth  shall,  through  her  wide  ex- 
panse, 
"  Bask  in  the  glories  of  this  countenance ! 

"  For  thee,  young  warrior,  welcome  1 — thou  hast 

yet 
"  Some  tasks  to  leani,  some  frailties  to  forget, 
"  Ere    the   white    \var-plume    o'er   thy   brow    can 

wave  ; — 
"  But,  once  my  own,  mine  ail  till  in  the  grave !" 

Tlie  pomp  is  at  an  end — the  crowds  are  gone — 
Each  ear  and  heart  still  haunted  by  the  tone 
Of  that  deep  voice,  which  thrill'd  like  Alla's  own  I 


3  "  And  when  we  said  unto  the  angels,  Worship  Adam, 
they  ail  worshipped  him,  except  Eblis,  (Lucifer,)  who  re- 
fused."— The  Koran,  chap.  ii. 

*  Moses. 

^  This  is  according  to  D'Herbelot's  account  of  the  doc- 
trines of  Mokanna; — "Sa  doctrine  6loit,  que  Dieu  avoit 
pris  une  forme  et  figure  humaine,  ilopuis  qu'il  cut  com- 
mand)^ aux  Anges  d'adorer  Adam,  le  prcuiicr  dcs  honimes. 
Q,u'aprcs  la  niort  d'Adani,  Dieu  6toit  npparu  sous  la 
figure  de  plusicurs  Propheles,  et  autres  grantls  homines  qu'il 
avoitchoisis.jusqu'acequ'ilpritcelled'Abu  Mnslcm,  Prince 
de  Khorassan,  lequel  professoit  I'erreur  dela  Tenassukhiah 
ou  M6tenipsychose ;  et  qu'apres  la  mort  de  ce  Prince,  la 
Divinite  eioit  passte,  et  descendue  en  sa  personnc." 

"  Jesus. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


379 


The  Young  ail  dazzled  by  tlio  plumes  and  lances, 
The    glitt'ring    throne,    and    Huram's    half-caught 

fflances ; 
The  Old  deep  pond'ring  on  the  promised  reigu 
Of  peace  and  truth :  and  all  the  female  train 
Ready  to  risk  tlieir  eyes,  could  they  but  gaze 
A  moment  on  that  brow's  miraculous  blaze  ! 

But  there  was  one,  among  the  chosen  maids, 
Who  blusii'd  behind  the  gallery's  silken  shades, 
One,  to  whose  soul  the  pageant  of  to-day 
Has  been  like  death : — you  saw  her  pale  dismay. 
Ye  woud'ring  sisterliood,  and  heard  the  burst 
Of  exclamation  from  her  hps,  wlien  first 
She  saw  that  youth,  too  well,  too  dearly  known, 
Silently  kneeling  at  the  Prophet's  throne. 

Ah  Zelica  !  there  was  a  time,  when  bliss 
Shone  o'er  thy  heart  from  ev'ry  look  of  his  ; 
When  but  to  see  him,  iiear  him,  breathe  tlie  air 
In  which  he  dwelt,  was  tliy  soul's  fondest  prayer  ; 
Wlien  round  him  hung  sucli  a  perpetual  spell, 
VVhate'er  he  did,  none  ever  did  so  well. 
Too  happy  days  !  when,  if  he  touch'd  a  fiow'r 
Or  gem  of  thine,  'twas  sacred  from  that  hour  ; 
When  thou  didst  study  him  till  every  tone 
And  gesture  and  dear  look  became  thy  own,— . 
Thy  voice  like  his,  the  changes  of  his  face 
In  thine  reflected  with  still  lovelier  grace, 
Like  echo,  sending  back  sweet  music,  fraught 
With  twice  th'  aerial  sweetness  it  had  brought  I 
Yet  now  he  comes, — brighter  than  even  he 
E'er  beam'd  before, — but,  ah  !  not  bright  for  thee  ; 
No — dread,  unlook'd  for,  like  a  visitant 
From  th'  other  world,  ho  comes  as  if  to  haunt 
Thy  guilty  soul  with  dreams  of  lost  delight, 
Long  lost  to  all  but  mem'ry's  aching  sight : — 
Sad  dreams  I  as  when  the  Spirit  of  our  Youth 
Retiu-ns  in  sleep,  sparkling  with  all  the  truth 
And  innocence  once  ours,  and  leads  us  back, 
In  mouniful  mockery,  o'er  the  shining  track 
Of  our  young  life,  and  points  out  every  ray 
Of  hope  and  peace  ^ye've  lost  upon  the  way ! 

Once  happy  pair  I — In  proud  Bokhara^s  groves, 

Who  had  not  heard  of  their  first  youthful  loves? 
Born  by  that  ancient  flood,'  wliich  from  its  spring 
In  the  dark  Mountains  swiftly  wandering, 
Enricli'd  by  ev'r>'  pilgrim  brook  that  shines 
With  relics  from  Buchahia's  ruby  mines, 
And,  lending  to  the  Caspian  half  its  strength, 
In  the  cold  Lake  of  Eagles  sinks  at  length  ;— 


1  The  Amoo,  which  rises  in  the  Beliir  Tag,  or  Dark 
Mountains,  and  running  nearly  from  east  to  west,  splits  into 


There,  on  the  banks  of  tliat  bright  river  born. 
The  flow'rs  that  Inuig  above  its  wave  at  morn, 
Bless'd  not  the  waters,  as  they  murmur'd  by, 
With  holier  scent  and  lustre,  than  the  sigh 
And  virgin-glance  of  first  affection  cast 
Upon  tiieir  youth's  smooth  current,  as  it  pass'd  ! 
But  war  disturb'd  this  vision, — far  away 
From  her  fond  eyes  summon'd  to  join  th'  array 
Of  Persia's  warriors  on  the  hills  of  Turace, 
The  youth  exchanged  his  sylvan  dwelling-place 
For  the  rude  tout  and  war-field's  dreadful  clash  ; 
His  Zelica's  sweet  glances  for  the  flash 
Of  Grecian  wild-fire,  and  Love's  gentle  chains 
For  bleeding  bondage  on  Byzantium's  plains. 

Month  after  month,  in  widowhood  of  soul 
Drooping,  the  maiden  saw  two  summei's  roll 
Their  suns  away — but,  ah,  how  cold  and  dim 
Ev'n  summer  suns,  when  not  beheld  with  him ! 
From  time  to  time  ill-omen'd  rumore  came. 
Like  spirit-tongues,  mutt'ring  the  sick  man's  name. 
Just  ere  he  dies : — at  lengtli  those  sounds  of  dread 
Fell  with'ring  on  her  soul,  "  AziM  is  dead  I'' 
Oh  Grief,  beyond  all  other  griefs,  when  fate 
First  leaves  the  young  heart  lone  and  desolate 
In  the  wide  world,  without  that  only  tie 
For  whicii  it  loved  to  live  or  fear'd  to  die  : — 
Lorn  as  the  hung-up  lute,  that  ne'er  hath  spokeu 
Since  the  sad  day  its  master-chord  was  broken .' 

Fond  maid,  the  sorrow  of  lier  soul  was  such, 
Ev'n  reason  sunk, — blighted  beneath  its  touch  ; 
And  though,  ere  long,  her  sanguine  spirit  rose 
Above  the  first  dead  pressure  of  its  woes. 
Though   health    and   bloom   return'd,  the    delicate 

chain 
Of  thought,  once  tangled,  never  clear'd  again. 
Warm,  lively,  soft  as  in  youth's  happiest  day, 
The  mind  was  still  all  there,  but  turn'd  astray  ; — 
A  wand'ring  bark,  upon  whose  pathway  shone 
All  stars  of  heaven,  except  the  guiding  one  ! 
Again  she  smiled,  nay,  much  and  brightly  smiled, 
But  'twas  a  lustre,  slrange,  unreal,  wild  ; 
And  when  slie  sung  to  her  lute's  touching  strain, 
'Twas  like  the  notes,  half  ecstasy,  half  pain, 
The  bulbui^  utters,  ere  her  soul  depart, 
When,  vanquish'd  by  some  minstrel's  pow'rful  art. 
She  dies  upon  the  lute  whoso  sweetness  broke  her 

licait ! 

Such  was  the  mood  in  whicli  that  mission  found 
Young  Zelica, — that  mission,  which  around 


two  branches  ;  one  of  which  falls  into  the  Caspian  sea,  and 
the  (HhtT  into  Aral  N;iiir,  or  the  Lake  of  Eiigles. 
3  The  nightingale. 


380 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Tlic  Eastern  worM,  in  every  region  bless'd 

With  woman's  eniilo,  soujlit  out  its  loveliest, 

To  gia.-e  lliat  galaxy  of  lips  and  eyes 

Which  the  Vcil'd  Prophet  destined  for  the  skies : — 

And  Bucli  quick  welcome  as  a  spark  receives 

Drojip'd  on  a  bed  of  Autumn's  wither'd  leaves, 

Did  every  talo  of  these  enthusiasts  find 

In  the  wild  maiden's  sorrow-bliglited  inind. 

All  fire  at  once  the  raadd'ning  zeal  she  cau<jht ; — 

Elect  of  Paradise  !  blest,  rapturous  thought ! 

Predestined  bride,  in  heaven's  eternal  dome, 

Of  some  brave  youth — ha  !    durst   they  say  "  of 

some  ?" 
No — of  the  one,  one  only  object  traced 
In  her  heart's  core  too  deep  to  be  efTaced  ; 
The  one  whose  mem'iy,  fresh  as  life,  is  twined 
With  every  broken  link  of  her  lost  mind  ; 
Whose     image     lives,    though    Reason's    self    be 

wreck'd, 
Safe  'mid  the  ruins  of  her  intellect .' 

Alas,  poor  Zelica  !  it  needed  all 
The  fantasy,  which  held  thy  mind  in  thrall. 
To  see  in  that  gay  Haram's  glowing  maids 
A  shaded  colony  for  Eden's  shades  ; 
Or  dream  that  he, — of  whose  rmholy  flame 
Thou  wert  too  soon  the  victim, — shining  camo 
From  Paradise,  to  people  its  pure  sphere 
With  souls  like  thine,  which  he  hath  ruin'd  here  I 
No — had  not  reason's  light  totally  set. 
And  left  thee  dark,  thou  hadst  au  amulet 
In  the  loved  image,  graven  on  thy  heart, 
Which  would  have  saved  thee  from  the  tempter's  art, 
And  kept  alive,  in  all  its  bloom  of  breath. 
That  purity,  whose  fading  is  love's  death  ! — 
But  lost,  i  :'^amed, — a  restless  zeal  took  place 
Of  the  mild  virgin's  still  and  feminine  grace  ; 
First  of  the  Prophet's  favorites,  proudly  first 
In     zeal     and     charms, — too    well     th'    Impostor 

.  nursed 
Her  soul's  delirium,  in  whose  active  flame. 
Thus  lighting  up  a  ymmg,  luxuriant  frame. 
He  saw  more  potent  sorceries  to  hind 
To  his  dark  yoke  the  K])irits  of  mankind. 
More  subtle  chains  than  hell  itself  e'er  twined. 
No  art  Wits  spared,  no  witch'ry  ;— all  the  skill 
His  demons  taught  him  was  cmploy'd  to  fill 
Her  mind  with  gloom  and  ecstasy  by  turns — 
That   gloom,  through   which    Phreusy  but   fiercer 

burns ; 
That  ecstasy,  which  from  the  depth  of  sadness 
Glares  like  the  maniac's  moon,  whose  light  is  mad- 
ness ! 

'Twas  from  a  brilliant  banquet,  where  the  sound 
Of  poesy  and  music  breathed  around, 


Togetlier  picturing  to  her  mind  and  ear 

Tlie  glories  of  that  hoav'n,  her  destined  sphere. 

Where  all  was  pure,  where  every  stain  that  lay 

Upon  the  spirit's  light  should  pass  away. 

And,  realizing  more  than  youthful  love 

E'er  wish'd  or  dream'd,  she  should  forever  rove 

Through  fields  of  fragrance  by  her  Azim's  side. 

His  own  bless'd,  purified,  eternal  bride  ! — 

'Twas  from  a  scene,  a  witching  trance  like  this, 

He  hurried  her  away,  yet  breathing  bliss, 

To     the     dim     charnel-house  ; — through      all     its 

steams 
Of  damp  and  death,  led  only  by  those  gleams 
Which  foul  Corruption  lights,  as  with  design 
To  show  the  gay  and  proud  she  too  can  shine — 
And,  passing  on  through  upright  ranks  of  Dead, 
Which  to  the  maiden,  doubly  crazed  by  dread, 
Seem'd,  through  the  bluish  death-light  rounu  'hem 

cast, 
To  move  their  lips  in  mutt'ri..gs  as  sne  pass'd — 
Thero,  in  that  awful  place,  when  eacli  had  quafF'd 
And  pledged  in  silence  such  a  fearful  draught. 
Such — oil !  the  look  and  taste  of  that  red  bowl 
Will  haunt  her  till  she  dies — ho  bound  her  soul 
By  a  dark  oath,  in  hell's  own  language  framed. 
Never,  wliile  earth  his  mystic  presence  claim'd. 
While  the  blue  arcli  of  day  bung  o'er  them  both. 
Never,  by  that  all-imprecating  oath. 
In  joy  or  sorrow  from  his  side  to  sever. — 
She  swore,  and  the  wide  chamel  echoed,  "  Never, 

never !" 

From  that  dread  hour,  entirely,  wildly  giv'n 
To  him  and — she  believed,  lost  maid  ! — to  heav'n  ; 
Her  brain,  her  heart,  her  passions  all  inflamed, 
How  proud  she  stood,  when  in  full  Ilaram  named 
The    Priestess    of    the    Faith ! — how    flash'd    her 

eyes 
With  light,  alas,  that  was  not  of  the  skies, 
When  round,  in  trances,  only  less  than  hers, 
She  saw  the  Haram  kneel,  her  prostrate  worship- 
pers. 
Well  might  MoKANNA  think  that  form  alono 
Had  spells  enough  to  make  the  world  his  own  : — 
Light,  lovely  limbs,  to  which  the  spirit's  play 
Gave  motion,  airy  as  the  dancing  spray. 
When  from  its  stem  the  small  bird  wings  away : 
Lips  in  whose  rosy  labyrinth,  when  she  smiled, 
The  soul  was  lost ;  and  blushes,  swift  and  wild 
As  are  the  momentaiy  meteors  sent 
Across  tir  uncalm,  but  beauteous  firmament. 
And    then    her    look — oh !    where's    the    heart    so 

wise 
Could  unbewilder'd  meet  those  matchless  eyes  ? 
Quick,  restless,  strange,  but  exquisite  withal. 
Like  those  of  angels,  just  before  theu:  fall ; 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


381 


Now  shadow'd  with  the  shames  of  earth  —  now 

cross'd 
By  glimpses  of  the  Hcav'n  her  heart  had  lost ; 
In  ev'ry  glance  there  broke,  without  control, 
The  flashes  of  a  bright,  but  troubled  soul. 
Where  sensibility  still  wildly  play'd, 
Like  lightning,  round  the  ruins  it  had  made  I 

And  sucn  was  now  young  Zelica — so  changed 
From  her  who,  some  years  since,  delighted  ranged 
The  almond  groves  that  shade  Bokhara's  tide, 
All  life  and  bliss,  with  AziM  by  her  side  ! 
So  alterd  was  she  now,  this  festal  day, 
Wlien,  'mid  the  proud  Divan's  dazzling  array, 
The  vision  of  that  Youth  whom  she  had  loved. 
Had  wept  as  dead,  before  her  breathed  and  moved  ; — 
When — bright,  she  thought,  as  if  from  Eden's  track 
But  half-way  trodden,  he  bad  wander'd  back 
.-.gain  to  earth,  glist'ning  with  Eden's  light — 
Her  beauteous  AziM  shone  before  her  sight. 

O  Reason  !  who  shall  say  what  spells  renew, 
When  least  we  look  for  it,  thy  broken  clew  I 
Through  what  small  vistas  o'er  the  darken'd  brain 
Thy  intellectual  day-beam  bursts  again ; 
And  how,  like  forts,  to  which  beleaguerers  win 
Unhoped-for  entrance  through  some  friend  within. 
One  clear  idea,  waken'd  in  the  breast 
By  memory's  magic,  lets  in  all  the  rest. 
Would  it  were  thus,  imhappy  girl,  with  thee  ! 
But  though  light  came,  it  came  but  partially ; 
Enough  to  show  the  maze,  in  which  thy  sense 
Wander'd  about, — but  not  to  guide  it  thence  ; 
Enough  to  glimmer  o'er  the  yawning  wave. 
But  not  to  point  the  harbor  which  might  save. 
Hours  of  delight  and  peace,  long  left  behind. 
With  that  dear  form  came  rushing  o'er  her  mind ; 
But,  oil  I  to  think  how  deep  her  soul  had  gone 
In  shame  and  falsehood  since  those  moments  shone  ; 
And,  then,  her  oath — there  madness  lay  again, 
And,  shudd'ring,  back  she  sunk  into  her  chaui 
Of  mental  darkness,  as  if  blest  to  flee 
From  light,  whose  every  glimpse  was  agony  I 
Yet,  one  relief  this  glance  of  former  years 
Brought,   mingled  with   its   pain, — tears,  floods  of 

tears. 
Long  frozen  at  her  heart,  but  now  like  rills 
Let  loose  in  spring-time  from  the  snowy  hills. 
And  gushing  warm,  after  a  sleep  of  frost. 
Through  valleys  where  their  flow  had  long  been 

lost. 

Sad  and  subdued,  for  the  first  time  her  frame 
Trembled  with  horror,  when  the  summons  came 
(A  summons  proud  and  rare,  which  all  but  she. 
And  she,  till  now,  had  heard  with  ecstasy,) 


To  meet  Mokanna  at  his  place  of  prayer, 
A  garden  orator)',  cool  and  fair. 
By  the  stream's  side,  where  still  at  close  of  day 
The  Prophet  of  the  Veil  retired  to  pray  ; 
Sometimes  alone — but,  oft'uer  far,  with  one, 
One  chosen  nymph  to  share  his  orison. 

Of  late  none  found  such  favor  in  his  sight 
As   the   young  Priestess ;    and  thongli,  since   that 

night 
When  the  i«ath-cavenis  echo'd  every  tone 
Of  the  dire  oath  that  made  her  all  his  own, 
Th'  Impostor,  sure  of  his  infatuate  prize. 
Had,  more  than  once,  thrown  olfliis  soul's  disguise, 
And  utter'd  such  unheav'nly,  monstrous  things. 
As  ev'u  across  the  desp'rate  wanderings 
Of  a  weak  intellect,  whose  lamp  was  out, 
Threw  startling  shadows  of  dismay  and  doubt ; — 
Yet  zeal,  ambition,  her  tremendous  vow. 
The   thought,   still   haunting   her,   of    that    brigi^\ 

brow, 
Wliose  blaze,  as  yet  from  mortal  eye  conceal'd. 
Would  soon,  proud  triumph  !  be  to  lier  reveal'd. 
To  her  alone  ; — and  then  the  hope,  most  dear. 
Most  wild  of  all,  that  her  transgression  here 
Was  but  a  passage  tlirough  earth's  grosser  fire. 
From  which  the  spirit  would  at  last  aspire, 
Ev'n  purer  than  before, — as  perfimaes  rise 
Through  flame   and  smoke,  most  welcome   to  the 

skies — ■ 
And  that  when  Azim's  fond,  divine  embrace 
Should  circle  her  in  heav'u,  no  dark'ning  trace 
Would  on  that  bosom  he  once  loved  remain, 
But  all  be  bright,  be  pme,  be  his  again  1 — 
These   were   the   wild'ring   dreams,  whose   cursed 

deceit 
Had  chain'd  her  soul  beneath  the  tempter's  feet. 
And  made  her  think  ev'n  damning  falsehood  sweet. 
But  now  that  Shape,  which  had  appall'd  her  view. 
That  Semblance — oh  how  terrible,  if  true  1 
Wliich  came  across  her  phrensy's  full  career 
With  shock  of  consciousness,  cold,  deep,  severe, 
As  when,  iu  northern  seas,  at  midnight  dark. 
An  isle  of  ice  eneoimters  some  swift  bark. 
And,  startling  all  its  wretches  from  their  sleep. 
By  one  cold  impulse  hurls  them  to  the  deep ; — 
So  came  that  shock  not  phrensy's  self  could  bear, 
And  waking  up  each  long-luU'd  image  there. 
But  chcck'd  her  headlong  soul,  to  sinli  it  in  despair  I 

Wan  and  dejected,  through  the  ev'ning  dusk. 
She  now  went  slowly  to  that  small  kiosk, 
Where,  pondering  alone  his  impious  schemes, 
Mokanna  waited  her — too  wrapt  in  dreams 
Of  the  fair-rip'ning  future's  rich  success. 
To  heed  the  sorrow,  pale  and  spiritless, 


382 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


TliJil  sat  upon  his  victim's  downcast  brow, 
Or  mark  how  slow  licr  step,  how  alter'd  now 
Krom  the  quick,  ardent  Priestess,  whoso  Wght  bound 
Came  like  a  spirit's  o'er  th'  unechoing  ground, — 
From  that  wild  Zelica,  whose  every  glance 
Was  thrilling  fire,  wliose  ev'ry  thought  a  trance  ! 

Upon  his  couch  the  Veil'd  Mokanna  lay, 
While  luniits  around — not  such  as  lend  their  ray, 
Glimm'ring  and  cold,  to  those  who  nightly  pray 
la  holy  KooM,'  or  Mecca's  dim  arcades,— 
Hut  brilliant,  soft,  such  lights  as  lovely  maids 
Look  loveliest  in,  shed  their  luxurious  glow 
Upon  his  mystic  Veil's  white  glitt'ring  How. 
Beside  him,  'stead  of  beads  and  books  of  pray'r, 
Which  tiie  world  fondly  thought  he  mused  on  there, 
Stood  Viu«es,  till'd  with  Kisumee's^  golden  wine, 
And  the  red  weepings  of  the  Shikaz  vine  ; 
O*"  whicli  his  curtain'd  lips  full  many  a  di'aught 
T'X)k  zealously,  as  if  each  drop  they  quaff'd. 
Like  Zemzicm's  Spring  of  Holiness,^  had  pow'r 
To  freshen  the  soul's  virtues  into  tiow'r ! 
And  still  lie  drank  and  ponder'd — nor  could  see 
Th'  approaching  maid,  so  deep  his  revery  ; 
At    length,  with    fiendish    laugh,    like    that  which 

broke 
From  Eblis  at  the  Fall  of  Man,  he  spoke  : — 
**  Yes,  yo  vile  race,  for  hell's  amusement  given, 
"  Too    mean    for    earth,    yet    claiming    kiu    with 

heav'n  ; 
"  God's  images,  forsooth  ! — such  gods  as  he 
"  Whom  Lndia  seiTes,  the  monkey  deity  ;* — 
*'  Yc  creatures  of  a  breath,  proud  things  of  clay, 
*'  To  whom  if  Lucifer,  as  grandams  say, 
"  Refused,  though  at  the  forfeit  of  heaven's  light, 
"  To  bend  in  worship,  Lucifer  was  right  !^ — 
'*  Soon  shall  I  plant  this  foot  upon  the  neck 
**  Of  your  foul  race,  and  without  fear  or  check, 
*•  Luxuriating  in  hate,  avenge  my  shame, 
"  My    deep-felt,    long-nursed    loathing    of    mau's 


I  The  cities  of  Com  (or  Koom)  and  Cashan  are  fall  of 
mosques,  tniiu-iolcums,  and  sepulchres  of  the  descendants  of 
All,  the  S;iints  of  Persia. — Chardin. 

3  An  island  in  the  Persian  Gulf,  celebrated  for  Us  white 
wine. 

3 The  miraculoas  well  at  Mecca;  so  called,  says  Sale, 
from  ihe  iiiurtiniring;  of  its  waters. 

*  The  (iiid  Ilnnnanian. — "  Apes  are  in  many  parts  of  India 
highly  veiicTaicd,  out  of  respect  lo  the  God  Ilannainan,  a 
deity  partaking  of  the  form  of  that  race." — Pcnnani's  Hin- 
dor>slan. 

See  a  curious  account,  in  Stephen's  Persia,  of  a  solemn 
embassy  from  some  piirt  of  the  Indies  to  Goa,  when  the 
Portuguese  wore  there,  offering;  vast  treasures  for  the  re- 
covery of  a  monkey's  tooth,  which  they  held  in  preat  vene- 
ruti'in.  ami  which  had  been  taken  away  upon  tiic  conquest 
of  the  kiii^iiloni  of  JafanapaUm. 

£•  This  lesolutiou  of  Eblis  not  to  acknowledge  the  new 


**  Soon  at  the  head  of  myriads,  blind  and  fierce 

"  As  hooded  falcons,  through  the  universe 

*'  I'll  sweep  my  dark'ning,  desolating  way, 

"  Weal;  man  my  instrument,  cursed  man  my  prey  ! 

"  Ye  wise,  ye  Jeam'd,  who  grope  your  dull  way  on 
"  By  the  dim  twinkling  gleams  of  ages  gone, 
"  Like  superstitious  thieves,  who  think  the  light 
"  From  dead  men's  marrow  guides  them  best   at 

night*"'— 
"  Ye  shall  have  honors — wealth — yes.  Sages,  yes — 
"  I  know,  grave  fools,  your  wisdom's  nothingness  ; 
"  Ui  ]dazzled  it  can  track  yon  starry  sphere, 
"  But  a  gilt  stick,  a  bauble  blinds  it  here. 
"  IIow  I  shall  laugh,  when  trumpeted  along, 
*'  In  lying  speech,  and  still  more  lying  son^, 
"  By  tliesc  Icarn'd  slaves,  the  meanest  of  theli.mig  ; 
"  Their  wits  bought    up,   their  wisdom  shrunk  so 

smalt, 
"  A  sceptre's  puny  point  can  wield  it  all ! 

"  Ye  too,  believers  of  incredible  creeds, 
"  Whose    faitli    enshrines    the    monsters   which   it 

breeds ; 
"  W^ho,  bolder  ev'n  than  Nemrod,  think  to  rise, 
*'  By  nonsense  heap'd  on  nonsense,  to  the  skies  ; 
"  Ye  shall  have  miracles,  ay,  sound  ones  too, 
"  Seen,  heard,  attested,  ev'ry  thing — but  true. 
"  Your  preaching  zealots,  too  inspired  to  seek 
"  One  grace  of  meaning  for  the  things  they  speak ; 
"  Your  martyrs,  ready  to  slied  out  their  blood, 
"  For  truths  too  heav'niy  to  bo  undei-stood ; 
"  And  your  State  Priests, 'sole  venders  of  the  lore, 
"  That  works  salvation  ; — as,  on  Ava's  shore, 
"  Wiiere  none  but  priests  are  privileged  to  trade 
"  In  that  best  marble  of  which  Gods  are  made  f 
"  They  shall  have  mysteries — ay,  precious  stuff, 
"  For  knaves  to  thrive  by — niystcries  enough  ; 
"  Dark,  tangled  doctrines,  dark  as  fraud  can  weave, 
"  Whicli  simple  votaries  shall  on  trust  receive, 
"  While  craftier  feign  belief,  till  they  believe. 

creature,  man,  was,  according  to  Mahometan  tradition,  thus 
adopted: — "The  earth  (which  God  had  selected  for  the  ma- 
terials of  his  work)  was  carried  into  Arabia  to  a  j)lace  be- 
tween Mecca  and  Tayef,  where,  being  first  kneaded  by  the 
angels,  it  was  afterwards  fashioned  by  God  himself  into  a 
human  form,  and  left  to  drj'  for  the  space  of  forty  days,  or,  as 
others  say,  as  many  years ;  the  angels,  in  the  mean  time, 
often  visiting  it,  and  Eblis  (then  one  of  the  anyels  nearest  to 
God's  presence,  afterwards  the  devil)  among  the  rest ;  l)ut 
he,  not  content  with  looking  at  it,  kicked  it  with  his  foot 
till  it  rune,  and  knowing  God  designed  that  creature  to  be 
his  superior,  took  a  secret  resolution  never  to  acknowledge 
him  as  such." — Sa/c  on  Ihe  Koran. 

«A  kind  of  lantern  formerly  u-cl  hy  robbers,  called  the 
Head  of  Glory,  Ihe  candle  for  which  was  made  of  the  fat  of 
a  dead  malefactor.  This,  however,  was  ratlicr  a  westerc 
than  an  eastern  su[>erstitioti. 

'  The  material  of  which  images  of  Gaudma  (the  Dirman 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


383 


"  A  Hcav  n  too  ye  must  have,  ye  lords  of  dust, — 

"  A  splendid  Paradise, — pure  souls,  ye  must ; 

"  Tliut  Prophet  ill  sustains  his  holy  call, 

"  Who  finds  not  heav'ns  to  suit  the  tastes  of  all ; 

"  Houris  for  boys,  omuiscience  for  sages, 

"  And  win^  and  glories  for  all  ranks  and  ages. 

"  Vain  tilings  I — as  lust  or  vanity  mspires, 

*  ■  Tlie  heav'u  of  each  is  but  what  each  desires, 
"  And,  soul  or  sense,  whate'er  the  object  be, 

"  Man  would  be  man  to  all  eternity ! 

"  So  let  him — Eblis  I — grant  this  crowning  curse, 

"  But  keep  him  what  he  is,  no  Hell  were  worse." 

"  Oh   my  lost  soul '.''  exclaira'd   the   shudd'riug 

maid. 
Whose  ears  had  drunk  like  poison  all  he  said ; — 
MoKANNA  started — not  abash'd,  afraid, — 
He  knew  no  more  of  fear  than  one  who  dwells 
Beneath  the  tropics  kuows  of  icicles ! 
But,  in  those  dismal  words  that  reach'd  his  ear, 
"  Oh  my  lost  soul !"  there  was  a  sound  so  drear, 
So  like  tliat  voice,  among  the  sinful  dead. 
In  which  the  legend  o'er  Hell's  Gate  is  read. 
That,  new  as  'twas  from  her,  whom  naught  could 

dim 
Or  sink  till  now,  it  startled  even  him. 

"  Ha,    my    fair    Priestess !" — thus,    with    ready 

wile,  • 

Th'    Impostor  tum'd  to  greet  her — "  thou,  whose 

smile 
"  Hath  inspiration  in  its  rosy  beam 
"  Beyond     th'    Enthusiast's     hope     or     Prophet's 

dream ; 
"  Light  of  the  Faith  !  who  twin'st  religion's  zeal 
"  So  close  with  love's,  men  know  not  which  they 

feel, 
"  Nor  which  to  sigh  for,  in  their  trance  of  heart, 
"  Tlie  heav'u  thou  preachest   or  the  heav'n  thou 

art! 
"  Wliat  should  I  be  without  thee?  without  thee 
*'  How  dull  were  power,  how  joyless  victory  ! 
"  Tliongli  borne  by  angels,  if  tliat  smile  of  thine 
"  Bless'd  not  my  banner,  'twere  but  half  divine. 
*'  Cut — why  so  mournful,  child  ?    those  eyes,  that 

shone 

*  AJl  life  last  night — what  I — is  their  glory  gone  ? 

'    Come,  come — this  morn's  fatigue  hath  made  them 

pale, 
■  They   want  rekindling— suns    themselves  would 

fail 
'  Did  not  their  comets  bring,  as  I  to  thee, 
'  From  light's  own  fount  supplies  of  brilhancy. 


Deity)  are  made,  is  held  sacred.    "  Birmans  may  not  pur- 
chase the  marble  in  mass,  but  are  safiered,  and  indeed  en- 


'  Thou  seest  this  cup — no  juice  of  earth  is  here, 
'  But  the  pure  waters  of  that  upper  sphere, 
'  Whoso  rills  o'er  ruby  beds  and  topaz  flow, 
'  Catching  the  gem's  bright  color,  as  they  go. 
'  Nightly  my  Genii  come  and  iiU  these  urns — 
'  Nay,  drink — in  ev'ry  drop  life's  essence  burns ; 
'  'Twill  make  that  soul  all  fue,  those  eyes  all  liglit — 
'  Come,  come,  I  want  thy  loveliest  smiles  to-night: 
'  Tliere  is  a  youth — why  start? — thou  saw'st   him 
then ; 

*  Look'd  he  not  nobly  ?  such  the  godlike  men 

'  Thou'lt  have  to  woo  thee  in  the  bow'rs  above  ; — 

'  Though  he,  I  fear,  hath  thouglits  too  stern  for  love, 

'  Too  riUed  by  that  cold  enemy  of  bliss 

'  The  world  calls  virtue — we  must  conquer  this  ; 

'  Nay,  shriult  not,  pretty  sage  !  'tis  not  for  thee 

'  To  scan  tlie  mazes  of  Heav'n's  mystery ; 

'  The  steel  must  pass  through  fire,  ere  it  can  yield 

'  Fit  instruments  for  mighty  hands  to  wield. 

'  This  very  night  I  mean  to  try  the  art 

'  Of  powerful  beauty  on  that  warrior's  heart. 

*  AH  that  my  Haram  boasts  of  bloom  and  wit, 
'  Of  skill  and  charms,  most  rare  and  e.\quisite, 

*  Shall    tempt   the    boy ;— young    Mirzala's   blue 

eyes, 
'  Whoso  sleepy  lid  like  snow  on  violets  lies  ; 
'  Arouya's  cheeks,  warm  as  a  spring-day  sun, 
'  And  lips  that,  lilie  the  seal  of  Solomon, 

*  Have  magic  in  their  pressure  ;  Zeba's  kite, 

'  And  LiLJ..\'s  dancing  feet,  that  gleam  and  shoot 
'  Rapid  and  white  as  sea-birds  o'er  the  deep — 
'  All  shall  combine  their  witching  powei-s  to  steep 
'  My  convert's  spirit  in  that  soft'ning  trance, 

*  From  which  to  heav'n  is  but  the  next  advance ; — 
'  That  glowing,  yielding  fusion  of  the  breast, 

'  On  which  Religion  stamps  her  image  best. 

'  But  hear  me,  Priestess  I — though  each  nymph  of 

these 
'  Hath  some  peculiar,  practised  pow'r  to  please, 
'  Some  glance  or  step  which,  at  the  mirror  tried, 
'  First  charms  herself,  then  all  the  world  beside ; 
'  There  still  wants  07ze,  to  make  the  vict'ry  sure, 
'  One  who  in  every  look  joins  every  lure  ; 
'  Through  whom    all   beauty's  beams    concentred 

pass, 
'  Dazzling  and   warm,  as  through    love's   burning 

glass ; 
'  Whose  gentle  lips  persuade  without  a  word, 
'  Whose  words,  ev'n  when  immeaniug,  are  adored, 
'  Like  inarticulate  breathings  from  a  shrine, 
■'  Which  our  faith  talies  for  granted  are  divine  I 
'  Such  is  the  nymph  we  want,  all  warmth  and  light, 
'  To  crown  the  rich  temptations  of  to-night ; 


couraged,  to  boy  figures  of  the  Deity  ready  made." — Syme*e 
Ava,  vol.  ii.  p.  376. 


384 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


'•  Siicli  (he  refined  enchantress  that  must  be 
"  Tliis  hero's  vanquisher, — and  thou  art  slie  !" 

With  lier  hands  clasp'd,  her  lips  apart  and  pale, 
The  maid  had  stood,  gazing  upon  tlio  Veil 
From  which  these  words,  like  south  winds  tliiough 

a  fence 
Of  Kerzrah  flow'rs,  came  fdl'd  with  pestilence  ;' 
So  boldly  ulter'd  too  !  as  if  all  droad 
Of  frowus  from  her,  of  virtuous  frowns,  were  fled, 
And  the  wretch  felt  assured  that,  once  plunged  in, 
Her  woman's  soul  would  know  no  pause  in  sin  I 

At  fii-st,  though  mute  she  listen'd,  like  a  dream 
Seem'd   all  he  said:  nor   could   her   mi:;d,  whose 

beam 
As  yet  was  weak,  penetrate  half  his  scheme. 
But  when,  at  leugth,  he  ufter'd,  "  Thou  art  she  !" 
All  flasli'd  at  once,  and  shrieking  pitcously, 
"  '""h  not  for  worlds  1"  she  cried — "  Great  God !  to 

whom 
'*  I  once  knelt  innocent,  is  this  my  doom  ? 
•'  Are  all  my  dreams,  my  hopes  of  heav'nly  bliss, 
"  My  purity,  my  pride,  then  come  to  this, — 
"  To  live,  tlie  wanton  of  a  fiend !  to  be 
"  Tlie  pander  of  his  guilt — oh  infamy  ! 
"  And  sunk,  myself,  as  low  as  hell  can  steep 
"  In  its  hot  flood,  drag  others  down  as  deep  1 
"  Others — ha  !    yes — that    youth    who    came     to- 
day— 
"  Not  him  I  loved — not  him — oh  1  do  but  say, 
"  15ut  swear  to  me  tiiis  moment  'tis  not  he, 
"  And  I  will  serve,  dark  fiend,  will  worship  even 
thee !" 

"  Beware,   young    ravmg   thing ; — in    time   be- 
ware, 
"  Nor  utter  what  I  cannot,  must  not  bear, 
"  Ev'n  from  Iliy  lips.     Go — try  tliy  lute,  thy  voice, 
"  The  boy  must  feel  their  magic ; — I  rejoice 
"  To  see  those  fires,  no  matter  whence  they  rise, 
"Once  more  illuming  my  fair  Priestess'  eyes; 
"  And  should  the  youth,  whom  soon  those  eyes  shall 

warm, 
"  Indeed  resemble  thy  dead  lover's  form, 
'*  So  much  the  happier  wilt  thou  find  thy  doom, 
•*  As  one  warm  lover,  full  of  life  and  bloom, 
"  Excels  ten  thousand  cold  ones  in  the  tomb. 
"  Nay.  nay,  no  frowning,  sweet  I — those  eyes  were 

made 
"  For  love,  not  anger — I  must  be  obey'd." 

I  "  II  is  cominnnly  s.iiil  in  Persia,  thai  ifn  man  breathe  in 
the  hot  south  wind,  which  in  June  or  July  passes  over  that 
flower,  (the  Kerzert-h,)  it  will  kill  him." — T/ievcnot. 

*  The  )iuinti)ing-bir(]  is  said  to  run  tliis  risk  for  the  purpose 
of  pictting  the  crocodile's  teeth.    The  same  circumstance  is 


"  Obey'd  ! — 'tis  well — yes,  I  deserve  it  all — 
"  On  me,  on  me  Heav'n's  vengeance  cannot  fall 
"  Too  lieavUy — but  Aziji,  brave  and  true 
"  And  beautiful — must  he  he  ruin'd  too  ? 
"  Must  he  too,  glorious  as  he  is,  te  driven 
*'  A  renegade  lilte  me  from  Love  and  Heaven  ? 
"  Like  me? — weak  wretch,  I  wrong  him — not  like 

me  ; 
"  No — he's  all  truth  and  strength  and  purity  ! 
"  Fill  up  your  madd'uing  hell-cup  to  the  brim, 
"  Its  witch'r}',  fiends,  will  have  no  charm  for  him. 
"  Let    loose    your     glowing    wantons    from    their 

bow'rs, 
"  He  loves,  he  loves,  and  can  defy  their  powers ! 
"  Wretch  as  I  am,  in  his  heart  still  I  reign 
"  Pure  as  when  first  we  met,  without  a  stain  I 
"  Tliough  ruin'd — lost — my  mem'ry,  like  a  charm 
"  Left  by  the  dead,  still  keeps  his  soul  from  harm. 
"  Oh  I  never  let  him  know  how  deep  the  brow 
"  He  kiss'd  at  parting,  is  dishonor'd  now  ; — 
"  Ne'er  tell  him  how  debased,  how  sunk  is  she, 
"  Whom   once    he   loved — once  ! — still   ioves    do- 

tingly. 
"  Thou  langh'st,  tormentor — what ! — thou'It  brand 

my  name? 
"  Do,  do — in  vain — lic'Il  not  believe  my  shame — 
"  He  thinks  me  true,  that  naught  beneath  God's  sky 
"  Could     tenipt     or    chatige    me,    and — so     once 

thought  I.  • 

"  But  this  is  past — tliongh  worse  than   death  my 

lot, 
"  Than  hell — 'tis  nothing  while  he  knows  it  not. 
"  Far  off  to  some  benigiued  land  I'll  fly, 
"  Where  sunbeam  ne'er  shall  enter  till  I  die  ; 
"  Where  none  will  ask  the  lost  one  wlience  she 

came, 
"  But  I  may  fade  and  fall  without  a  name. 
*'  And   then — cursed  man  or  fiend,  whate'er  thou 

art, 
"  Who  found'st  tliis  bimiing  plague-spot  in  my  lieart, 
"  And  spread'st  it — oh,  so  quick  ! — through  soul  and 

frame, 
"  With  luore  tlian  demon's  art,  till  I  became 
"  A  loathsome  thing,  all  pestilence,  all  flame  I — 
"  If,  when  I'm  gone " 

"  Hold,  fearless  maniac,  hold, 
"  Nor   tempt   my   rage — by  Heaven,   not   half  so 

bold 
"  The  puny  bird,  that  dares  with  teasing  hum 
"  Within  the  crocodile's  stretch'd  jaws  to  come  ■j' 

related  of  the  lapwing,  as  a  fact  to  which  he  was  witness, 
by  PatU  Lucas,  Voyage  fait  en  17t4. 

The  ancient  story  concerning  the  Trochilus,  or  humming- 
bird, entering  with  impunity  Into  the  mouth  of  the  croco- 
dile, is  firmly  believed  at  Java. — Barrow^s  Cochin-China. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


385 


"  And  so  thou'lt  fly,  forsooth  ? — what  I — give  up  all 

"  Thy  chaste  domiuicn  in  the  Haram  Hall, 

"  Where  now  to  Love  and  now  to  Alla  given, 

"  Half  mistress  and  half  saint,  thou  hang'st  as  even 

"  As  (loth  Medina's  tomb,  'twixt  hell  and  heaven  ! 

"Thou'lt  fly? — as  easily  may  reptiles  run, 

"  The  gaunt  snake  once  hath  iix'd  his  eyes  upon  ; 

"  As  easily,  when  caught,  the  prey  may  bo 

"  Pluck'd  from  his  loving  folds,  as  thou  from  me. 

"  No,  no,  'tis  fix'd — let  good  or  ill  bctido, 

"Thou'rt    mine   till    death,    till    death    Mokanna's 

bride  ! 
"  Hast  thou  forgot  thy  oath  ?"— 

At  this  dread  word, 
The  Maid,  whose  spirit  his  nido  taunts  had  stirr'd 
Through  all  its  depths,  and  roused  an  anger  there, 
That   burst    and    lighten'd   even   through    her   de- 
spair— 
Shrunk  back,  as  if  a  blight  were  in  the  breath 
That  spoke  that  word,  and  stagger'd  pale  as  death. 

"  Yes,  my  sworn  bride,  let  others  seek  in  bow'rs 
"  Their  bridal  place^the  charnel-vault  was  ours  ! 
"  Instead  of  scents  and  balms,  for  thee  and  me 
'*  Rose  the  rich  steams  of  sweet  mortality  ; 
**  Gay,  flick'riug  death-lights  shone  while  we  were 

wed, 
*'  And,  for  our  guests,  a  row  of  goodly  Dead, 
"  (Immortal  spirits  in  their  tune,  no  doubt,) 
"  From  reeking  shrouds  upon  the  rite  look'd  out ! 
"That   oath   thou   heard'st  more   lips   than  thine 

repeat — 
"  That     cup — thou     shudd'rest.     Lady, — was     it 

sweet  ? 
"  That  cup  we  pledged,  the  charners  choicest  wine, 
"  Hath  bound  thee — ay — body  and  sou!  all  mine  ; 
"  Bound  thee  by  chains  that,  whether  bless'd  or  cursed 
'•  No  matter  now,  not  hell  itself  shall  burst ! 
"  Hence,  woman,  to  the  Haram,  and  look  gay, 
**  Look     wild,     look — any     thing     but     sad ;    yet 

stay— 
"  One  moment  more — from  what  this  night  hath 

pass'd, 
"  I  see  thou  know'st  me,  know'st  me  well  at  last. 
"  Ha  !  ha  !  and  so,  fond  thing,  thou  thought'st  all 

true, 
"  And  that  I  love  mankind  ? — I  do,  I  do — 

1  Cirrum  easdem  ripas  (Nili,  viz.)  ales  est  Ibis.  Ea  ser- 
penlinm  populatiir  ova.  gralissimamque  ex  his  cscam  nidis 
suis  refer!. — Solinus. 

a  *'  The  feast  of  Lanterns  is  celebrated  at  Yamtcheou  with 
more  magnificence  than  anywhere  else  :  and  the  report  goes, 
that  the  illuminations  there  are  so  splendid,  that  an  Empe- 
ror once,  not  daring  openly  to  leave  his  Court  to  go  thither, 
committed  liimself  with  the  Uueen  and  several  Princesses 
of  his  family  into  the  hands  of  a  magician,  who  promised 
to  transport  them  thither  in  a  trice.    He  made  them  in  the 


"  As  victims,  love  them ;  as  the  sea-dog  dotes 
"  Upon  the  small,  sweet  fry  that  round  him  floats ; 
"  Or,  as  the  Nile-bird  loves  the  slime  that  gives 
"  That    rank   and  venomous   food   on   which    ehe 
lives ." — 

"  And,  now  thou  seest  my  soul's  angelic  hue, 
"  'Tis  time  these /ea(urcs  were  uncurtaui'd  too  ; — 
"  This  brow,  whose  light — oh  rare  celestial  light ! 
"  Hath  been  reserved  to  bless  thy  favor'd  sight ; 
"  These    dazzling    eyes,    before    whose     shrouded 

might 
"  Thou'st   seen    immortal    Man    kneel    down   and 

quake — 
"  Would  that  they  were  heaven's  lightnings  for  his 

sake  ! 
"  But  turn  and  look — then  wonder,  if  thou  wilt, 
"  That  I  should  hate,  should  take  revenge,  by  guilt, 
"  Upon  the  hand,  whose  miscliief  or  whose  mirth 
"  Sent  me  thus  maim'd  and  monstrous  upon  earth  ; 
"  And  on  that  race  who,  though  more  vile  they  be 
"  Than  mowing  apes,  are  demi-gods  to  me  ! 
"  Here — judge  if  hell,  with  all  its  power  to  damn, 
"  Can  add  one  curse  to  the  foul  thing  I  am  !" — 

He    raised    his    veil — the    Maid    turn'd    slowly 
round, 
Look'd    at    him — shriek'd — and    sunk     upon     the 
groimd ! 


On  their  arrival,  next  night,  at  the  place  of  en- 
campment, they  were  surprised  and  delighted  to  find 
the  groves  all  around  illuminated  ;  some  artists  of 
Yamtcheou"  having  been  sent  on  previously  for  the 
purpose.  On  each  side  of  the  green  alley  which  led 
to  the  Royal  Pavilion,  artificial  sceneries  of  baraboo- 
work'  were  erected,  representing  arches,  minarets, 
and  towers,  from  which  hung  thousands  of  silken 
lanterns,  painted  by  the  most  delicate  pencils  of 
Canton. — Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  than  the 
leaves  of  'iie  mango-trees  and  acacias,  shining  in 
the  light  of  the  bamboo-scenery,  which  shed  a  lustiie 
round  as  soft  as  that  of  the  nights  of  Peristan. 


night  to  ascend  magnificent  thrones  that  were  borne  up  by 
swans,  which  in  a  moment  arrived  at  Yamtcheou.  The 
Emperor  saw  at  his  leisure  all  the  solemnity,  being  carried 
upon  a  cloud  that  hovered  over  the  city  and  descended  by 
degrees ;  and  came  back  again  with  the  same  speed  and 
equipage,  nobody  at  court  percei\ing  his  absence.'* — TAe 
Presevt  State  of  China,  p.  150 

3  See  a  description  of  the  nu^.ials  of  Vizier  .^lee  in  the 
Asiatic  Annual  Register  of  1804. 


386 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Lalla  Rookii,  however,  who  was  too  much  occu- 
pied by  tlie  sad  story  of  Zri.ica  and  her  lover,  to 
o-ivo  a  thoutrht  to  any  thing  else,  except,  perhaps, 
him  who  related  it,  hurried  on  through  this  scene  of 
Bpicndor  to  her  pavihon, — greatly  to  the  mortifica- 
tion of  the  poor  artists  of  Yamtcheou, — and  was 
followed  with  equal  rapidity  by  the  Great  Chamber- 
Iain,  cursing,  as  he  went,  that  ancient  Mandarin, 
whose  parental  anxiety  in  lighting  up  the  shores  of 
the  lake,  where  his  beloved  daughter  had  wandered 
and  been  lost,  was  the  origin  of  these  fantastic  Chi- 
nese illuminations.' 

Without  a  moment's  delay,  young  Feramorz  was 
introduced,  and  Fadladeen,  who  could  never  make 
up  his  mind  as  to  the  merits  of  a  poet  till  he  knew 
the  religious  sect  to  which  he  belonged,  was  about 
to  ask  him  whether  he  was  a  Slna  or  a  Sooni,  when 
Lalla  Rookii  impatiently  clapped  her  hands  for 
silence,  and  the  youth,  being  seated  upon  the 
musnud  near  her,  proceeded  : — 


Prepare    thy   eoul,    young    Azi»i  ! — thou   hast 
braved 
The   bands    of    Greece,  still    mighty  though    en- 
slaved ; 
Hast  faced  her  phalanx,  arm'd  with  all  its  fame, 
Her  Macedonian  pikes  and  globes  of  flame  ; 
All  this  hast  fronted,  with  firm  heart  and  brow  ; 
But  a  more  perilous  trial  waits  thee  now, — 
Woman's  bright  eyes,  a  dazzling  host  of  eyes 
From  everj^  land  ^^here  woman  smiles  or  sighs  ; 
Of  every  hue,  as  Love  may  chance  to  raise 
His  black  or  aznrc  banner  in  their  blaze  ; 
And  each  swett  mode  of  warfare,  from  the  flash 
That  ligiitens  boldly  througli  the  sliadowy  laeh,  • 

»  "Tlie  volRar  ascribe  it  lo  nn  acciileni  th:il  happened  in 
iho  family  oriifjinous  Mandarin,  whose  dtuiiihtcr,  walking 
ono  cveninn  upon  the  shore  of  ;i  lake,  fell  in  and  was 
drowned:  tlus  alHicted  fiillier,  with  his  fiiniily,  ran  thither, 
and,  ilir  ln-ltor  If)  find  licr,  he  cnused  a  great  company  of  lan- 
terns In  lie  lifihted.  All  the  inhabltantsuf  the  place  thronged 
alter  liim  with  torches.  The  year  ensuin-:  thoy  made  fires 
upon  the  shores  the  same  day  ;  thoy  continued  the  ceremo- 
ny every  year,  everyone  lighted  his  lantern, and  by  degrees 
it  commenced  into  u  custom." — Present  State  of  China. 

a  "Thou  hast  ravished  my  heart  with  one  of  thine  eyes." 
—Sol.  Son-r. 

3  "They  tinged  the  ends  of  her  fingers  scarlet  with  Flenna, 
8o  that  they  rescmlitcd  branches  of  coral." — Story  of  Prince 
Fttffun  in  lialiardanusk. 

*  "  The  women  blacken  the  inside  of  their  eyelids  with  a 
powder  named  the  black  Kohol." — Russcl. 


To  the  sly,  stealing  splendors,  almost  hid, 
Like   swords  half-sheath'd,  beneath  the  downcast 
Such,  AziM,  is  the  lovely,  luminous  host  [lid; — 

Now  led  against  thee  ;  and,  let  conqu'rors  boast 
Their  fields  of  fame,  he  who  in  virtue  arms 
A  young,  warm  spirit  against  beauty's  charms, 
Who  feels  her  brightness,  yet  defies  her  thrall. 
Is  the  best,  bravest  conqu'ror  of  them  all. 

Now,  through    the    Haram    chambers,    moving 

lights 
And  busy  shapes  proclaim  the  toilet's  rites  ; — 
From  room  to  room  the  ready  handmaids  hie, 
Some  skill'd  to  wreath  the  turban  tastefully, 
Or  hang  the  veil,  in  negligence  of  shade, 
O'er  the  warm  blushes  of  the  youthful  maid, 
Who,  if  between  the  folds  but  one  eye  shone, 
Like    Seba's    Queen    could    vanquish    with    that 

one  ■? — 
While  some  bring  leaves  of  Henna,  to  imbue 
The  fingers'  ends  with  a  bright  roseate  hue,' 
So  briglit,  that  in  the  mirror's  depth  they  seem 
Like  tips  of  coral  branches  in  the  stream : 
And  others  mix  the  Kohol's  jetty  dye. 
To  give  that  long,  dark  languislt  to  the  eye,'* 
Which  makes  the  maids,  whom  kings  are  proud  to 

cuU 
From  fair  Circassia's  vales,  so  beautiful. 
All  is  in  motion  ;  rings,  and  plumes,  and  pearls 
Are  shining  ev'rywhere  : — some  younger  girls 
Are  gone  by  moonlight  to  the  garden-beds, 
To  gather  fresh,  cool  chaplets  for  their  lieads  ; — 
Gay  creatures !  sweet,  though  mournful,  'tis  to  see 
How  each  prefers  a  garland  from  that  tree 
Which  brings  to  mind  her  cliildhood's  innocent  day 
And  the  dear  fields  and  friendships  far  away. 
The  maid  of  India,  bless'd  again  to  hold 
In  her  full  lap  the  Champac's  leaves  of  gold,^ 
Thinks  of  the  time  when,  by  the  Ganges'  flood, 
Her  little  playmates  scatter'd  many  a  bud 
Upon  her  long  black  hair,  with  glossy  gleam 
Just  dripj)ing  from  the  consecrated  stream  ; 

"  None  of  these  ladies,"  says  S?iaw,  "  take  themselves  to 
be  completely  dressed,  till  they  have  tinged  the  hair  and 
edges  of  their  eyelids  with  the  powder  of  lead-ore.  Now, 
as  this  operation  is  performed  by  dipping  first  into  the  pow- 
der a  small  wooden  bodkin  of  the  thickness  of  a  quill,  and 
then  drawing  it  afterwards  through  the  eyelids  over  the  ball 
of  the  eye,  we  shall  have  a  lively  image  of  wlial  the  Tro- 
phet  (Jer.  iv.  30)  may  be  supposed  to  mean  by  rending  the 
eyes  wilk  painting.  This  practice  is  no  doubt  of  great  anti- 
quity; fi)r  besides  the  instance  already  taken  notice  of,  we 
find  that  where  Jezebel  is  said  (2  Kings,  i.^.  30)  to  have 
painted  her  fare,  the  original  words  are,  she  adjusted  her  eyes 
with  thf  porcder  of  lead-ore.'" — Shaw's  Travels. 

^"The  appearance  of  the  blossoms  of  the  gold-colored 
Chnnipac  on  the  black  hair  of  the  Indian  women  has  sup- 
jilied  the  Sanscrit  Poets  with  many  elegant  allusion!.'*— 
See  Asiatic  Researches,  vol.  iv. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


387 


While  the  young  Arab,  haunted  by  the  smell 
Of  lier  own  mountain  flow'i-s,  as  by  a  spell, — 
The  sVi'oet  Elcaya,^  and  that  courteous  tree 
Which  bows  to  all  who  seek  its  canopy,^ 
Sees,  call'd  up  round  her  by  these  magic  scents, 
The  well,  the  camels,  and  her  father's  tents ; 
Sighs  for  the  home  she  left  with  little  pain, 
And  wislies  ev'n  its  sorrows  back  again  ! 

Meanwiiile,  througli  vast  illuminated  halls, 
Silent  and  bright,  where  nothing  but  the  falls 
Of  fragrant  waters,  gushing  with  cool  sound 
From  many  a  jasper  fount,  is  heard  around, 
Young  Azisi  roams  bewilder'd, — nor  can  guess 
Wiiat  means  this  maze  of  light  and  loneliness. 
Here,  the  way  leads,  o'er  tesselated  floors 
Or  mats  of  Cairo,  through  long  corridors, 
Where,  ranged  in  cassolets  and  silver  urns, 
Sweet  wood  of  aloe  or  of  sandal  burns ; 
And  spicy  rods,  such  as  illume  at  night 
The  how'i-s  of  Tibet,^  send  forth  odorous  light, 
Like  Peris'  wauds,  when  pointing  out  the  road 
For  some  pure  Spirit  to  its  blest  abode : — 
And  here,  at  once,  the  glittering  saloon 
Bursts  on  his  sight,  boundless  and  bright  as  noon ; 
Where,  in  the  midst,  reflecting  back  the  rays 
In  broken  rainbows,  a  fresh  fountain  plays 
High  as  th'  enamell'd  cupola,  which  tow'rs 
All  rich  with  Arabesques  of  gold  and  tlow'rff 
And  the  mosaic  floor  beneath  sliines  through 
Tiie  sprinkling  of  that  foimtain's  silv'ry  dew, 
Lil^e  the  wet,  ghst'ning  shells,  of  ev'ry  dye, 
That  on  the  margin  of  the  Red  Sea  lie. 

Here  too  ho  traces  the  kind  visitings 
Of  woman's  love  in  tiiose  fair,  living  things 
Of  laud  and  wave,  whose  fate — in  bondage  thrown 
For  their  weak  loveliness — is  like  her  own! 
On  one  side  gleaming  with  a  sudden  grace 
Througli  water,  brilliant  as  the  crystal  vase 
In  wliich  it  undulates,  small  fishes  shine, 
Like  golden  ingots  from  a  fairy  mine  I — 

1  A  tree  fiimoiis  for  its  perfume,  and  common  on  the  hills 
of  Yetuen. — J^icbukr. 

^  Of  the  genus  mimosa,  "  which  droops  its  branches  when- 
ever any  person  approaches  it,  seeming  as  if  it  saluted  those 
who  retire  under  its  shade." — Ibid. 

3  "Cloves  are  a  principal  ingredient  in  the  composition  of 
the  perfumed  rods,  which  men  of  rank  keep  constantly  burn- 
ing in  their  presence." — Tamer's  Tibet. 

*  "  Ccst  d'ou  vient  le  bois  d'aloes,  que  les  Arabes  appel- 
lent  Oud  Comari,  el  celui  du  sandal,  qui  s'y  irouve  en  grande 
qiianliie." — D'Herhdot. 

6  "Thousands  of  variegated  loories  visit  the  coral-trees." 
— Barrow. 

6  "  In  Mecca  there  are  quantities  of  blue  pigeons,  which 
none  will  atfright  or  abuse,  much  less  kill." — PttVs  Account 
of  the  Mahometans. 

'  "The  Pagoda  Thrush  is  esteemed  among  the  first  chor- 


While,  on  tho  other,  latticed  lightly  iu 

With  odoriferous  wctods  of  Comohin,* 

Each  brilliant  bird  tliat  wings  tho  air  is  seen  ;— 

Gay,  sparkling  lonrics,  such  as  gleam  betweeu 

Tho  crimson  blossoms  of  tiie  coral  trce° 

In  the  warm  isles  of  India's  sunny  sea : 

Mecca's  blue  sacred  pigeon,"  and  the  thrush 

Of  Hindostan,'^  whose  holy  warblings  gush, 

At  evening,  from  the  tall  pagoda's  top  ; — 

Those  golden  birds  that,  in  tho  spicti-lime,  drop 

About  tiie  gardens,  drunk  with  that  sweet  food^ 

Whose  scent  hath  lured  them  o'er  th©  summer  flood  ;" 

And  those  that  under  Araby's  soft  sun 

Build  their  high  nests  of  budding  cinnamon  'y^' 

In  short,  all  rare  and  beauteous  things,  that  fly 

Througli  the  pure  element,  here  calmly  lie 

Sleeping  in  light,  like  tiie  green  birds"  that  dwell 

In  Eden's  radiant  fields  of  asphodel  I 

So  on,  through  scenes  past  all  imagining. 
More  like  the  luxuries  of  that  impious  King,'^ 
Whom  Death's  dark  Angel,  with  his  lightning  torch, 
Struck  down  and  blasted  ev'n  in  Pleasure's  porch, 
Than  the  pure  dwelling  of  a  Prophet  sent, 
Arm'd  witii  Heaven's  sword,  for  man's  enfrancliise- 

ment — 
Young  AziM  wauder'd,  looking  sternly  round. 
His  simple  garb  and  war-boots'  clanking  sound 
But  ill  according  with  the  pomp  and  grace 
And  silent  liill  of  that  voluptuous  pUca 

"  Is  this,  then,"  thought  the  youth,  "  is  this  tho 
way 
**  To  free  man's  spirit  from  the  dead'ning  sway 
"  Of  worldly  sloth, — to  teach  him  wiiile  he  lives, 
"  To  know  no  bliss  but  that  which  virtue  gives, 
*'  And  when  he  dies,  to  leave  his  lofty  name 
"  A  light,  a  landmark  on  the  cliffs  of  fame  ? 
"  It  was  not  so.  Land  of  the  generous  thougiit 
"  And  daring  deed,  thy  godlike  sages  tau^lit; 
"  It  was  not  thus,  in  bowers  of  wanton  ease, 
"  Thy  Freedom  nursed  her  sacred  energies ; 

isters  of  India.  It  sits  perched  on  the  sacred  pagodas,  and 
from  thence  delivers  its  melodious  song." — Pennant's  Ilin- 
dostan. 

s  Tavcrnier  adds,  that  while  the  Birds  of  Paradise  He  in 
this  intoxicated  stiite,  the  eininets  come  and  eat  oif  Iheir 
legs;  and  that  hence  it  is  they  are  said  to  have  no  fiet. 

«  Birds  of  Paradise,  ^^'hich,  at  the  nulrneg  season,  come  in 
flights  from  the  southern  isies  to  India ;  and  "  the  strenpth  of 
the  nutmeg,"  says  Tavemier,  "  so  intoxicates  them  that  ihcy 
fail  -lead  drunk  to  the  earth." 

lo  "  That  bird  which  hveth  in  Arabia,  and  buildelh  its  nest 
with  cinnamon." — Brown's  Vulgar  Errors. 

""The  spirits  of  tlic  martyrs  will  be  lodged  in  tho  crops 
of  green  birds." — Oibbon,  vol.  ix.,  p.  421. 

»  Shedad,  who  made  the  delicious  e«rdens  of  Irim.  In  imi- 
tation of  Paradise,  and  was  destroyed  by  lightning  the  (irsl 
time  he  attempted  to  enter  them. 


388 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  Oh  !  not  beneath  th'  enfeebluig,  witli'rinff  glow 

"  Of  Biich  dull  Itix'ry  did  those  myrtles  grow, 

"  With   which  she  wreath'd  her  sword,  when  she 

would  dare 
"  Immortal  deeds ;  but  in  the  bracing  air 
"  Of  toil, — uf  temperance, — of  that  liigh,  rare, 
"  Ethereal  virtue,  which  alone  can  breathe 
"  Life,  health,  and  lustre  into  Freedom's  wreath. 
"  Who,  that  surveys  this  span  of  earth  wo  press, — 
"  This  speck  of  life  in  time's  great  wilderness, 
"  This  narrow  isthmus  'twixt  two  boundless  seas, 
"  Tlie  past,  the  future,  two  eternities ! — 
"  Would  sully  the  bright  spot,  or  leave  it  bare, 
"  AVhen  lie  might  build  him  a  proud  temj)le  there, 
"  A  name,  that  long  shall  hallow  all  it.s  space, 
"  .\nd  be  each  purer  soul's  higli  resting-place. 
"  But  no — it  cannot  be,  that  one,  whom  God 
"  Has     sent     to     break     the    wizard     Falsehood's 

rod, — 
"  .\  Prophet  of  the  Truth,  whoso  mission  draws 
"]ts  rights  from  Heaven,  should  thus  profane  its 

cause 
"With   the   world's   vulgar  pomps;  —  no,   no, — I 

see — 
"  He  thinks  mo  weak — tliis  glare  of  luxury 
"  Is  but  to  tempt,  to  try  the  eaglet  gaze 
"  Of  my  young   soul — shine  on,  'twill   stand   the 

blaze  !" 

So  thought  the  youth  ; — but,  ev'n  while  he  defied 
This  witching  scene,  he  felt  its  witch'ry  glide 
Through    ev'ry  sense.       The    perfume    breathing 

round. 
Like  a  pervading  spirit ; — the  still  sound 
Of  falling  waters,  lulling  as  the  song 
Of  Indian  bees  at  sunset,  when  they  throng 
Around  the  fragrant  Nilica,  and  deep 
III  ita  blue  blossoms  hum  themselves  to  sleep  ;^ 
And  music,  too — dear  music  I  that  can  touch 
Beyond  all  else  the  soul  that  loves  it  much — 
Now  heard  far  off,  so  far  as  but  to  seem 
Like  the  faint,  exquisite  music  of  a  dream  ; 
All  was  too  much  for  him,  too  full  of  bliss, 
The  heart  could  nothing  feel,  that  felt  not  this; 
Soften'd  he  sunk  ujjon  a  couch,  and  gave 
His  sold  up  to  sweet  thoughts,  like  wave  on  wave 
Succeeding  in  smooth  seas,  when  storms  are  laid ; 
He  thought  of  Zelica,  his  own  dear  maid. 
And  of  the  time  when,  full  of  blissful  sighs, 
They  sat  and  look'd  into  each  other's  eyes, 
Silent  and  ha])])y — as  if  God  had  giv'n 
Naught  else  worth  looking  at  on  this  side  heav'n. 


I  "  My  Panaits  assure  me  thai  the  plant  before  us  (the 
Nilica)  is  their  Scphalica.  thus  named  because  the  bees  are 
supposed  to  sleep  on  ils  blossoms.*' — Sir  fV.  Jones. 


"  Oh,  my  loved  mistress,  thou,  whose  spirit  still 
"  Is  with  me,  roiir.d  me,  wander  where  I  will — 
"  It  is  for  thee,  for  thee  alone  I  seek 
"  The  paths  of  glory  ;  to  light  up  thy  cheek 
"  With  warm  approval — in  that  gentle  look, 
"  To  read  my  praise,  as  in  an  angel's  book, 
"  And  think  all  toils  rewarded,  when  from  thee 
"  I  gain  a  smile  worth  immortality  ! 
"  How  shall  I  bear  the  moment,  when  restored 
"  To  that  young  heart  where  I  alone  am  Lord, 
"  Though   of    such    bliss    unworthy,  —  since    the 

best 
"  Alone  deserve  to  be  the  happiest : — 
"  When  from  those  lijis,  unbreath'd  upon  for  years, 
"  I  siiall  again  kiss  off  the  soul-felt  tears, 
'*  And  find  those  tears  warm   as  wheu    last    they 

started, 
"  Those  sacred  kisses  pure  as  when  we  parted. 
"  O  my  own  life  I — why  .should  a  single  day, 
"  A  moment  keep  me  from  those  arms  away  ?" 

While  thus  he  thinks,  still  nearer  on  the  breeze 
Come  those  delicious,  dream-like  harmonies. 
Each  note  of  whicn  out  adds  new,  downy  links 
To  the  soft  chain  in  which  his  spirit  sinks. 
He  turns  him  tow'rd  the  sound,  and  far  away 
Through  a  long  vista,  sparkling  with  the  play 
Of   countless   lamps, — like   the   rich   track   vrhich 

Day 
Leaves  on  the  waters,  when  he  sinks  from  ns. 
So  long  the  path,  its  light  so  tremulous ; — 
He  sees  a  group  of  female  forms  advance. 
Some  chain'd  together  in  the  mazy  dance 
By  fetters,  forged  in  the  green  sunny  bow'rs. 
As  they  were  captives  to  the  King  of  Flow'rs  f 
And  some  disporting  round,  unliuk'd  and  free, 
Who  seem'd  to  mock  their  sisters'  slavery  ; 
And  round  and  round  them  still,  in  wheeling  flight 
Went,  like  gay  moths  about  a  lamp  at  night ; 
While  others  waked,  as  gracefully  along 
Their  feet  kept  time,  the  very  soul  of  song 
From  psalt'ry,  pipe,  and  lutes  of  heav'nly  thrill. 
Or  their  own  youthful  voices,  heav'nlier  still. 
And  now  they  come,  now  pass  before  his  eye, 
Forms  such   as  Nature  moulds,  when  she  would 

vie 
AV'ith  Fancy's  pencil,  and  give  birth  to  tilings 
Lovely  beyond  its  fairest  picturings. 
Awhile  they  dance  before  him,  then  divide, 
Breaking,  like  rosy  clouds  at  even-tide 
Around  the  rich  pavilion  o"  the  sun, — ■ 
Till  silently  dispersing,  one  by  one. 


'  "  They  deferred  it  till  the  King  of  Flowers  should  ostvixt 
his  throne  of  enamelled  fuliagc.  '—The  Bahardanush. 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


389 


Through  many  a  path,  that  from  the  chamber  leads 
To  gardens,  terraces,  and  moonliglit  meads, 
Their  distant  laughter  comes  upon  the  wind, 
And  but  one  trembling  nymph  remains  behind, — 
Beck'ning  them  back  in  vain,  for  they  are  gone, 
And  she  is  left  in  all  that  light  alone  ; 
No  veil  to  curtain  o'er  her  beauteous  brow, 
In  its  young  Dashfulness  more  beauteous  now ; 
But  a  light  golden  chain-work  round  lier  hair,' 
Such  as  the  maids  of  Yezd"  and  Shiras  wear, 
From  wliich,  on  either  side,  gracefully  hung 
A  golden  amulet,  in  th'  Arab  tongue. 
Engraven  o'er  with  some  immortal  line 
From  Holy  Writ,  or  bard  scarce  less  divine  ; 
Wliile  her  left  hand,  as  shrinkingly  she  stood, 
Held  a  small  lute  of  gold  and  sandal-wood, 
Which,  once   or  twice,    she   touch'd   with   hiuried 

strain. 
Then  took  her  trembling  fingers  off  again. 
But  wlien  at  length  a  timid  glance  she  stole 
At  AziM,  the  sweet  gravity  of  soul 
She  saw  through  all  his  features  calm'd  her  fear, 
And,  like  a  half-tamed  antelope,  more  near, 
Though  slirinking  still,   she  came ; — then  sat  her 

down 
Upon  a  musnud's^  edge,  and,  bolder  grown. 
In  the  pathetic  mode  of  Isfahan* 
Touch'd  a  preluding  strain,  and  thus  began  : — 

There's  a  bower  of  roses  by  Bendeheek's^  stream, 
And  the  nightingale  sings  round   it  all  the  day 
long ; 
In  the  time  of  my  childhood   'twas  like  a  sweet 
dream. 
To  sit  in  the  roses  and  hear  the  bird's  song 

That  bower  and  its  music  I  never  forget. 

But  oft  when  alone,  in  the  bloom  of  the  year, 

I  think — is  the  nightingale  singing  there  yot? 

Are  the   roses   still  bright  by  the  cahn  Benue- 

MEER? 

No,  the  roses  soon  withered  that  hung  o'er  the  wave, 
But  Bome  blossoms  were  gather'd,  while  freshly 
they  shone, 
And  a  dew  was  distiU'd   from  their  flowers,  that 
gave 
All  the  fragrance  of  summer,  when  summer  was 
gone. 

»  "One  of  the  head-dresses  of  the  Persian  women  is 
composed  of  a  light  golden  chain-work,  set  with  small 
pearls,  with  a  thin  gold  plate  pendent,  about  the  bigness  of 
a  crown-piece,  on  which  is  impressed  an  Arabian  prayer,  and 
which  hangs  upon  the  cheek  below  tin  ear."— //a/iicay'* 
Travels. 

3  "Certainly  the  women  of  Yezd  are  the  handsnniest 
women  in  Persia.   The  proverb  is,  that  to  live  happy  a  man 


Thus  memor\'  draws  from  delight,  ere  it  dies. 
An  essrnco  that  breathes  of  it  many  a  year; 

Thus  bright  tu  my  soul,  as  'twas  then  to  my  eyes. 
Is  that  bower  on  the  banks  of  the  calm  Benue- 

meerI 

"Poor   maiden!"    tliouglit   the  youth,   "if  thou 
wert  sent, 
"With  thy  soft  lute  and  beauty's  blandishment, 
"  To  wake  unholy  wishes  in  this  lieart, 
"  Or  tempt  its  troth,  thou  little  know'st  the  art. 
"  For  though  thy  lip  should  sweetly  counsel  wrong, 
"  Those  vestal  eyes  would  disavow  its  song. 
"  But  thou  hast  breathed  such  purity,  thy  lay 
"  Returns  so  fnndiy  to  youth's  virtuous  day, 
"  And  leads  tiiy  soul — if  e'er  it  wander'd  thence — 
"  So  gently  back  to  its  first  innocence, 
"  That  I  would  sooner  stop  the  nuchain'd  dove, 
"  When  swift  returnuig  to  its  home  of  love, 
"  And  round  its  snowy  wing  new  fetters  twine, 
"  Than  turn  from  virtue  one  pure  wish  of  thine  I" 

Scarce  had  this  feeling  pass'd,  when,  sparkling 
through 
The  gently  open'd  curtains  of  light  blue 
That  veil'd  the  breezy  casement,  countless  eyes, 
Peeping  like  stars  through  the  blue  ev'ning  skies, 
Look'd  laughing  in,  as  if  to  mock  the  pair 
That  sat  so  still  and  melancholy  there: — 
And  now  the  curtains  fly  apart,  and  in 
From  the  cool  air,  'mid  show'rs  of  jessamine 
Which  those  without  fling  after  them  in  play. 
Two  lightsome  maidens  spring, — lightsome  as  they 
Who  live  in  th'  air  on  odors, — and  around 
The  bright  saloon,  scarce  conscious  of  the  ground. 
Chase  one  another,  in  a  varying  dance 
Of  mirth  and  languor,  coyness  and  advance. 
Too  eloquently  like  love's  warm  pursuit : — 
Wliile  she,  wlio  sung  so  gently  to  the  lute 
Her  dream  of  home,  steals  timidly  away. 
Shrinking  as  violets  do  in  summer's  ray, — 
But  takes  with  her  from  Azim's  heart  that  sigh, 
We  sometimes  givs  to  forms  that  pass  us  by 
In  the  world's  crowd,  too  lovely  to  remain. 
Creatures  of  light  we  never  see  again ! 

Around   the  wliite    necks    of  the    nymphs  who 
danced 
Hung  carcancts  of  orient  gems,  that  glanced 

must  have  a  wife  of  Yezd.  eat  the  bread  of  Yezdccas,  und 
drink  the  wine  of  yhiraz." — Tavemicr. 

3  Musnuds  are  cushioned  seals,  usually  reserved  for  per- 
sons of  distinction. 

*  The  Persians,  like  the  ancient  Greeks,  call  their  musi- 
cal modes  or  Perdas  by  the  names  i)f  different  countries  or 
cities,  as  the  mode  of  Isfahan,  ihe  iiuhIc  of  Irak,  &c. 

*  A  river  which  flows  near  the  ruins  of  Ctulminar. 


390 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


More  brilliant  tliaii  the  sea-glass  gWiVfmg  o'er 

Tho  liills  of  crystal  ou  the  CasjVian  shore  ;* 

Wliite  from  their  long,  dark  tresses,  in  a  fall 

Of  curls  descending,  bells  as  niu.sical 

As  those  that,  on  tlic  golden-shafted  trees 

Of  EoKN',  shake  in  the  eternal  breeze,^ 

Rung  round  their  steps,  at  ev'ry  bound  more  sweet, 

As  'iwcro  th'  ecstatic  language  of  their  feet. 

At    length   tho   chase  was    o*er,   and   they   stood 

wreath'd 
Within  each  other's  arms;  while  soft  there  breathed 
Tlirough  tho  coul  casement,  mingled  with  the  sighs 
Of  moonlight  flow'rs,  music  that  seem'd  to  rise 
From  some  still  lake,  so  liquidly  it  rose  ; 
And,  as  it  swell'd  again  at  each  faint  close, 
Tho  ear  could  track  through  all  that  maze  of  chords 
And  young  sweet  voices,  these  impassiou'd  words : 

A  Spirit  there  is,  whose  fragrant  sigh 
Is  burning  now  through  earth  and  air; 

Where  checks  are  blushing,  the  Spirit  is  nigh, 
Where  lips  are  meeting,  the  Spirit  is  there ! 

His  breath  is  the  soul  of  flow'rs  like  these, 
And  liis  floating  eyes — oh  !  they  resemble^ 

Blue  water-lilies,*  when  the  breeze 

Is  making  the  stream  around  them  tremble. 

Hail  to  thee,  hail  to  thee,  kindling  pow'r  I 

Spirit  of  Love,  Spirit  of  Bliss  ! 
Tiiy  holiest  tbno  is  the  moonlight  hour, 

And  there  never  was  moonlight  so  sweet  as  this. 

By  the  fair  and  brave 

Who  blushing  unite, 
Like  tho  sun  and  wave, 

When  they  meet  at  night ; 

By  the  tear  that  shows 

When  passion  is  nigli, 
As  the  rain-drop  flows 

From  the  heat  of  the  sky  ; 

1  "To  the  norih  of  us  (on  the  coast  of  the  Caspian,  near 
B:uikn)  wus  a  iiioiintiiin,  which  sparkled  like  diamonds,  ari~ 
sill-;  rniiii  the  sea-f;l»ss  and  crystals  with  which  it  almunds." 
— Journnj  of  the  Russian  Jiinbassador  to  Persia,  1746. 

3  '-To  which  will  he  added  the  sound  of  the  bells,  hanging 
on  the  trees,  which  will  he  put  in  motion  by  the  wind  pro- 
ceedinj;  from  the  throne  of  God,  as  oflen  as  the  blessed  wish 
for  music.*' — Sa/e. 

3  "Whose  wanton  eyes  resemble  blue  water-lilies,  agi- 
tated by  llic  breeze." — Jnyadevcu 

*  Tlie  blue  loins,  which  crows  in  Cashmere  and  in  Persia. 

0  It  has  been  gencntlly  supposed  that  the  Mahometans 
proliibit  all  pictures  of  animals  ;  but  Toiierini  shows  that, 
though  the  practice  is  fnrbidden  by  the  Koran,  they  are  not 
more  averse  to  painted  figures  and  images  ilian  other  people. 
From  Mr.  Murphy's  work,  too,  we  fmd  that  tho  .-Vrabs  of 
Spiiin  had  no  objection  to  the  introduction  of  figures  into 
painting'. 

"  This  is  not  quite  astronomically  true.    "Dr.  Hadley 


By  the  first  love-beat 

t)f  tho  youthful  lieart. 
By  the  bliss  to  meet, 

And  the  pain  to  part ; 

By  all  that  thou  hast 

To  mortals  given, 
AVliich — oh,  could  it  last, 

This  earth  were  heaven! 

We  call  thee  hither,  entrancing  Power! 

Sjjirit  of  Love  !  Spirit  of  Bliss  I 
Thy  holiest  time  is  the  moonlight  hour. 

And  there  never  was  moonlight  so  sweet  as  tliis. 

Impatient  of  a  scene,  whose  lux'nes  stole, 
Spite  of  himself,  too  deep  into  his  soul, 
And  wliere,  midst  all  that  the   young  heart  loves 

most, 
Flow'i*s,  music,  smiles,  to  yield  was  to  be  lost, 
The  youth  had  started  up,  and  turn'd  away 
From  the  light  nymphs,  and  their  liLxurions  lay. 
To  muse  upon  the  pictures  that  hung  round,^ — 
Bright  images,  that  spoke  without  a  sound, 
And  views,  like  vistas  into  fairy  ground. 
But  hero  again  new  spells  came  o'er  his  sense ; — 
All  tiiat  the  pencil's  mute  omnipotejice 
Could  call  up  into  life,  of  soft  and  fair. 
Of  fond  and  passionate,  was  glowing  there  ; 
Nor  yet  too  warm,  but  touch'd  with  tliat  fine  art 
Whicli  paints  of  pleasure  but  the  purer  part ; 
Which    knows    ev'n    Beauty    when    half-vcil'd    is 

best, — 
liik©  her  own  radiant  planet  of  the  west, 
Wliose  orb  when  half  retired  looks  loveliest* 
There  hung  the  history  of  the  Genii-King, 
Traced  through  each  gay,  voluptuous  wandering 
With    her    from    Saba's   bowers,   in  whose   bright 

eyes 
He  read  that  to  be  blest  is  to  bo  wise  '? — 

(says  KeilJ  has  sliown  that  Venus  is  brightest  when  she  is 
about  forty  degrees  reiuoved  from  Ihc  snn ;  and  that  then 
but  only  a  fourth  part  of  her  lucid  disk  is  lo  be  seen  from  the 
earth." 

'  For  the  loves  of  King  Solomon,  (who  was  supposed  to 
presideovertho  whole  race  of  Genii,)  withBalkis,  tlie  (iucen 
of  Sheba  or  Saba,  see  D"  Ihrbelot,  and  the  Ji'otes  on  the  Koran, 
chaj).  2. 

"  In  the  palace  which  Solomon  ordered  to  be  built  against 
the  arrival  of  the  (iueen  of  Saba,  the  floor  or  pavement  was 
of  tmnsparent  glass,  laid  over  running  water,  in  which  fish 
were  swimming."  This  led  the  Giieen  into  a  vcr>"  natural 
mistake,  which  the  Konin  has  not  thought  beneath  its 
dignity  to  commemorate.  "It  was  said  unto  her,  'Enter 
the  palace.'  And  when  she  saw  it  she  imagined  it  to  be  a 
great  water;  and  she  discovered  her  legs,  by  lifting  uj)  her 
robe  to  pass  thnuigh  it.  Whereupon  Solomon  said  to  her, 
'Verily,  this  is  the  place  evenly  floored  with  glass.'" — 
Chap.  27. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


391 


Here  fond  Zoleika*  wuos  witli  open  arms 
The  Hebrew  boy,  wlio  flies  from  ber  yomig  charms, 
Yet,  flyiao;,  turns  to  gaze,  and,  lialf  undone, 
Wishes  tliat  Heav'n  and  she  could  both  be  won  ; 
And  here  I\IonAMMED,  born  for  love  and  guile, 
Forgets  the  Koran  in  his  Mary's  smile ; — 
Tlien  beckons  some  kind  angel  from  above 
With  a  new  text  to  consecrate  their  love.^ 

With  rapid  step,  yet  pleased  and  ling'ring  eye, 
Did  the  youth  pass  these  pictured  stories  by. 
And  liasten'd  to  a  casement,  where  tlie  light 
Of  the  calm  moon  camo  in,  and  freshly  bright 
The  fields  witliout  were  seen,  sleeping  as  still 
As  if  no  life  rcmain'd  in  breeze  or  rill. 
Here  paused  he,  while  the  music,  now  less  near, 
Breathed  with  a  holier  language  on  his  ear. 
As  though  the  distance,  and  that  hcav'niy  ray 
Through  which    the    sounds    canio    floating,    took 

away 
All  that  had  been  too  earthly  in  the  lay. 

Oh!  could  he  listen  to  such  sounds  unmoved. 
And  by  that  light— nor  dream  of  her  he  loved? 
Dream  on,  unconscious  boy  !  while  yet  thou  may*st ; 
'Tis  the  last  bliss  thy  soul  shall  ever  taste. 
Clasp  yet  awhile  her  image  to  thy  heart, 
Ere  all  the  light,  that  made  it  dear,  depart 
Think  of  her  smiles  as  when  thou  saw'st  them  last. 
Clear,  beautiful,  by  naught  of  earth  o'ercast ; 
Recall  her  teare,  to  thee  at  parting  giv'n. 
Pure  as  they  weep,  ?/ angels  weep,  in  Heav'n. 
Think,  in  her  own  still  bower  she  waits  tiiee  now, 
With  the  same  glow  of  lieart  and  bloom  of  brow, 
Yet  shrined  in  solitude — thine  all,  thine  only. 
Like  the  one  star  above  thee,  bright  and  lonely. 
Oh  !  that  a  dream  so  sweet,  so  long  enjoy'd, 
Should  be  so  sadly,  cruelly  destroy'd  ! 

The  song  is  hush'd,  the   laughing    ■'.\Tnphs   are 
flown, 
And  he  is  left,  musing  of  bliss,  alone  ; — - 
Alone  ? — no,  not  alone — that  heavy  sigh, 
That  sob  of  grief,   which   broke    from   some   one 

nigh— 
Whose  could  it*be  ? — alas !  is  miser)'  found 
Here,  even  here,  on  this  enchanted  ground? 
He  turns,  and  sees  a  female  form,  close  veil'd. 
Leaning,  as  if  both  heart  and  strength  had  fail'd, 

1  The  wife  of  Poliphar,  thus  nauieii  by  the  Orientals. 

"The  passion  which  this  frail  heuiityof  antiquity  conceiv- 
ed for  her  young;  Hebrew  slave,  has  given  rise  to  a  much-es- 
teemeil  poem  in  the  Persian  language,  entitled  Yusefvau  Ze- 
iikka,  hy  J\rouTcdilin  Jami ;  the  nianuscripl  copy  of  which, 
in  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford,  is  supjHJsed  lo  be  the 
finest  in  the  whole  world." — J^ote  vpon  JfotCa  Translation 
of  Hafez. 


Against  a  pillar  near ; — not  glitt'ring  oVr 

With  gems  and  wreaths,  such  as  the  othora  wore, 

But  in  that  deep-blue,  melancholy  dress,^ 

Bokhara's  maidens  wear  in  mindfulness 

Of  friends  or  kindred,  dead  or  fur  away  ; — 

And  such  as  Zi^lica  had  on  fliat  day 

He  loft  her — when,  with  Iieart  too  full  to  speak, 

He  took  away  her  last  warm  tears  npon  liiw  cheek. 

A  strange  emotion  stirs  withhi  him, — more 
Than  mere  compassion  ever  waked  before ; 
Unconsciously  he  opes  his  anns,  while  she 
Springs  forward,  as  with  life's  last  energy, 
But,  swooning  in  that  one  convulsive  bound, 
Sinks,  ere  siie  reach  his  arms,  upon  the  ground; — 
Her  veil  falls  off — her  .aiut  hands  clasp  his  knees — 
'Tis  she  herself  I — 'lis  Zelica  he  sees  ! 
But,  ah,  so  pale,  so  changed — none  but  a  lover 
Could  in  that  wreck  of  beauty's  shrine  discover 
The  once-adored  divinity — ev'n  he 
Stood  for  some  moments  mute,  and  doubtingly 
Put  back  the  ringlets  from  her  brow,  and  gazed 
Upon  those  lids,  wliere  once  such  lustre  blazed. 
Ere  he  could  think  she  was  indeed  his  own. 
Own  darling  maid,  whom  he  so  long  had  known 
In  joy  and  sorrow,  beautiful  in  both  ; 
Who,  ev'n  when  grief  was  heaviest — when  loath 
He  left  licr  for  the  wars — in  that  worst  hour 
Sat  in  her  sorrow  like  the  sweet  niglit-flow'r,* 
When  darkness  brings  its  weeping  glories  out. 
And  spreads  its  sighs  like  frankincense  about. 

"  Look  up,  my  Zelica — one  moment  show 
"  Those  gentle  eyes  to  me,  that  I  may  know 
"  Thy  life,  thy  loveliness  is  not  all  gone, 
"  But  thercj  at  least,  shines  as  it  ever  shone. 
"  Come,  look  upon  thy  Azim — one  dear  glance, 
"  Like  those  of  old,  were  heav'n  !  whatever  chance 
"  Hath  brought  thee  here,  oh,  'twas  a  blessed  on  * ! 
•*  There — my  loved  lips — they  move — that  kiss  hatii 

run 
"  Like  the  first  shoot  of  life  through  every  vein, 
"  And  now  I  clasp  her,  mine,  all  mine  again. 
"  Oh  the  delight — now,  in  this  very  hour, 
"  When  had  the  whole  rich  world  been  in  my  pow'r, 
"  I  should  have  liugled  out  thee,  only  tliee, 
"  From  the  wlioie  world's  collected  treasury — 
*'  To  have  thee  here — to  hang  thus  fondly  o'er 
"  My  own,  best,  purest  Zeijca  once  more  I" 

a  The  particnlars  of  Mahomet's  amour  with  M  iry,  the  Cop- 
tic girl,  in  justification  of  which  he  added  a  new  chapter  to 
the  Koran,  may  be  found  in  Gagnicr's  JVotcs  upon  .ibulfeda, 
p.  151. 

3  "  Deep  blue  is  Iheir  mourning  color.*' — Hantoay. 

4  The  sorrowful  nyctanthes,  which  begins  to  spread  Its 
rich  odor  after  sunset. 


392 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


It  was  indeed  the  toucli  of  those  fond  lips 
Upon  her  eyes  that  chased  their  short  echpse, 
And,  frradual  as  the  8now,  at  Heaven's  breath, 
Melts  off  and  sliows  the  azure  flow'rs  beneath, 
Her  lids  unclosed,  and  the  bright  eyes  were  seen 
Gazintr  on  his — not,  as  they  late  had  been, 
Quick,  restless,  wild,  but  mournfully  serene ; 
As  if  to  lie,  ev'n  for  that  tranced  minute, 
So  near  his  heart,  had  consolation  in  it ; 
And  thus  to  wake  in  his  beloved  caress 
Took  from  her  soul  one  half  its  wretchedness. 
But,  when  she  heard  him  call  her  good  and  pure. 
Oh,  'twas  too  much — too  dreadful  to  endure  ! 
Shudd'ring  she  broke  away  from  his  embrace, 
And,  hiding;  with  both  hands  her  g'uilty  face, 
Said,  in  a  tone  whoso  anoiiisli  would  have  riv'n 
A  heart  of  very  marble,  "  Pure  I — oh  Heav'n  !" — 

That  lone — those  looks  so  changed — the  wither- 
ing blight. 
That  sin  and  sorrow  leave  where'er  they  light ; 
The  dead  despondency  of  those  sunk  eyes. 
Where  once,  had  he  thus  met  her  by  surprise. 
He  would  have  seen  himself,  too  happy  boy, 
Reflected  in  a  thousand  lights  of  joy  ; 
And  then  the  place, — that  bright,  unholy  place, 
Where  vice  lay  hid  beneath  each  winning  grace 
And  charm  of  lux'ry,  as  the  viper  weaves 
Its  wily  cov'ring  of  sweet  balsam  leaves,' — 
All  struck  upon  his  heart,  sudden  and  cold 
Ajs  death  itself; — it  needs  not  to  be  told — • 
No,  no — he  sees  it  all,  plain  as  the  brand 
Of  burning  shame  can  mark — whate'er  the  hand, 
That  could  from  Heav'n  and  him  such  brightness 

sever, 
'Tis  done — to  Heav'n  and  him  slie's  lost  forever ! 
It  was  a  dreadful  moment ;  not  the  tears. 
The  ling'ring,  lasting  misery  of  years 
Could  match  that  minute's  anguish — all  the  worst 
Of  sorrow's  elements  in  that  dark  burst 
Broke  o'er  his  soul,  and,  with  one  crash  of  fate, 
Laid  the  whole  hopes  of  his  life  desolate. 

"  Oh  I  curse  me  not,''  she  cried,  as  wild  he  toss'd 
His  desp'rate  hand  tow'rds  Heav'n — "  though  I  am 

lost, 
"  Think  not  that  guilt,  that  falsehood  made  me  fall, 
"  No,  no — 'twas  grief,  'twas  madness  did  it  all  ! 
"Nay,  doubt  me  not — though   all   thy    lovo    hath 

ceased — 
"  I  know  it  hath — yet,  yet  believe,  at  least, 
"  That  every  spark  of  reason's  light  must  bo 
*'  Quench'd  in  this  brain,  ere  I  could  stray  from  thco. 


I  "  Concerning  the  vipers,  which  Pliny  snys  were  frequent 
among  the  balsam-trees,  I  made  very  particular  inquiry ; 


*  They  told  me  tliou  wert  dead — why,  Azim,  why 
'  Did  we  not,  both  of  us,  that  instant  die 

*When  we  were  parted?  oh!   couldst    thou   but 

know 
'  With  what  a  deep  devotedness  of  wo 
'  I  wept  thy  absence — o'er  and  o'er  again 
*Tliinking  of  thee,   still  thee,   till   thought  grow 

pain, 

*  And  mem'ry,  like  a  drop  that,  night  and  day, 

*  Falls  cold  and  ceaseless,  wore  my  heart  away, 

*  Didst  thou  but  know  how  pale  I  sat  at  home, 

'  My  eyes  still  turn'd  the  way  thou  wert  to  come, 

*  And,  all  the  kig,  long  night  of  hope  and  fear, 
'  Thy  voice  and  step  still  sounding  in  my  ear — 
*Oh  God  I  thou  wouldst  not  wonder  that,  at  last, 
'  When  every  hope  was  all  at  once  o'ercast, 

'  When  I  heard  frightful  voices  round  me  say 
'  Azim  is  dead! — this  wretched  brain  gave  way, 

*  And  I  became  a  wreck,  at  random  driven, 

*  Without  one  glimpse  of  reason  or  of  Heav'n — 

*  All  wild — and  even  this  quenchless  love  witlim 

*  Turn'd  to  foul  fires  to  light  me  into  sin ! — 

*  Thou    pitiest    me — I    knew    thou    wouldst — that 

sky 

*  Hath  naught  beneath  it  half  so  lorn  as  I. 

'  The   fiend,   who   lured    me    hither — liist  I    come 
near, 

*  Or  thou  too,  thou  art  lost,  if  he  should  hear — 

'  Told  me  such  things — oh  I  with  sucli  dev'lish  art, 
'  As  would  have  ruin'd  ev'n  a  holier  heart — 

*  Of  thee,  and  of  that  ever-radiant  sphere, 

'  Where  bless'd  at  length,  if  I  but  served  hhn  here, 
'  I  should  forever  live  in  thy  dear  sight, 

*  And  drink  from  those  pure  eyes  eternal  light. 

*  Think,  think  how  lost,  how  madden'd  I  must  be, 

*  To  hope  that  guilt  could  lead  to  God  or  thee  ! 

*  Thou  weep'st  for  me — do  weep — oh,  that  I  durst 
'  Kiss  off  that  tear!  but,  no — these  lips  are  cursed, 

*  They  must  not  touch  thee  ; — one  divine  caress, 
'  One  blessed  moment  of  forgetfulness 

*  I've  had  within  those  anns,  and  that  shall  lie, 

*  Shrined  in  my  soul's  deep  mem'r)'  till  I  die ; 

*  The  last  of  joy's  last  relics  here  below, 

'  The  one  sweet  drop,  in  all  this  waste  of  wo, 
'  My  heart  has  treasured  from  affection's  spring, 
'To  sooth  and  cool  its  deadly  withering! 

*  But  thou — yes,  thou  must  go — forever  go  ; 

'  This  place  is  not  for  thee — for  thee  I  oh  no: 
'  Did  I  but  tell  thee  half,  thy  tortured  brain 

*  Would  burn  like  mine,  and  mine  go  wild  again  ! 

'  Enougli,  that  Guilt  reigns  here — that  hearts,  once 
good, 

*  Now  tainted,  chill'd,  and  broken,  are  his  food. — 


several  were  brought  me  alive  both  to  Yambo  and  Jidda."- 
BrTice. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


393 


"  Enough,  tiiat  we  are  parted — tliat  there  rolls 
"  A  flood  of  headlong  fate  between  our  souls, 
"  Whose  darkness  severs  me  as  wide  from  thee 
j    "  As  hell  from  heav'n,  to  all  eternity  1" 

"  Zeuca,  Zelica  !"  the  youth  exclaim'd, 
In  all  the  tortures  of  a  mind  inflamed 
Almost  to  madness — *'  by  that  sacred  Heav'n, 
"  Where    yet,   if  pray'rs  can  move,  tliou'lt  be  for- 

giv'n, 
"  As  thou  art  hero — hero,  in  tliis  writhing  heart, 
"  All  sinful,  wild,  and  ruin'd  as  thou  art '. 
"  By  the  remembrance  of  our  once  pure  love, 
"  Which,  like  a  churchyard  light,  still  bums  above 
"  The  grave  of  oiu:  lost  souls — whicli  guilt  in  thee 
**  Cannot  extinguish,  nor  despair  in  me  1 
"  I  do  conjure,  unplore  thee  to  fly  hence — 
"  If  thou  hast  yet  one  spark  of  innocence, 
"  Fly  with  me  from  this  place" — 

"  With  thee  !  oh  bliss  ! 
"  'Tis  worth  whole  years  of  torment  to  hear  this. 
"  Wliat ;  take  the  lost  one  with  thee  ? — let  her  rove 
*'  By  thy  dear  side,  as  in  those  days  of  love, 
"  When  we  were  both  so  happy,  botli  so  pure — 
"  Too  heav'niy  dream  !  if  there's  on  earth  a  cure 
"  For  the  sunk  heart,  'tis  this — day  after  day 
■■  To  be  the  bless'd  companion  of  thy  way  ; 
"  To  hear  thy  angel  eloquence — to  see 
"  Those  virtuous  eyes  forever  turn'd  on  me  ; 
"  And,  in  their  light  recliasten'd  silently, 
"  Like  the  stain'd  web  that  whitens  in  the  sun, 
"  Grow  pure  by  being  purely  shone  upon  ! 
"  And  thou  wilt  pray  for  me — I  kuow  thou  wilt — 
"  At  the  dim  vesper  hour,  when  thoughts  of  guilt 
"  Come  heaviest  o'er  the   heart,  thou'lt  lift   thine 

eyes, 
"  Full  of  sweet  tears,  unto  the  dark'ning  skies, 
"  And  plead  for  me  with  Heav'n,  till  I  can  dare 
*'  To  fix  my  own  weak,  sinful  glances  there  ; 
*'  Till  the  good  angels,  when  they  see  me  cling 
*'  Forever  nea,   thee,  pale  and  sorrowing, 
"  Shall  for  thy  sake  pronounce  my  soul  forgiv'n, 
"  And  bid  thee  take  thy  weeping  slave  to  Heav'n  I 

"  CTii  yes,  I'll  fly  with  thee " 

Scarce  had  she  said 
These    breathless  words,  when    a  voice    deep  and 

dread 
As  that  of  MoNKER,  waking  up  the  dead 
From  their  first  sleep — eo  startling  'twas  to  both — 
Rung  through  the  casement  near,  "  Thy  oath  !  thy 

oath  !" 
Oh  Heav'n,  the  ghastliness  of  that  Maid's  look  ! — 
"  'Tis  he,"  faintly  she  cried,  while  terror  shook 


1  "In  the  territory  of  Istkahar  there  is  a  kind  of  apple, 
half  of  whicli  is  sweet  and  half  sour."— £»it  Haukal. 


Her  inmost  core,  nor  durst  she  lift  her  eyes. 
Though  through  tho  casement,  now,  naught  but 

the  skies 
And  moonlight  fields  were  seen,  calm  as  before — 
"  'Tis  he,  and  I  am  his — all,  all  is  o'er — 
"  Go — fly  this  instant,  or  tliou'rt  niin'd  too — 
"  My  oath,  my  oath,  oh  God  I  'tis  all  too  true, 
"  True  as  tiie  worm  in  this  cold  heart  it  is — 
"  I  am  MoKAN.v.v's  bride — his,  Azim,  his — 
*'  The  Dead  stood  round  us,  while  I  spoke  that  vow, 
"  Their  blue  lips  echo'd  it — I  hear  them  now  ! 
"  Their  eyes  glared  on  nie,  while  I  pledged  that  bowl, 
"  'Twas  burning  blood — I  feel  it  in  my  soul  I 
*'  And  the  Veil'd  Bridegroom — hist !   I've  seen  to- 
night 
"  What  angels  know  not  of — so  fojl  a  sight, 
"  So  horrible — oh  !  never  may'st  thou  see 
"  What  tficre  lies  hid  from  all  but  hell  and  me  I 
"  But  I  must  hence — olF,  off — I  am  not  thine, 
*'  Nor    Heav'n's,    nor    Love's,  nor    aught    that    is 

divine — 
"  Hold  me  not — ha  !  think'st  thou  the  fiends  that 

sever 
"  Hearts,  cannot  sunder  hands  ^ — thus,  tuen — for- 
ever !" 

With  all  that  strength,  which  madness  lends  the 

weak. 
She  flung  away  his  arm  ;   and,  with  a  shriek. 
Whose  sound,  though   he  should   linger  out  qaore 

years 
Than  wretch  e'er  told,  can  never  leave  his  ears — 
Flew  up  through  that  long  avenue  of  light, 
Fleetly  as  some  dark,  ominous  bird  of  night. 
Across  the  smi,  and  soon  was  out  of  sight ! 


Lalla  Rookh  could  think  of  nothing  all  day  but 
the  misery  of  these  two  young  lovers.  Her  gayety 
was  gone,  and  she  looked  pensively  even  upo_ 
Fjdladeen.  She  felt,  too,  without  knowing  why, 
a  sort  of  uneasy  ple:isure  iu  imagining  tliat  Azim 
must  have  been  just  such  a  youth  as  Feramorz  ; 
just  as  worthy  to  enjoy  all  the  blessings,  without 
any  of  the  pangs,  of  that  illusive  passion,  which  too 
often,  like  the  sunny  apples  of  Istkahar,'  is  all 
sweetness  on  one  side,  and  all  bitterness  on  the 
other. 

As  they  passed  along  a  sequestered  river  after 
sunset,  they  saw  a  young  Hindoo  girl  upon  the 
bank,"   whoso    employment    seemed    to    tliem    so 


2  For  an  account  of  this  ceremony,  see  Grandpri  8  Voyage 
in  the  Indian  Ocean. 


394 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


6trany:c,  tliat  thoy  stopped  tlicir  palankeens  to  ob- 
eerve  lior.  She  had  lighted  a  small  lamp,  filled  with 
oil  of  cocoa,  and  placing  it  in  an  earthen  dish, 
adornod  with  a  wreath  of  flowers,  had  committed  it 
with  a  tn-nibliufj  Iiand  to  the  stream  ;  and  was  now 
anxiously  witching  its  progress  down  the  current, 
hecdli'ss  of  the  gay  cavalcade  wliich  had  drawn  up 
beside  her.  Lalla  Rookii  was  all  curiosity ; — 
when  one  of  her  attendants,  who  had  lived  upon 
the  bcmks  of  the  Gauges,  (where  this  ceremony  is 
so  frequent,  that  often,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening, 
the  river  Is  seen  glittering  all  over  with  hghts,  like 
the  Oton-Tala,  or  Sea  of  Stars, ^)  informed  the 
Princess  that  it  was  the  usual  way  in  which  the 
friends  of  tliose  who  had  gone  on  dangerous 
voyajrps  offered  up  vows  for  their  safe  return.  If 
the  lump  sunk  immediately,  the  omen  was  dis- 
astrous ;  but  if  it  went  shining  down  the  stream, 
and  continued  to  burn  till  entirely  out  of  sight,  the 
return  of  the  beloved  object  was  considered  as 
certain. 

Lalla.  Rookii,  as  they  moved  on,  more  thau 
once  looked  back,  to  observe  how  the  young  Hin- 
doo's lamp  proceeded ;  and  while  she  saw  with 
pleasure  that  it  was  still  imextinguishcd,  she  could 
not  help  fearing  tliat  all  the  hopes  of  this  life  were 
no  better  than  that  feeble  liglit  upon  the  river.  Tlio 
remainder  of  tiio  journey  was  passed  in  silence. 
She  now,  for  the  first  time,  felt  that  shade  of 
merancholy  which  comes  over  the  youtliful  maid- 
en's heart,  as  sweet  and  transient  as  her  own  breatli 
upon  a  mirror ;  nor  was  it  till  she  heard  the  lute  of 
Feuamorz,  touched  lightly  at  the  door  of  her 
pavilion,  that  she  waked  frora  the  revery  in  which 

1  "The  place  whereiheWhangho.u  river  of  Thibet,  rises, 
and  where  there  are  more  than  n  hundred  springs,  which 
sparkle  like  stars;  whence  it  is  called  Hotun-nor,  that  is,  the 
Sea  of  Ptars."— />f5crij>r(on  of  Thibet  in  PinUerton. 

3  "The  Lescar  or  Imperiil  Camp  is  divided,  like  a  rejixilar 
town,  into  squares,  alleys,  and  streets,  and  from  a  rising 
ground  furnishes  one  of  the  most  agreeable  prospects  in  the 
world.  Starting  up  in  a  few  hours  in  an  uninlialjited  plain, 
it  raises  the  idea  of  a  city  built  by  enchantment.  Even  those 
who  leave  their  houses  in  cities  to  rollow  the  Prince  in  his 
progress,  are  frcfjuently  so  charmed  with  the  Lescar,  when 
situated  in  a  beautiful  and  convenient  phire,  that  they  can- 
not prevail  with  themselves  to  remove.  To  prevent  this  in- 
convenience to  the  court,  the  Emperor,  after  sufficient  time 
is  allowed  to  the  tradesmen  to  lollow,  orders  them  to  be 
burnt  out  of  their  ti-Tits." — Date's  Hindustan. 

Cu'onel  \\'ilks  j^ives  a  lively  picture  of  an  Eastern  en- 
cainprnenl: — "His  camp,  like  that  of  most  Indian  armies, 
exhibited  a  motley  collection  of  covers  from  the  scorching 
sun  and  dews  of  the  night,  variegated  according  to  the  taste 
or  means  of  cacli  iiuiividual,  by  extensive  enclosures  of  col- 
ored calico  surrounding  superb  suites  of  tents;  by  ragged 
clothes  or  blankets  stretched  over  sticks  or  (tranches  ;  palm 
leaves  hastily  spread  over  similar  supports;  handsome  tents 
and  splendid  canopies  ;  horses,  oxen,  elephants,  and  camels ; 
all  intermixed  without  any  exterior  niark  of  order  or  design, 


she  had  been  wandering  Instantly  her  eyes  were 
lighted  up  with  pleasure  ;  and,  after  a  few  imheard 
remarks  from  Fadladeen  upon  the  indecorum  of  a 
poet  seating  himself  in  presence  of  a  Princess, 
every  thing  was  arranged  as  on  the  preceding  eve- 
ning, and  all  listened  with  eagerness,  wliile  the  storj' 
was  thus  continued : — 


Whose  are  the  gilded  tents  that  crowd  the  way, 
Where  all  was  waste  and  silent  yesterday? 
This  City  of  War  which,  in  a  few  short  hours, 
Hatli  sprung  up  here,^  as  if  the  magic  powers 
Of  Him  who,  in  the  twinkling  of  a  star, 
Built  the  high  pillar'd  h£>\>  of  Chilminau,' 
Had  conjured  up,  far  as  the  eye  can  see, 
This  world    of   l*i**ts,  and    domes,  and    sun-bright 

armory : — 
Princely  pavilions,  screen'd  by  many  a  fold 
Of  crimson  clotli,  and  to])p'd  with  balls  of  gold  — 
Steeds,  with  thoir  housings  of  rich  silver  spun, 
Their  chains  and  poitrels  glitt'ring  in  the  sun ; 
And  camels,  tufted  o'er  with  Yemen's  shells,* 
Shaking  in  every  breeze  their  light-toned  belb ! 

But  yester-eve,  so  motionless  around, 
So  mute  was  this  wide  plain,  that  not  a  souhd 
But  the  far  torrent,  or  the  locust  bird^ 
Hunting  among  the  thickets,  could  be  heard  ; — 
Yet  hark  !  what  discords  now,  of  ev'ry  kind, 
Shouts,  laughs,  and  screams  are    revelling  in   th< 

wind  ; 
The  neigh  of  cavalry  ; — tlie  tiiU^ling  throngs 
Of  laden  camels  and  their  drivers'  songs  f — ■ 

except  the  flogs  of  the  chiefs,  which  usually  mark  the  cen- 
tres of  a  congeries  of  these  masses  ;  the  only  regular  part  of 
the  encampment  being  the  streets  of  shops,  each  of  which 
is  constructed  nearly  in  the  manner  of  a  booth  at  an  English 
{airy— HistoriccU  Sketches  of  the  South  of  India. 

3  The  edifices  of  Chilmiiiar  and  Balliec  arc  supposed  to 
have  been  built  by  the  Genii,  acting  under  the  orders  of  Jan 
ben  Jan,  who  governed  the  world  long  before  Ihe  lime  of 
Adam 

*  "  A  superb  camel,  ornamented  with  strings  &nd  tuf^s  of 
small  shells." — j^li  Bey. 

^  A  native  of  Khorassan,  and  allured  southwaid  by  means 
of  the  water  of  a  fountain  between  Shiraz  a/id  Ispahan, 
called  the  Fountain  of  Birds,  of  which  it  is  so  fond  that  it 
will  follow  wherever  that  water  is  carried. 

6  "Some  of  the  camels  have  bells  about  their  necks,  and 
some  about  their  legs,  like  those  which  our  carriers  put  about 
their  fore-horses'  necks,  which,  together  with  the  servants, 
(who  belong  to  the  camels,  and  travel  on  foot,)  singing  all 
night,  make  a  pleasant  noise,  and  the  journey  passes  away 
delightfully."~Pi(('5  Account  of  the  Mahometans. 

*'The  camel-driver  follows  the  camels  singing,  and  some- 
times playing  upon  his  pipe  ;  the  louder  he  sings  and  pipes, 
the  faster  the  camels  go.  Nay,  they  will  stand  still  when 
he  gives  over  his  music."— Taucrnicr. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


395 


Ring:in;j  of  arms,  and  flapping  in  the  breeze 
Of  streamers  from  ten  thousand  canopies; — 
War-music,  burslin;j;  out  from  time  to  time, 
AVitli  gong  and  tymbalon's  tremendous  chime  ; — 
Or,  in  the  pause,  when  liarsher  sounds  are  mute, 
Tlie  mellow  breathings  of  some  horn  or  flute, 
That  far  off,  broken  by  the  eagle  note 
Of  th'  Abyssinian  trumpet,'  swell  and  float. 

Who  leads  this  mighty  army? — ask  ye  "who?" 
And  mark  ye  not  those  banners  of  dark  hue, 
The  Night  and  Sliadow,*'^  over  yonder  tent? — 
It  is  tlie  Caliph's  glorious  armament. 
Roused  in  his  Palace  by  the  dread  alarms, 
That  hourly  came,  of  the  false  Prophet's  arms, 
And  of  his  host  of  infidels,  who  hurl'd 
Defiance  fierce  at  Islam^  and  the  world, — 
Thoutrh  worn  with  Grecian  warfare,  and  behind 
The  veils  of  his  bright  Palace  cahn  reclined, 
Yet  brook'd  he  not  such  blasphemy  should  stain, 
Thus  unrevenged,  the  evening  of  his  reign  ; 
But,  having  sworn  upon  the  Holy  Graved 
To  conquer  or  to  perish,  once  more  gave 
His  sliadowy  banners  proudly  to  the  breeze, 
And  with  an  army,  nureed  in  victories, 
Here  stands  to  crush  the  rebels  that  o'errun 
His  blest  and  beauteous  Province  of  the  Sun. 

Ne'er  did  the  march  of  IMahadi  display 
Sucli  pomp  before ; — not  ev'n  when  on  his  way 
To  Mecca's  Temple,  when  both  land  and  sea 
Were  spoil'd  to  feed  the  Pilgrim's  luxury  f 
When  round  him,  mid  the  burning  sands,  he  saw 
Fruits  of  the  North  in  icy  freshness  tliaw, 
And  cooi'd  his  thirsty  lip,  beneath  the  glow 
Of  Mecca's  sun,  with  urns  of  Persian  snow  :® — 
Nor  e'er  did  armament  more  grand  than  that 
Pour  from  the  kingdoms  of  the  Caliphat. 

1  "This  trumpet  is  often  called, in  Abyssinia,  nessercano, 
which  signifies  the  Note  of  the  Eiigle.*' — J^ote  of  Brace's 
Editor. 

3  The  two  black  standards  home  before  the  Caliphs  of  the 
House  of  Abbas  were  called,  allegorically,  The  Night  and 
The  Shadow.— See  Gibbon. 

3  The  Mahometan  religion. 

4  *-The  Persians  swear  by  iheTombof  Phah  Cesade,  who 
is  buried  at  Casbin;  and  when  one  desires  another  to  assev- 
erate a  matter,  he  will  ask  him  if  he  dare  swear  by  the  Holy 
Grave" — Struy. 

6  Mahadi,  in  a  single  pilgrimage  to  Mecca,  expended  six 
millions  ufdinars  of  gold. 

8  N^vein  Mec.cam  apportavit,  rem  ilii  aut  nunquuu  aut 
raro  visam. — Abulfcda. 

'  The  inhabitants  of  Hejazor  Arabia  Petraa,  called  by  an 
Eastern  writer  "The  People  of  the  Rock."— ^Tftn  Haukal. 

8  "Those  horses,  called  by  the  Arabians  Kochlanl,  of 
whom  a  written  genealogy  has  been  kept  for  2000  years. 
They  are  said  to  derive  their  origin  from  King  Solomon's 
steeds." — J^iebuhr. 

3  "  Many  of  the  figures  on  the  blades  of  their  swords  arc 


First,  in  the  van,  tho  People  of  the  Rock7 
On  their  light  mountain  steeds,  of  royal  stock:" 
Then,  chieftains  of  Damascus,  proud  to  sec 
Tho  flashing  of  their  swords*  rich  marquetry  ;* — 
I\Ien,  from  tlio  regions  near  tho  Volca's  mouth, 
Mix'd  with  the  rude,  black  archei-s  of  tho  South ; 
And  Indian  lancers,  in  wliitc  turban'd  ranks, 
From  tlie  far  Sindl:,  or  Attock's  sacred  banks, 
With  dusky  legions  from  the  Land  of  Myrrh,"* 
And  many  a  mace-arm'd  Moor  and  Mid-sea  islander 

Nor  less  in  number,  though  more  new  and  rudo 
In  warfare's  school,  was  tho  vast  multitude 
Tliat,  fired  by  zeal,  or  by  oppression  wrong'd, 
Round  the  wiiito  standard  of  th'  impostor  throng'd. 
Beside  his  thousands  of  Believei*s — blind, 
Burning  and  headlong  as  the  Samiel  wind — 
Many  who  felt,  and  more  who  fear'd  to  feel 
The  bloody  Islamite's  converting  steel, 
Flock'd  to  his  banner  ; — Chiefs  of  th'  Uzbek  race, 
Waving  their  heron  crests  with  martial  grace  ;'' 
Turkomans,  countless  as  their  flocks,  led  fortli 
From  th'  aromatic  pastures  of  the  North  ; 
Wild  warriors  of  the  turquoise  hills,'" — and  those 
Who  dwell  beyond  the  everlasting  snows 
Of  Hindoo  Kosn,"  in  stormy  freedom  bred, 
Tlieir  fort  the  rock,  then-  camp  the  torrent's  bed. 
But    none,    of    all    who    own'd    tlie  Chief's   com- 
mand, 
Rush'd  to  that  battle-field  with  bolder  hand, 
Or  sterner  hate,  than  Iran's  outlaw'd  men," 
Her  Worshippers  of  Fire — all  panting  then 
For  vengeance  on  th'  accursed  Saracen  ; 
Vengeance  at  last  for  their  dear  countiy  spum'd, 
Her    throne   usurp'd,  and  her  bright   shrines    o'er- 

turn'd. 
From  Yezd's'^  eternal  Mansion  of  the  Fire, 
Where  aged  sahits  in  dreams  of  Heav'n  expire  : 

wrought  in  gold  or  silver,  or  in  marquetrj'  with  small  gems." 
— Jisiat.  Misc.  V.  i. 

1"  Azab  or  Saba. 

"  "The  chiefs  of  the  Uzbek  Tartars  wear  a  plume  of 
while  heron's  feathers  in  their  turbans." — .Account  of  Inde- 
pendent Tartary. 

12  In  the  mountains  of  Nishapour  and  Tons  (in  Khoras- 
san)  they  find  turquoise?. — Ebn  HauUal. 

1^  For  a  description  of  these  stupendous  ranges  of  moun- 
tains, see  Elphinstone' s  Caubnl. 

11  The  Ghebers  or  Guchres,  those  original  natives  of  Per- 
sia who  adhered  to  their  ancient  faith,  the  relipion  of  Zoro- 
aster, and  who,  after  the  conquest  of  ihoir  country  by  the 
Aral)s,  were  either  persecuU;d  at  home,  or  forced  to  become 
wanderers  abroad. 

^  ■■  Yezd,  the  chief  residence  of  tho«i!  ancient  natives, 
who  worship  tlie  Sun  anil  the  Fire,  which  latter  they  have 
carefully  kept  lighted,  without  being  once  extinguished  for 
a  moment,  about  3Ul)0  years,  on  a  mountain  near  Vezil. 
called  Ater  Quedah,  signifying  the  House  or  Mansion  of  the 
Fire.  He  is  reckoned  very  unfortunate  \vho  dies  olf  that 
mountain." — Stephen's  Persia. 


396 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


From  Bai>ku,  and  those  fountains  of  blue  flame 
That  burn  into  the  Caspian/  fierce  they  came, 
Careless  for  wliat  or  whom  the  blow  was  sped, 
So  vengeance  Iriumph'd,  and  their  tyrants  bled. 

Such  was  the  wild  and  misceilancous  host, 
That  high  in  air  their  niolley  banners  toss'd 
Around  tlie  Prophet-Chief — aU  eyes  still  bent 
C  poll  that  glittering  Veil,  where'er  it  went, 
That  beacon  through  the  battle's  stonny  flood, 
That    rainbow    of  the    field,    whose  showers  were 
blood ! 

Twice  hatb  the  snn  upon  their  conflict  set, 
And  risen  again,  and  found  tliem  grappling  yet; 
While  streams  of  carnage  in  liis  noontide  blaze, 
Smoke  up  to  Hcav'n — hot  as  that  crimson  haze, 
By  which  the  prostrate  Caravan  is  awed,^ 
In  the  red  Desert,  wlien  the  wind's  abroad. 
"  On,  Swords  of  God  I"  the  panting  Caliph  calls, — 
'*  Thrones    for    the    living — Heav'u   for    him    who 

falls!"— 
"  On,  brave  avengers,  on,'*  Mokanna  cries, 
"  And  Erlis  blast  the  recreant  slave  that  flies  !'* 
Now  comes  the  brunt,  the  crisis  of  the  day — 
They  clash — they  strive — the  Caliph's  troops  give 

way ! 
Mokanna's  self  plucks  the  black  Banner  down, 
And  now  the  Orient  World's  Imperial  crown 
,  Is  just  within  his  grasp — when,  hark,  that  shout! 
Some  hand  hath  clieck'd  the  flying  Moslem's  rout ; 
And  now  they  turn,  they  rally — at  their  head 
A  warrior,  (like  those  angel  youths  who  led, 
In  glorious  panoply  of  Heav'n's  own  mail, 
The    Champions   of    the    Faith    through    Beder*s 

vale,') 
Bold  as  if  gifted  with  ten  thousand  lives, 
Turns  on  the  fierce-pursuer's  blades,  and  drives 
At  once  the  multitudinous  torrent  back — 
While  hope  and  courage  kindle  in  his  track ; 
And,  at  each  step,  his  bloody  falchion  makes 
Terrible  vistas  through  which  vict'ry  breaks  I 
In  vain  Mokanna,  midst  the  general  flight, 
Stands,  like  the  red  moon,  on  some  stormy  night, 
Among  the  fugitive  clouds  that,  hurrying  by, 
Jjcave  only  her  unshaken  in  the  sky — 


1  "  When  the  weather  Is  hnzy,  the  springs  of  Naphtha  (on 
an  isl;inil  nc:ir  B;ikn)  huil  um  llic  lii;:hfr.  ami  the  Naphtha 
ot'icn  lakc'i  fire  on  ihe  surfirc  of  iiie  carili,  iind  runs  in  a 
flame  into  the  sea  to  ft  disLince  utmost  incredible.'* — Han- 
tcay  on  iht  Everlasting'  Fire  at  Baku. 

2  Saiinry  st\y&  nt"  the  south  wind,  whicli  hlows  in  Egypt 
from  Fehrnary  to  May,  "  t^onHliruL's  it  appears  only  in*  the 
shape  (if  an  inipetumis  whirlwind,  which  passes  mpidly,iind 
is  fnUil  to  the  iniveller.  surpri'^e<l  in  the  middle  of  the  deserts. 
Torrents  of  burning  sand  roll  before  it,  the  firmament  is  cn- 


In  vain  he  yells  his  desperate  curses  out, 
Deals  death  promiscuously  to  all  about, 
To  foes  that  charge  and  coward  friends  that  fly^ 
And  seems  of  all  tlio  Great  Arch-enemy. 
The  panic  spreads — "  A  miracle  !"  throughout 
The  Moslem  ranks,  *'  a  miracle  I"  they  shout. 
All  gazing  on  tliat  youth,  whose  coming  seems 
A  light,  a  glor)-,  such  as  breaks  in  dreams  ; 
And  ev'ry  sword,  true  as  o'er  billows  dim 
The  needle  tracks  the  load-star,  following  him  I 

Right    tow'rds    Mokanna    now    he    cleaves    his 

path, 
Impatient  cleaves,  as  though  the  bolt  of  wratii 
He  bears  from  H^v'n  witliheld  its  awful  burst 
From  weaker  heads,  and  souls  but  half  way  cursed, 
To  break  o'er  Him,  the  migiitiest  and  the  worst ! 
But    vain    his    speed — though,    in    that    liour    of 

blood, 
Had  all  God's  seraphs  round  Mokanna  stood. 
With  swords  of  fire,  ready  like  fate  to  fall, 
Mokanna's  soul  would  have  defied  them  all ; 
Yet  now,  the  rush  of  fugitives,  too  strong 
For  human  force,  humes  ev'n  hwi  along: 
In  vain  he  struggles  'mid  the  wedged  array 
Of  flying  thousands — he  is  borne  away  ; 
And  the  sole  joy  his  baflled  spirit  knows, 
In  this  forced  flight,  is — murd'ring  as  he  goes  I 
As  a  grim  tiger,  whom  the  torrent's  might 
Surprises  in  some  parch'd  ravine  at  night, 
Tiu-ns,  ev'n  in  drowning,  on  the  wretched  flocks, 
Swept  with  him  in  that  snow -flood  from  the  rocks, 
And,  to  the  last,  devouring  on  his  way. 
Bloodies  the  streuin  ho  hath  not  power  to  stay. 

**  Alia  ilia  Alia  I" — the  glad  shout  renew — 
**  Alia  Akbar  I""* — the  Caliph's  in  Merou. 
Hang  out  your  gilded  tapestry  in  the  streets, 
And  light  your  shrines  and  ciiant  your  ziraleets.^ 
The    Swords     of    God    have    triumph'd-  on    his 

throne 
Your  Caliph  sits,  and  the  veil'd  Chief  hath  flown. 
Who  does  not  envy  that  young  warrior  now. 
To  wiiom  the  Lord  of  Islam  bends  his  brow. 
In  all  the  graceful  gratitude  of  power. 
For  his  throne's  safety  in  that  perilous  hour.' 


vcloped  in  a  thick  veil,  and  the  sun  appears  of  the  color  o( 
hliiod.     Sometimes  whole  caravans  arc  buried  in  ii." 

3  In  the  great  victory  gained  by  Mahomet  at  Beder.  he  waa 
assisted,  say  the  Mussulmans,  by  three  ihousand  angels,  led 
by  Gabriel,  mounted  on  his  horse  Iliazuiu. — See  The  Koran 
and  its  Commentators. 

*  The  Tccbir,  or  cry  of  the  Arabs,  "  Aila  Aebar  :"  says 
Ockley,  means,  "(lod  is  most  mighty." 

^  The  ziraleet  is  a  kind  of  chorus,  which  the  wouiea  of 
the  East  sing  upon  joyful  occasions. — Russcl. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


397 


Wlio  doth  not  wonder,  when,  amidst  th'  acclaini 
Of  thousands,  heraldinrj  to  heaven  liis  name — 
'Mid  all  tliose  holier  harmonies  of  famo. 
Which  sonnd  along  the  path  of  virtuous  souls. 
Like  music  round  a  planet  as  it  rolls, — 
He  turns  away — coldly,  as  if  some  gloom 
Hung  o'er  his  heart  no  triumpiis  can  illume  ; — 
Some  sightless  grief,  upon  whose  blasted  gaze 
Though  glory's  light  may  play,  in  vain  it  plays. 
Yes,  wretched  AziM  I  thine  is  such  a  grief, 
Beyond  all  hope,  all  terror,  all  relief ; 
A  dark,  cold  calm,  wliich  nothing  now  can  break, 
Or  warm  or  brighten, — like  that  Syrian  Lake,* 
Upon  whose  surface  morn  and  summer  shed 
Their  smiles  in  vain,  for  all  beneath  is  dead ! — 
Hearts  there  have  been,  o'er  which  this  weight  of  wo 
Came  by  long  use  of  suiFring,  tame  and  slow  ; 
But  thine,  lost  youtli !  was  sudden — over  thee 
It  broke  at  once,  when  all  seem'd  ecstasy  ; 
When  Hope  look'd  up,  and  saw  the  gloomy  Past 
Melt  into  splendor,  and  Bliss  dawn  at  last — 
'Twas  then,  ev'n  then,  o'er  joys  so  freshly  blown, 
Tills  mortal  blight  of  misery  came  down ; 
Ev'n  tlien,  the  full,  warm  gushings  of  thy  heart 
Were    check'd  —  like    fount-drops,  frozen    as    they 

start — 
And  there,  like  them,  cold,  sunless  relics  hang. 
Each  fix'd  and  chill'd  into  a  lasting  pang. 

One  sole  desire,  one  passion  now  remains 
To  keep  life's  fever  still  within  his  veins. 
Vengeance  I  —  dire  vengeance  on  the  wretch   who 

cast 
O'er  him  and  all  he  loved  that  ruinous  blast. 
For  this,  when  rumors  reach'd  him  in  his  flight 
Far,  far  away,  after  that  fatal  night, — 
Rumors  of  armies,  thronging  to  th'  attack 
Of  the  Vcil'd  Chief, — for  this  he  wing'd  him  back, 
Fleet  as  the  vnltu.-.*  ?needs  to  flags  unfurl'd. 
And,  when  all  hope  seem'd  desp'rate,  wildly  hm-l'd 
Himself  into  tlie  scale,  and  saved  a  world. 
For  this  he  still  lives  on,  careless  of  all 
The  wreaths  that  Glory  on  his  path  lets  fall ; 
For  this  alone  exists — like  lightning-fire. 
To  speed  one  bolt  of  vengeance,  and  expire  ! 

But  safe  as  yet  that  Spirit  of  Evil  lives ; 
With  a  small  band  of  desp'rate  fugitives. 
The  last  sole  stubborn  fragment,  left  unriv'n. 
Of  the  proud  host  that  late  stood  fronting  Heav'n, 

1  The  Dead  Sea,  which  contains  neither  animal  nor  vege- 
table life. 

'  The  ancient  Osus. 

3  A  cUy  of  Transoxiana. 

*  "  You  never  can  cast^our  eyes  on  this  tree,  but  you 
mnt  then  either  blossoms  or  fruit;  and  as  the  blossom  drops 


Ho    gain'd    Merou  —  breathed   a   shoit   curse   of 

blood 
O'er    his    lo.«t    throno  —  then    pass'd    the    Jiiion's 

flood," 
And  gath'ring  all,  whoso  madness  of  belief 
Still  saw  a  Saviour  in  their  down-fall'n  Chief, 
Raised  the  white  banner  within  Ni:ksueb's  gates,' 
And  there,  untamed,  th'  approaching  conq'ror  waita 

Of  all  his  Haram,  all  that  busy  hive 
With  music  and  with  sweets  sparkling  ?live. 
Ho  took  but  one,  the  partner  of  his  flight. 
One — not  for  Kwe — not  for  her  beauty's  light — 
No,  Zelica  stood  with'ring  'midst  the  gay. 
Wan  as  the  blossom  that  fell  yesterday 
From  th'  Alma  tree  and  dies,  while  overhead 
To-day's  young  flow'r  is  springing  in  its  stead.* 
Oh,  not  for  love — the  deepest  Damn'd  must  bo 
Touch'd  with  Heaven's  glory,  ere  such  fiends  as  he 
Can  feel  one  glimpse  of  Love's  divinity. 
But  no,  she  is  his  victim  ; — tliere  lie  all 
Her  charms  for  him — channs  that  can  never  pall, 
As  long  as  hell  within  his  heart  can  stir, 
Or  one  faint  trace  of  Heaven  is  .>Ai  in  her. 
To  work  an  angel's  ruin, — to  behold 
As  white  a  page  as  Virtue  e'er  uuroll'd 
Blacken,  beneath  his  touch,  into  a  scroll 
Of  damning  sins,  seal'd  with  a  burning  soul — 
This  is  his  triumph  ;  this  the  joy  accursed. 
That  ranks  him  among  demons  all  but  first : 
This  gives  the  victim,  that  before  hira  lies 
Blighted  and  lost,  a  glory  in  his  eyes, 
A  light  like  that  with  which  hell-fire  illumes 
The  ghastly,  writhing  wretch  whom  it  consumes  I 

But  other  tasks  now  wait  him — tasks  that  need 
All  the  deep  daringness  of  thought  and  deed 
With    which    the   Dives'   have     gifted     him  —  for 

mark. 
Over  yon  plains,  which  night  had  else  made  dark, 
Those  lanterns,  countless  as  the  winged  lights 
That  spangle  I.ndia's  fields  on  show'ry  nights,' — 
Far  as  their  formidable  gleams  they  shed. 
The  mighty  tents  of  the  beleaguerer  spread, 
Glimm'ring  along  th'  horizon's  dusky  lino. 
And  thence  in  nearer  circles,  till  they  shuie 
Among  the  founts  and  groves,  o'er  which  the  town 
In  all  its  ami'd  magnificence  looks  down. 
Yet,  fearless,  from  his  lofty  batticnients 
MoK.WNA  views  that  multitude  of  tents  ; 


undernealh  on  the  ground  (which  is  frequently  covercn  with 
these  purple-colnred  flowers)  others  come  forth  in  their 
stead."  &c.  &c. — JVipuhoff. 

'  The  Demons  of  the  Persian  niytholopy. 

«  Carreri  mentions  llie  fire-flies  in  India  during  the  rain)^ 
season. — See  his  Travels 


398 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Nay,  smiles  to  think  that,  though  entoilcd,  beset, 

Not  less  than  myriads  dare  to  front  liim  yet ; — 

That  friondlcss,  tlironeless,  lie  tlius  stands  at  bay, 

Kv'n  thus  a  match  for  myriada  kucIi  as  they. 

'•  Oh,  for  a  sweep  of  that  dark  Angel's  wing, 

••  Who    bnish'd    the    thousands    of     tii'    Assyrian 

King' 
"  To  darkness  in  a  moment,  that  I  might 
"  reoi)!o  Hell's  chambers  with  yon  ho?-t  to-night! 
"  Hut,   come    what    may,  let    who  will    grasp    the 

throne, 
"  Caliph  or  Prophet,  Min  alike  shall  groan  ; 
'*  Let    who    will    torture    him,    Priest  —  Caliph  — 

King— 
"  Alike  this  loathsome  world  of  his  shall  ring 
"  With  victims'  shrieks  and  bowlings  of  the  slave, — 
"  Sounds,    that    sliall    glad    me    ev'n    within    my 

grave  !" 
Tims,  to  himself — but  to  the  scanty  train 
Still  left  around  him,  a  far  different  strain  : — 
"  Glorious  Defenders  of  the  sacred  Crown 
*'  I  bear  from  Heav'n,  wliose  light  nor  blood  shall 

drown 
"  Nor   shadow    of    eaiHi    eclipse  ;  —  before   whose 

gems 
"  The  paly  pomp  of  this  world's  diadems, 
**  Tho  crown  of  Gerashid,  the  pillar'd  throne 
"Of  Parviz,*  and  the  heron  crest  that  slione,^ 
"  IMagnificent,  o'er  Ali's  beauteous  eyes,* 
"  Fade  like  the  stars  wlien  morn  is  in  the  skies: 
*•  \\'arriors,  rejoice — the  port  to  which  we've  pass'd 
"  O'er  Destiny's  dark  wave,  beams  out  at  last ! 
*  ^''ct'ry's  our  own — 'tis  written  in  that  Book 
"  Upon  whose  leaves  none  but  the  angels  look, 
"  That  Islam's  sceptre  shall  beneath  tho  power 
"  Of  her  great  foe  fall  broken  in  that  hour, 
"  AVhcu  tho  moon's  mighty  orb,  before  all  eyes, 
"  From   Neksheb's   Holy  Well   portentously  shall 


1  Sonnnchcrilj,  called  by  the  Orientals  King  of  RIoussal. — 
iriJerbclat. 

'  Ch(i-^roc3.  For  the  description  of  his  Throne  or  Palace, 
sec  (tibhoii  anil  jy Hcrbetot. 

There  were  said  to  be  under  this  Throne  or  Palace  of 
Khosnm  Piirviz  a  hundred  vmilts  filled  with  "  treasures  so 
inunense  that  tomeMuhonieUtn  writers  tell  us,  their  Prophet, 
to  encourage  his  disciples,  c-;irried  Ihoni  to  a  rock,  wliich  at 
his  coiiiniand  opened,  and  gave  thcni  a  prospect  through  jl 
of  the  tre:iMires  of  Khosrou." — Universal  History. 

3  "The  cruwn  of  Gerashid  is  cloudy  and  tarnished  before 
the  heron  tntt  of  thy  turban."— From  one  uf  the  clcjiies  or 
sonps  in  praise  of  Ali,  written  in  characters  of  gold  round 
the  gallery  of  Abltas's  tomb.— See  Charditi. 

*  The  beauty  of  Ali's  eyes  was  so  remarkable,  that  when- 
ever the  Persians  would  describe  any  thlnfj  as  very  lovely 
they  siiy  it  is  Ayn  Ilali.  or  the  Kycs  of  A\\.~Chardin. 

6  We  are  not  told  more  of  this  trick  of  the  Iin))ostor,  than 

th:it  it  was  "unc  machine,  qu'il  disoit  6trc  la  I,une.'*    Ac- 

#rni'ding  to  Richardson,  the  miracle  is  perpetuated  in  Ncks- 

rheb. — "  N::kshab,  the  name  of  a  city  in  Transnxinna,  where 


"  Now  turn  and  see  I" 

They  tuni'd,  and,  as  he  spoke, 
A  sudden  splendor  all  around  them  broke, 
And  they  beheld  an  orb,  ample  and  bright, 
Rise  from  the  Holy  Well,^  and  cast  its  light 
Round  tho  rich  city  and  the  plain  for  miles," — 
Flinging  such  radiance  o'er  the  gilded  tiles 
Of  many  a  dome  and  fair-roof'd  imaret, 
As  autumn  sims  slied  round  them  wlien  they  set 
Instant  from  all  who  saw  th'  illusive  sign 
A  murmur  broke — "  Miraculous  !  divine  !" 
The  Gheber  bow'd,  thinking  his  idol  star 
Had  waked,  and  burst  impatient  through  the  bar 
Of  midnight,  to  inflame  him  to  the  war  ; 
Wliile  lie  of  Moussa's  creed  saw,  in  that  ray, 
The  glorious  Light  whlcli,  in  his  freedom's  day. 
Had  rested  on  the  Ark,^  and  now  again 
Shone  out  to  bless  the  breaking  of  his  chain. 

"  To  victory  !"  is  at  once  l^'G  crj'  of  all — 
Nor  stands  Mokanna  loit'ring  at  that  call  ; 
But  instant  the  huge  gates  are  flung  aside, 
And  forth,  like  a  diminutive  mountain-tide 
Into  the  boundless  sea,  they  speed  their  course 
Right  on  into  the  Moslem's  mighty  force. 
The  watchmen  of  the  camp, — who,  in  their  rounds. 
Had  paused,  and  ev'n  forgot  the  punctual  sounds 
Of  tho  small  drum  with  which  they  count  the  night,® 
To  gaze  upon  tliat  supernatural  light, — 
Now  sink  beneath  an  unexpected  arm. 
And  in  a  death-groan  give  their  last  alarm. 
"  On  for  tlic  lamps,  that  light  yon  lofty  screen,^ 
"  Nor  blunt  your  blades  with  massacre  so  mean  ; 
"  There  rests  the  Caliph — speed — one  lucky  lance 
"  May  now  achieve  mankind's  deliverance." 
Dcsp'rate  the  die — such  as  they  only  cast, 
Who  venture  for  a  world,  and  stake  their  last. 
But  Fate's  no  longer  with  him — blade  for  blade 
Springs  up  to  meet  them  thro'  the  glimm'ring  shade, 

they  say  there  is  a  well,  in  which  the  ajipe.-irance  of  tlie 
moon  is  to  be  seen  night  and  day." 

c  "  II  anmsa  pendant  deux  mois  le  peuplc  de  la  ville  de 
Nckhschcb,  en  faisant  sortir  tjutes  les  nuits  du  fund  d*un 
puits  lui  corps  lumineiix  semblable  a  la  Lune,  qui  pdrloit 
sa  lumiere  jusqu'Ji  la  distance  de  plusienrs  millcs."— />V/fr- 
bclol.  Hence  he  was  called  SazendChmah,  or  the  iMoon- 
mukcr. 

'  The  Shechinah,  called  Sakinat  in  the  Koran.— See  Sale's 
J^'vtc,  chap.  ii. 

8  The  parts  of  the  night  are  made  known  as  well  by  in- 
struments of  music,  as  by  the  rounds «  f  the  watchmen  with 
cries  an<l  small  drums. — See  Burner's  Oriental  Customs,  vol. 
i..  p.  J 19. 

^  The  Serrapurda,  high  screens  of  red  cloth,  stiflened  .with 
cane,  iiseii  to  enclose  a  considerable  space  round  the  royal 
tents. — J^jtes  on  the  Bahardaiiii.''.'i. 

The  tei.  ts  of  Princes  were  generally  illuminated.    Norden 
tells  us  that  the  tent  nf  the  Bey  of  Girgf  was  trisiinguishcd 
from  the  other  tents  by  lorty  lanifrns  being  suspended  before  . 
it. — fee  Harmcr^s  Observations  on  Job. 


I 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


399 


And,  as  tho  clash  is  heard,  new  legions  eooii 
Pour  to  the  spot,  like  bees  of  Kauzeroon* 
To  the  slirill  timbrel's  summons, — till,  at  lentrth, 
The  mi<;)ity  camp  swarms  out  In  all  its  strength, 
And  back  to  Neksued's  gates,  covering  the  plain 
With    random    slaughter,    drives   the    adventurous 

train ; 
Among  the  last  of  whom  the  Silver  Veil 
Is  seen  glitt'ring  at  times,  like  the  white  sail 
Of  some  toss'd  vessel,  on  a  stormy  night. 
Catching  the  tempest's  momentary  light ! 

And  hath  not  this  brought  the  proud  spirit  low? 
Nor  dash'd  his  brow,  nor  check'd  his  daring?    No. 
Though  half  the  wretches,  whom  at  night  he  led 
To  thrones  and  vict'rj',  lie  disgraced  and  dead. 
Yet  morning  hears  him  with  unslirinklng  crest, 
Still  vaunt  of  thrones,  and  vict'rj""  to  tlie  rest ; — 
And  tiiey  believe  liim ! — oh,  the  lover  may 
Distrust  that  look  which  steals  his  soul  away ; — 
The  babe  may  cease  to  think  tliat  it  can  play 
With  Heaven's  rainbow  ; — alchymists  may  doubt 
The  shinuig  gold  their  crucible  gives  out ; 
But  Faith,  fanatic  Faith,  once  wedded  fast 
To  some  dear  falsehood,  hugs  it  to  the  last. 

And  well  th'  Impostor  knew  all  lures  and  arts, 
Tliat  Lucifer  e'er  taught  to  tangle  hearts; 
Nor,  'mid  these  last  bold  workings  of  his  plot 
Against  men's  souls,  is  Zelica  forgot. 
Ill-fated  Zelica  !  had  reason  been 
Awake,  tlirough  half  the  horrors  thou  hast  seen. 
Thou  never  couldst  have  borne  it — Death  had  come 
At  once,  and  taken  thy  wrung  spirit  home. 
But  'twas  not  so — a  torpor,  a  suspense 
Of  thought,  almost  of  life,  came  o'er  the  intense 
And  passionate  struggles  of  that  fearfid  night, 
When  her  last  hope  of  peace  and  heav'n  took  flight : 
And  thougii,  at  times,  a  gleam  of  phrensy  broke, — 
As  th""ugli  some  dull  volcano's  vale  of  smoke 

1  "  From  th*  c-oves  of  orange  trocs  nt  Kauzeroon  the  bees 
cull  a  celebrated  honey." — Morier's  Travels. 

2  "A  custom  still  subsisting  at  this  day,  seems  to  me  to 
prove  tliat  the  Egyptians  formerly  sacrificed  a  young  virgin 
to  the  God  of  the  Nile;  for  they  nowmalie  a  statue  of  earth 
in  shape  of  a  girl,  to  which  they  give  the  name  of  the  Be- 
trothed Bride,  and  throw  it  into  the  river."— Sayory. 

3  That  they  knew  the  secret  of  the  Greek  fire  among  the 
Mussulmans  early  in  the  eleventh  ccnturj',  appears  from 
Dow*s  Account  of  Manioodl.  "When  he  arrived  at  Monl- 
tan,  finding  that  the  country  of  the  Jits  was  defended  by 
great  rivers,  he  ordered  fifteen  hundred  boats  to  be  built, 
each  of  whicli  he  armed  with  six  iron  spikes,  projecting  from 
their  prows  and  sides,  to  ^jrevent  their  being  boarded  by  the 
enemy,  who  were  very  expert  in  that  kind  of  V'ar.  When 
he  had  biunrhed  this  fleet,  he  ordered  twenty  archers  into 
each  boat,  and  five  others  with  fire-balls,  to  burn  the  craft 
of  the  .Tits,  and  naphtha  to  set  the  whole  river  on  fire." 

The  agncc  aster,  too,  in  Indian  poems  the  Instrument  of 


Ominous  flashings  now  and  then  will  start. 
Which  show  tho  fire's  still  busy  at  its  lieart , 
Yet  was  s!ie  mostly  wra[>p'd  in  solemn  gloom, — • 
Not  such  as  Azim's,  brooding  o'er  its  doom. 
And  calm  without,  as  is  tho  brow  of  detith, 
While  busy  worms  are  gnawing  underneath — 
But  in  a  blank  and  pulseless  torpor,  free 
From  thought  or  pain,  a  seal'd-up  apathy. 
Which  left  ner  oft,  with  scarce  one  living  thrill, 
TIio  cold,  palo  victim  of  her  tort'rcr's  will. 

Again,  as  in  Met.ou,  he  hi?  her  deckM 
Gorgeously  out,  the  Priestess  of  tho  sect ; 
And  led  her  glitt'rlng  forth  before  the  eyes 
Of  his  nide  train,  as  to  a  sacrifice, — 
Pallid  as  she,  the  young,  devoted  Bride 
Of  the  fierce  Nile,  when,  deck'd  in  all  the  ,irido 
Of  nuptial  pomp,  she  sinks  into  his  tide.^ 
And  while  the  wretched  maid  hung  down  her  head, 
And  stood,  as  one  just  risen  from  the  dead, 
Amid  that  gazing  crowd,  the  fiend  would  tell 
His  credulous  slaves  it  was  sojne  charm  or  spell 
Possess'd  her  now, — and  from  that  darken'd  trance 
Should  dawn  ere  long  their  Faith's  deliverance. 
Or  if,  at  times,  goaded  b}'  gT-iilty  shame, 
Her  soul  was  roused,  and  words  of  wildness  came, 
Instant  the  bold  blasphemer  would  translate 
Her  raring;?  into  oraoles  cf  fate, 
Would  hail  Heav'n's  signals  in  her  flashing  eyes, 
And  call  her  shrieks  the  language  of  the  skies! 

But  vain  at  lenijth  his  arts — despair  is  seen 
Gath'ring  around  ;  and  famine  comes  to  glean 
All  that  the  sword  had  left  unre?/d: — in  vain 
At  mom  and  eve  across  the  no*^  .hern  plain 
He  looks  impatient  forlhe  promised  spears 
Of  the  wild  Hordes  and  Tartar  mountaineers  ; 
They    come    not — while    his    fierce    beleaguerers 

pour 
Engines  of  havoc  in,  unknown  before,' 

Fire,  whose  flame  cannot  be  extinguished,  is  supposed  to 
signify  the  Greek  Fire. — See  JViifcs's  SoiUh  of  Indin,  vol.  i. 
p.  471. — And  in  the  curious  Javan  poem,  the  Brata  Yudha^ 
given  by  Sir  Stamford  liajjles  in  his  History  of  Java,  we 
find,  "He  iiinied  at  the  heart  of  Soita  with  the  sharp- 
pointed  'Weapon  of  Fire." 

The  mentionof  gunpowder  as  in  use  among  the  Arabians, 
long  before  its  supposed  discovery  in  Europe,  is  introduced  by 
Ebn  Fadhl,  the  Egj'ptian  geographer,  who  lived  in  the  thir- 
teenth century.  "Bodies,"  he  says,  "in  the  form  of  scor- 
pions, bound  round  and  filled  with  nitrous  powder,  glide 
along,  making  a  gentle  noise  ;  then,  exploding,  they  lighten, 
as  it  were,  and  burn.  Rut  there  are  others  wh'ch,  cast  into 
the  air.  stretch  along  like  a  cloud,  roaring  horribly,  as  rhun- 
der  roars,  and  on  all  sides  vomiting  out  flames,  burst,  burn, 
and  reduce  to  cinders  whatever  conies  in  their  way."  The 
historian  Ren  Mdalln,  in  speaking  of  the  sieges  of  Abulw- 
alid  in  the  year  of  the  Hegira  712.  says.  "  X  fiery  globe,  by 
means  of  combustible  matter,  with  a  mighty  noise  suddculy 


400 


MOORE*S  WORKS. 


And  liorriblo  as  new ;' — javelins,  that  fly 
fciiwrcatr/d  witli  smoky  flames  through  tlie  dark 

sky, 
And  red-hot  globes,  that,  opening  as  they  mount, 
Discharge,  as  from  a  kindled  Naphtlia  fount,^ 
Show'rs  of  cousimiing  fire  o'er  all  below  ; 
Looking,  as  through  th'  illumiued  niglit  they  go. 
Like  those  wild  birds^  that  by  the  Magians  oft. 
At  festivals  of  firo,  were  sent  aloft 
Lito  the  air,  with  blazing  fagots  tied 
To  tlieir  huge  wings,  scatt'ring  combustion  wide. 
All  night  the  groans  of  wretclies  who  expire, 
In  agony,  beneath  these  darts  of  fire, 
Ring  through  the  city — -while,  descending  o'er 
Its  shrines  and  domes  and  streets  of  sycamore, — 
Its  lone  bazars,  wltii  tlieir  bright  cloths  of  gold, 
Since  the  last  peaceful  pageant  left  unrolFd, — 
Its  beauteous  marble  baths,  whose  idle  jets 
Now  gnsli  with  blood, — and  its  tall  minarets, 
That  late  have  stood  up  in  the  evening  glare 
Of  the  red  sun,  unhallow'd  by  a  prayer  ; — 
O'er  each,  in  turn,  the  dreadful  flame-bc'.is  fall. 
And  death  and  conflagration  throughout  all 
The  desolate  city  hold  high  festival  I 

MoKANNA  sees  the  world  is  his  no  more ; — 
One  sting  at  parting,  and  his  grasp  is  o'er. 
"What!   drooping   now?*" — thus,   with    unblushing 

cheek, 
Ho  hails  the  few,  who  yet  can  hear  him  speak, 
Of  all  those  famish'd  slaves  around  him  lying, 
And  by  the  hglit  of  blazing  temples  dying  ; — 
"  What ! — drooping  now  ? — now,  when  at  length  we 

press 
*'  Home  o'er  the  vt  -y  threshold  of  success  ; 
"  When  Alla  from  our  ranljs  hath  thinn'd  away 
"  Those  grosser  branches,  tlftit  kept  out  his  ray 
"  Of  favor  from  us,  and  we  stand  at  length 
*'  Heirs  of  his  light  and  children  of  his  strength, 
*'  The  choson  few,  who  shall  survive  the  fall 
"  Of  Knigs  and  Thrones,  triumphant  over  all ! 


emitted,  strikes  wiih  the  force  of  liirhtning,  and  shakes  the 
citodel." — Sre  Ihe  cxinicts  from  Casiri's  Biblioth.  Arab. 
Hl*«p'\n.  in  tho  Appemlix  to  Bcriiiffton's  litorary  History  of 
the  Miiiille  Ascs. 

1  Thi!  (Jreck  fire,  which  was  occasionally  lent  by  the  em- 
porors  to  their  allies.  "It  was,"  says  Gibbon,  "either 
launclied  in  red-hot  halls  of  stone  and  iron,  or  darted  in  ar- 
rf)\vs  and  javelins,  twisted  ronnd  with  (lux  and  tow,  which 
had  deeply  iinbitied  tlic  innainmnble  oil." 

3  See  Hiinwaifs  Acconntof  ihe  PprinpsofXaphthaatBaku 
(which  is  called  by  JAeutenant  Poltinffcr  Joala  Mookee,  or, 
tlie  FlamlnK  Mtmth)  taking  fire  and  runnin<j  into  the  sea. 
Dr.  Cooke,  in  his  Journal,  mentions  sonic  wells  in  Circassia, 
strongly  impregnated  with  this  inflammable  oil,  from  which 
issues  boiling  water.  "Though  tho  weather,"  ho  adds, 
"was  now  very  cold,  the  warmth  of  these  wells  of  liot  water 
produced  near  them  the  verdure  and  flowers  of  spring.*" 


"  Have  you  then  lost,  weak  murm*rers  as  you  are, 

"  All  faith  in  him,  who  was  your  Light,  your  Star? 

"  Have  you  forgot  the  eye  of  glory,  hid 

"  Bfe.ieath  this  Veil,  the  flashing  of  whose  lid 

'*  Could,  like  a  sun-stroke  of  the  desert,  wither 

"  Millions  of  such  as  yonder  Chief  brings  hither? 

*'  Long    have    its    lightnings    slept — too    lo:ag — but 

now 
"  All  earth  shall  feel  th'  unveiling  of  this  brow  ! 
"  To-night — yes,  sainted  men  !  this  very  night, 
"  I  bid  you  all  to  a  fair  festal  rite, 
"  Where — having  deep  refresh'd  each  wearj'  limb 
"  With  viands,  such  as  feast  Heav'n's  cherubim, 
"  And  kindled  up  your  souls,  now  sunk  and  dim, 
"  With  that  pure  wine  the  Dark-eyed  Maids  above 
"  Keep,  seal'd  with  precious  musk,  for  those  they 

love,^ — ■ 
**  I  will  myself  uncurtain  in  your  sight 
"  The  wonders  of  this  brow's  ineffable  light ; 
"  Then  lead  you  forth,  and  with  a  wink  disperse 
"  Yon  myriads,  howling  through  tho  universe  !" 

Eager  they  Usten — while  each  accent  darts 
New  life  into  their  chill'd  and  hope^ick  hearts ; 
Such  treach'rous  life  as  the  cool  draught  supplies 
To  him  upon  tho  stake,  who  di'inks  and  dies  I 
Wildly  they  point  their  lances  to  the  light 
Of  tiie  fast-sinking  sun,  and  shout  "  To-night  I" — 
'*  To-night,"  their  Chief  re-echoes  in  a  voice 
Of  fiend-like  mock'ry  that  bids  hell  rejoice. 
Deluded  victims  I — -never  hath  this  earth 
Seen  mourning  half  so  mournful  as  their  mirth. 
Here,  to  the  few,  whose  iron  frames  had  stood 
This  racking  waste  of  famine  and  of  blood. 
Faint,  dying  wretches  clung,  from  whom  the  shout 
Of  triumph  like  a  maniac's  laugh  broke  out: — 
There,  others,  hglited  by  tho  smould'ring  fixe. 
Danced,  like  wan  ghosts  about  a  funeral  pyre, 
Among  the  dead  and  dying,  strew'd  around ; — 
While  some  pale  wretch  look'd  on,  and  from   his 
wound 


Major  Scott  Warinsr  says,  that  naphtha  is  used  by  the 
Persians,  as  we  are  told  it  was  in  hell,  for  lamps. 

many  a  row 

Of  starry  lamps  and  blazing  cressets,  fed 
With  naphtha  and  asphaltus,  yielding  light 
As  from  a  sky. 

3  "  At  the  great  festival  of  fire,  called  the  Sheb  Peze.  they 
used  to  set  fire  to  large  bunches  of  dry  combustibles,  fasten- 
ed round  wild  beasts  and  birds,  which  being  then  let  loose, 
tho  air  and  earth  appeared  one  great  illumination  ;  and  as 
these  terrified  creatures  naturally  fled  to  the  woods  for  shel- 
ter, it  is  easy  to  conceive  the  conflagrations  they  produced." 
— Richardson's  Dissertation. 

*  "The  righteous  shall  be  given  to  drink  of  pure  wine, 
sealed;  the  seal  whereof  shall  be  musk."— Swdn,  chap. 
Ixxxiii. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


401 


Plucking  the  fiery  dart  by  which  he  bled, 
lu  ghastly  transport  waved  it  o'er  Iiis  head  I 

'Twas  more  than  midnight  now — a  fearful  pause 
Had  follow'd  the  long  shouts,  the  wild  applause, 
That  lately  from  those  Royal  Gardens  burst,  . 
Whore  the  Veil'd  demon  held  his  feast  accuifcd. 
When  Zelica — alas,  poor  ruin'd  heart, 
In  ev'ry  horror  doom'd  to  bear  its  part ! — 
Was  bidden  to  the  banquet  by  a  slave, 
Who,  while  his  quiv'ring  lip  the  summons  gave. 
Grew  black,  as  though  the  shadows  of  the  grave 
Compass'd  him  round,  and,  ere  he  could  repeat 
His  message  through,  fell  lifeless  at  her  feet ! 
Shudd'ring  siie  went — a  soul-fcit  pang  of  fear, 
A  presage  that  her  own  dark  doom  was  near, 
Roused  ev'rj'  feeling,  and  brought  Reason  back 
Once  more,  to  writhe  her  last  upon  the  rack. 
All  round  seemM  tranquil — ev'n  the  foe  bad  ceased. 
As  if  aware  of  that  demoniac  feast. 
His  fier)-  bolts  ;  and  though  the  heav'ns  iook'd  red, 
'Twas  but  some  distant  conflagration's  spread. 
But  hark — she  stops — she  listens — dreadful  tone  ! 
'Tis  her  Tormentor's  laugh — and  now,  a  groan, 
A  long  death-groan  comes  with  it ; — can  tliis  be 
The  place  of  mirth,  the  bower  of  revelry? 
She  enters — Holy  Alla,  what  a  sight 
W  as  there  before  her  !     By  the  ghmm'ring  light 
Of  the  pale  dawn,  mix'd  with  the  flare  of  brands 
That    round    lay    burning,    dropp'd    from    lifeless 

hands, 
Slie  saw  the  board,  in  splendid  mockery  spread, 
Rich  censers  breathing — garlands  overhead — 
The  unis,  the    cups,   from   which    they   late   had 

quaff'd 
All  gold  and  gems,  but — what  had  been  the  draught  ? 
Oh  !  who  need  ask,  that  saw  those  livid  guests, 
With  their  swoirn  heads  sunk  black'uing  on  theu: 

breasts. 
Or  looking  pale  to  Heav'n  with  glassy  glare, 
As  if  they  sought  but  saw  no  mercy  there  ; 
As  if  they  felt,  though  poison  rack'd  them  through. 
Remorse  the  deadlier  torment  of  the  two  I 
While  some,  the  bravest,  hardiest  in  the  train 
Of  their  false  Chief,  who  *n  the  battle-plam 
Would  have  met  death  with  transport  by  liis  side. 
Here  mute  and  helpless  gasp'd  ; — but,  as  they  died, 
Look'd    horrible    vengeance    with   their   eyes'  last 

strain, 
And  clencli'd  the  slack'ning  hand  at  him  in  vain. 

Dreadful  it  was  to  see  the  ghastly  stare, 
The  stony  look  of  horror  and  despair, 

*  "The  Afghauns  l«clieve  each  of  the  numerous  solitudes 
and  deserts  of  their  country  to  be  inhabited  by  a  lonely  de- 
mon, whom  they  call  the  Gboolee  Beeabau,  or  Spirit  of  the 


26 


Which  some  of  these  expiring  victims  cast 

Upon  their  souls'  tormentor  to  tlio  last ; — 

Upon  that  mocking  l''iend,  whoso  veil,  now  raised, 

Show'd  them,  as  in  death's  agony  tliey  gazed. 

Not    the    long    promised   light,    the   brow,    whose 

beajnmg 
AVas  to  come  forth,  all  conqu'ring,  all  redeeming, 
But  features  horribler  than  Hell  o'er  traced 
On  its  own  brood  ; — no  Demon  of  the  AVaste,* 
No    churchyard    Ghole,    caught   ling'riug  in  the 

light 
Of  the  blest  sun,  e'er  blasted  human  sight 
With  lineaments  so  foul,  so  fierce  as  those 
Th'  Impostor  now,  in  grimiing  mock'ry,  shows : — 
"  There,  ye  wise  Saints,  behold  your  Light,  your 

Star— 
"  Ye  would  be  dupes  and  victims,  and  ye  are. 
"  Is  it  enough  ?  or  must  I,  while  a  tlu"ill 
"  Lives  in  your  sapient  bosoms,  cheat  you  still  ? 
"  Swear  that  the  burning  death  ye  feel  within 
"  Is  but  the  trance  with  which  Heav'n's  joys  be- 
gin ; 
"  That  this  foul  visage,  foul  as  e'er  disgraced 
"  Ev'n  monstrous  man,  is — after  God's  own  taste  ; 
"  And  that — but  see  I — ere  I  have  half-way  said 
"  My  greetings  tlirough,  th'  uncourteous  souls  are 

fled. 
"  Farewell,  sweet  spirits  !  not  in  vain  yo  die, 
"  If  Eblis  loves  yon  half  so  well  as  I. — 
"  Ha,  my  young  bride  ! — 'tis  well — take  thou  thy 

seat ; 
"  Nay    come — no    shudd'ring— didst    thou     never 

meet 
"  The    Dead   before  ? — they  graced   our   wedding, 

sweet ; 
"  And  these,  my  guests  to-night,  have  brimm'd  so 

true 
"  Their  parting  cups,  that  thou  slialt  pledge  one  too. 
"  But — how  is  this  ? — all  empty  ?  all  drunk  up  ? 
"  Hot  lips  have  been  before  thee  in  the  cup, 
"  Young   bride — yet  stay — one   precious  drop   re- 
mains, 
"  Enough  to  warm  a  gentle  Priestess'  veins  ; — 
"  Here,  drink — and  should   thy  lover's   conqu'ring 

arms 
"  Speed  hither,  ere  thy  lip  lose  all  its  channs, 
"  Give  him  but  half  this  venom  in  thy  kiss, 
"  And  I'll  forgive  my  haughty  rival's  bliss  I 

"  For  me — I  too  must  die — but  not  like  these 
"  Vile,  raidiling  things,  to  fester  in  the  breeze  ; 
"  To  have  this  brow  in  ruffian  triumph  shown, 
"  With  all  death's  grimness  added  to  its  own, 

Waste.  They  oflen  illustrate  the  nildness  of  any  seques- 
tered tribe,  by  saying,  they  are  wild  as  the  Demon  of  the 
Waste." — Elpbinstone^s  Caubul. 


402 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


"  And  rot  to  dust  beneath  tho  taunting  eyes 

"  Of  slaves,  exclaiming,  '  There  liis  Godship  lies  !' 

"  No — ciirspd     race — since     first     my    bouI     drew 

breatli, 
*'  They've    been    my  dupes,  and  shall    be  ev'n  in 

death. 
"  Thou  se^'st  yon  cistern  in  tlie  shade — 'tis  fill'd 
"With    burning    drugs,    for    tiiis    last    hour    dis- 

tillM  :'— 
•'  There  will  I  plunge  me  in  that  liquid  flame — 
•'  Fit  bath  to  lave  a  dying  Propliet's  frame  I — 
"  There  perish,  all — ere  pulse  of  thine  shall  fail — 
"  Nor  leave  one  limb  to  tell  mankind  tho  tale. 
"  So  shall  my  votaries,  wheresoe'er  they  rave, 
'*  Proclaim    that    Heav'n    took    back   the    Saint   it 

gave  ;— 
"  That  I've  but  vanislrd  from  this  earth  awhile, 
"  To  come  again,  witli  bright,  nushrouded  smile  ! 
"  So  shall  they  build  me  altars  in  their  zeal, 
"  Wliere    knaves    shall    minister,    and    fools   shall 

kneel  ; 
"  Where  Faith  may  mutter  o'er  her  mystic  spell, 
"  Written  in  blood — and  Bigoti-y  may  swell 
"  The  sail  he  spreads  for  Heav'n  with  blasts  from 

hell ! 
"  So  shall  my  banner,  through  long  ages,  be 
"  The  rallying  sign  of  fraud  and  anarchy  ; — 
"  Kings  yet  unborn  shall  rue  Mok.vnna's  name, 
**  And,  though  I  die,  my  spirit,  still  the  same, 
*'  Shall  walk  abroad  in  all  tho  stormy  strife, 
"  And  guilt,  and  bl(jod,  that  were  its  bliss  in  life. 
'*  But,    hark  I    their    batt'ring    engine    shali.es    the 

wall — 
"  Why,  let  it  shake — thus  I  can  brave  them  all. 
''  No  trace  of  me  shall  greet  them,  when  they  come, 
"  And  I  can  trust  thy  faith,  for — thou'lt  be  dumb. 
"  Now  mark  how  readily  a  wretch  like  me, 
"  In  cue  bold  plunge  commences  Deity !" 

He   sprung    and   sunlt,  as  the  last  words  were 
said — 
Quick  closed  tlie  burning  waters  o'er  his  head. 
And  Zelica  was  left — within  the  ring 
Of  those  wide  walls  the  only  living  thing 
Tlio  only  wrctciied  one,  still  cursed  with  breath, 
In  all  that  friglitful  wilderness  of  death  I 
More  like  some  bloodless  ghost — such  as,  they  toll, 
In  tlie  Lone  Cities  of  the  Silent^  dwell. 
And  there,  unseen  of  all  but  Alla,  sit 
Each  by  its  own  pale  carcass,  watcliing  it 


^  "  II  donna  du  poison  dans  le  vin  ft  tons  ses  gens,  et  se 
jeta  lui-mfime  cnsuUe  dans  unc  cuvc  pleine  do  drogues  bru- 
Iiintes  et  consumantcs.  afin  qu'il  ne  reslAl  rien  dc  loiis  Ics 
inembrcs  dc  son  corps,  el  que  ccux  qui  rcsioient  de  sa  sectc 
pui&sent  crnire  qu'il  6tnit  luoutiS  ari  cicl,  te  qui  ne  manqua 
pas  d'arriver." — D^Hcrhdot. 


But  mom  is  up,  and  a  fresh  warfare  stirs 
Throughout  the  camp  of  the  belcaguerers. 
Their  globes  of  fire  (the  dread  artill'rj'  lent 
By  Greece  to  conqu'ring  Mahadi)  are  spent  j 
And  now  the  scorpion's  shaft,  the  quarry  sent 
From  high  balistas,  and  the  shielded  throng 
Of  solfflers  swinging  the  huge  ram  along, 
All  speak  th'  impatient  Islamite's  intent 
To  try,  at  length,  if  tower  and  battlement 
And  bastion'd  wall  bo  not  less  hard  to  win. 
Less  tough  to  break  down  than  the  hearts  within 
First  in  impatience  and  in  toil  is  he, 
The  burning  Azim — oh  !  could  he  but  see 
Th'  Impostor  once  alive  within  his  grasp. 
Not  tlio  gaunt  lion's  hug,  nor  boa's  clasp, 
Could  match  that  gripe  of  vengeance,  or  ^eep  pace 
With  tho  fell  heartiness  of  Hate's  embrace  ! 

Loud  rings  the  pond'rons  ram  against  the  walls ; 
Now  shake  the  ramparts,  now  a  buttress  falls, 
But  still  no  breach — "  Once  more,  one  mighty  swing 
"  Of  all  your  beams,  together  thundering  I'' 
There — the     wall     shakes — the      shouting     troops 

exult, 
"  Quick,  quick  discharge  your  weightiest  catapult 
"  Bight  on  that  spot,  and  Neksiieb  is  our  own  !'* 
'Tis  done — the  battlements  come  crashuig  down, 
And  the  huge  wall,  by  that  stroke  riv'n  in  two, 
Yawning,  like  some  old  crater,  rent  anew. 
Shows  the  dim,  desolate  city  smoking  through. 
But  strange  I  no  signs  of  life — naught  living  seen 
Above,  below — what  can  this  stillness  mean  ? 
A  minute's  pause  suspends  all  hearts  and  eyes — 
"  In  through  the  breach,"  impetuous  Azi.m  cries  ; 
But  the  cool  Caliph,  fearful  of  some  wile 
In  this  blank  stillness,  checks  tho  troops  awhile, — 
Just  then,  a  figure,  with  slow  step,  advanced 
Forth  from  tho  ruin'd  walls,  and,  as  there  glanced 
A  sunbeam  over  it,  all  eyes  could  see 
The  well-known  Silver  Veil ! — "  'Tis  He,  'tis  He, 
"  Mokan.xa,  and  alone  !"  they  shout  around  ; 
Young  Azim  from  his  steed  springs  to  the  ground — 
"  Mine,  Holy  Caliph  !  mine,"  he  cries,  *'  the  task 
*'  To  crush  yon  daring  wretch — 'tis  all  I  ask." 
Eager  he  darts  to  meet  tho  demon  foe. 
Who  stil!  across  wide  heaps  of  ruin  slow 
And  falteringly  comes,  till  they  are  near ; 
Then,  with  a  bound,  rushes  on  Azim's  spear, 
And,  casting  off  the  Veil  in  falling,  shows — 
Oh  ! — 'tis  his  Zeuca's  life-blood  that  flows ! 


*  "  They  have  all  a  great  reverence  for  burial-grounds, 
which  they  sometitnes  call  by  the  poetical  name  ol' Cities  of 
the  Silent,  and  which  Ihey  people  with  the  ghosts  of  the 
departed,  who  sit  each  al  the  head  of  his  own  grave,  invis- 
ible to  mortal  eyes." — Etphinstone. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


403 


"  I  meant  not,  Azim,"  soothingly  she  said, 
As  on  his  trembling  ai-m  she  lean'd  her  head. 
And,  looking  in  liis  tace,  saw  angnish  there 
Beyond  all  wounds  the  quiv'ring  flesh  can  bear — 
'*  I  ii»'*-i.i';  act  thou  shonldst  have  the  pain  of  this : — 
"  Though  death,  with  thee  thus  tasted,  is  a  bliss 
"  Thou    wouldst   not    rob    me    of,    didst   thou    but 

know 
"  How  oft  I've  pray'd  to  God  I  might  die  so  ! 
"  But  the  Fiend's  venom  was  too  scant  and  slow  ; — 
"  To  linger  on  were  madd'ning — and  I  tliought 
"  If  once  that  Veil — nay,  look  uot  on  it — caught 
"  The  eyes  of  your  fierce  soldiery,  I  should  bo 
"  Struck  by  a  thousand  death-darts  instantly. 
"  But  this  is  sweeter— oh  !  believe  me,  yes — 
"  I  would  not  change  this  sad,  but  dear  caress, 
"  This  death  within  thy  arms  I  woiUd  not  give 
"  For  the  most  smiling  life  the  happiest  Uve  ! 
"  All,  that  stood  dark  and  drear  before  the  eye 
"  Of  my  stray'd  soul,  is  passing  swiftly  by  ; 
"  A  light  comes  o'er  me  from  those  looks  of  love, 
"  Like  the  first  dawn  of  mercy  from  above ; 
"  And  if  thy  lips  but  tell  me  I'm  forgiv'n, 
"  Angels  will  echo  tlie  blest  words  in  Heav'n  I 
"  But  live,  my  Azim  ; — oh  !  to  call  thee  mine 
"  Tlius  once  again  !  my  Azim — dream  divine  I 
"  Live,  if  thou  ever  lov'dst  me,  if  to  meet 
"  Thy  Zelica  hereafter  would  be  sweet, 
"  Oh,  live  to  pray  for  her — to  bend  the  knee 
"  Morning  and  night  before  that  Deity, 
"  To  whom  pure  lips  and  hearts  without  a  stain, 
"  As  thine  are,  Azim,  never  breathed  in  vain, — 
"  And  pray  that  He  may  pardon  her, — may  take 
"  Compassion  on  her  soul  for  thy  dear  sake, 
"  And,  naught  rememb'rbig  but  her  love  to  thee, 
"  Make  her  all  thine,  all  His,  eternally ! 
"  Go  to  those  happy  fields  where  first  we  twined 
"  Our  youthful  hearts  together — every  wind 
"  That  meets  thee  there,  fresh  from  the  well-kuown 

flow'rs, 
"  Will  bring  the  sweetness  of  those  innocent  hours 
"  Back  to  thy  soul,  and  thou  mayst  feel  again 
"  For  tliy  poor  Zeuca  as  thou  didst  then. 
"  So  shall  thy  orisons,  like  dew  that  flies 
"  To  Heav'n  upon  the  morning's  sunshine,  rise 
"  With  all  love's  earliest  ardor  to  the  skies  ! 
"  And  should  they — but,  alas,  my  senses  fail — ■ 
"  Oh   for  one   minute ! — should   thy  prayers  pre- 
vail— 

I  "The  celebrity  of  Mazagong  is  owing  to  its  mangoes, 
which  are  certainly  the  best  fruit  I  ever  tasled.  The  parent- 
tree,  from  which  all  those  of  Ihis  species  have  been  grafted, 
is  honored  during  the  fruit-season  by  a  guard  of  sepoys  ; 
and  in  the  reign  of  Shah  Jehan,  couriers  were  stationed  be- 
tween Delhi  and  the  Mahratla  co.ast,  to  secure  an  abundant 
and  fresh  supply  of  mangoes  for  the  royal  table."— Jl/m. 
Orakant  1  Journal  of  a  Residence  in  India. 


"  If  pardon'd  souls  may,  from  that  World  of  Bliss, 

'*  Reveal  their  joy  to  those  they  lovo  in  this — 

"  I'll  come   to  thee  —  in  some  sweet  dream  —  and 

tell— 
"Oh  Heav'n — I  die  —  dear  lovo  I  farewell,  fare- 
well." ■•• 

Time  fleeted — years  on  years  had  pass'd  away, 
And  few  of  those  who,  on  that  mournful  day, 
Had  stood,  with  pity  in  tlieir  eyes,  to  see 
Tlio  maiden's  death,  and  the  youth's  agony, 
Were  living  still — when,  by  a  rustic  grave, 
Beside  the  swift  Amoo's  transparent  wave, 
An  aged  man,  who  had  grown  aged  there 
By  that  lone  grave,  morning  and  night  in  prayer. 
For  the  last  time  knelt  down  —  and,  tliougli  tlie 

shade 
Of  death  hung  dark'ningovtt  him,  there  play'd 
A  gleam  of  rapture  on  his  eye  and  cheek. 
That  brighteu'd  even  Death — like  the  last  streak 
Of  intense  glory  on  th'  horizon's  brim, 
Wlien  night  o'er  all  the  rest  hangs  chill  and  dim. 
His  soul  had  seen  a  Vision,  while  he  slept ; 
She,  for  whose  spirit  be  had  pray'd  and  wept 
So  many  yeai-s,  had  come  to  him,  all  dress'd 
In  angel  smiles,  and  told  him  she  was  blest ! 
For   this   the    old   man    breathed    his  thanlis,    and 

died. — 
And  there,  upon  the  banlvs  of  that  loved  tide. 
Ho  and  his  Zelica  sleep  side  by  side. 


The  story  of  the  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khorassan 
being  ended,  they  were  now  doomed  to  hear 
Fadladeen's  criticisms  upon  it.  A  series  of 
disappointments  and  accidents  had  occurred  to 
tliis  learned  Cliamberlain  during  the  journey. 
In  the  first  place,  those  couriers  stationed,  as  in 
the  reign  of  Shall  Jehan,  between  Delhi  and 
the  Western  coast  of  India,  to  secure  a  constant 
supply  of  mangoes  for  the  Royal  Table,  had, 
by  some  cruel  irregularity,  failed  in  their  duty  ; 
and  to  eat  any  mangoes  but  those  of  Mazagong 
was,  of  course,  impossible.'  In  the  ue.\t  place, 
the  elephant,  laden  with  his  fine  antique  porce- 
lain," had,  in    an    unusual    fit  of    liveliness,    shat- 

*  This  old  porcelain  is  found  in  digging,  and  "if  it  is  es- 
teemed, it  is  not  because  it  has  acquired  any  new  df^rec  ot 
beauty  in  the  earth,  but  because  it  has  retained  its  ancient 
beauty  ;  and  this  alone  is  of  great  importance  in  China,  where 
they  give  large  sums  for  the  smallest  vessels  which  were  used 
under  the  Emperors  Yan  and  Uhun,  who  reigned  many  ages 
before  the  dynasty  of  Tang,  al  which  time  porcelain  began  lo 
be  used  by  the  Emperors,"  (about  the  year  A4a.)—Uunii's 


9* 


404 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


lerod  tlio  whole  set  to  pieces :  —  an  irreparable 
loss,  as  many  of  the  vessels  were  so  exquisitely 
old,  as  to  have  been  used  under  the  Emperora 
Yan  and  Chun,  who  reigned  many  ages  before 
the  dynasty  of  Tang.  His  Koran,  too,  sup- 
posed to  be  the  identical  copy  between  the 
leaves  of  which  Mahomet's  favorite  pigeon 
used  to  nestle,  had  been  mislaid  by  his  Koran- 
beairr  three  whole  days  ;  not  without  much 
spiritual  alarm  to  Fadladeen,  who,  though  pro- 
fessing to  hold  with  other  loyal  and  orthodox 
Mussulmans,  that  salvation  could  only  be  found 
in  the  Koran,  was  strongly  suspected  of  believ- 
ing in  his  heart,  tliat  it  could  only  he  found  in 
his  own  particular  copy  of  it.  When  to  all  these 
grievances  is  added  the  obstinacy  of  the  cooks, 
in  putting  the  pepper  of  Canara  into  his  dishes 
instead  of  the  cinnamon  of  Serendib,  we  may  easily 
suppose  that  he  came  to  the  task  of  criticism  with, 
at  least,  a  sufficient  degree  of  irritability  for  the 
purpose. 

"  In  order,"  said  he,  importantly  swinging  about 
his  chaplet  of  pearls,  "  to  convey  with  clearness 
my  opinion  of  the  story  tliis  young  man  has  related, 
it  is  necessary  to  take  a  review  of   all  the  stories 

that  have  ever "  —  "My  good  FadladeEin!" 

exclaimed  the  Princess,  interrupting  him,  "  we 
really  do  not  desei-ve  that  you  should  give  your- 
self *■  much  trouble.  Your  opinion  of  the  poem 
we  ha  'e  just  heard,  will,  I  have  no  doubt,  be 
abundantly  edifying,  without  any  farther  waste  of 
your  valuable  enidition."  —  "  If  that  be  all,"  re- 
plied the  critic,  —  evidently  mortified  at  not  being 
allowed  to  show  how  much  he  knew  about  every 
thing  but  the  subject  immediately  before  him  — 
"  if  that  bo  all  that  is  required,  the  matter  is  easily 
di-spatched."  He  then  proceeded  to  analyze  the 
poem,  in  that  strain  (so  well  known  to  the  uufor- 
tiniate  bards  of  Delhi)  whose  censures  were  an 
infliction  from  which  few  recovered,  and  whose 
verj'  praises  were  like  the  honey  extracted  from 
the  bitter  flowers  of  the  aloe.  The  chief  person- 
ages of  the  stoiy  were,  if  he  rightly  understood 
them,  an  ill-favored  gentleman,  with  a  veil  over 
his  face  ; — a  young  lady,  whose  reason  went  and 
came,  according  as  it  suited  the  poet's  convenience 
to  be  sensible  or  otherwise  ; — and  a  youth  in  one 
of  those  hideous  Bucharian  bonnets,  who  took  the 
aforesaid    gentleman    in    a    veil    for    a    Divinity. 


Collection  of  C'urions  Observations,  &c. ;— a  bad  translation 
of  some  parts  of  the  Lellres  Edifiantes  et  Curieuses  of  the 
Misjionary  Jesuits. 

1  *'  La  lecture  de  ces  Fables  plaisoit  si  fort  aux  Arabea,  que, 
qimail  Mahomet  Icscntretenoit  de  I'Histoire  del* Ancien Tes- 
tament, ils  les  m^prisoient.  lul  disant  que  celles  que  Nasser 


"  From  such  materials,"  said  he,  "  what  can  be 
expected?  —  after  rivalling  each  other  in  long 
speeches  and  absurdities,  through  some  thousands 
of  lines  as  indigestible  as  the  filberts  of  Berdaa, 
our  friend  in  the  veil  jumps  into  a  tub  of  aqua- 
fortis ;  the  youug  lady  dies  in  a  set  speech,  whose 
only  recommendation  is  that  it  is  her  last ;  and  the 
lover  lives  on  to  a  good  old  age,  for  the  laudable 
purpose  of  seeing  her  ghost,  which  he  at  last  hap- 
pily accomplishes,  and  expires.  This,  you  will 
allow,  is  a  fair  summary  of  the  story ;  and  if 
Nasser,  the  Arabian  merchant,  told  no  better,  our 
Holy  Propliet  (to  whom  be  all  honor  and  glorj' !) 
had  no  need  to  be  jealous  of  his  abilities  for  stojy- 
telUng."^ 

With  respect  to  the  style,  it  was  worthy  of  the 
matter  ; — it  had  not  even  those  politic  contrivances 
of  structure,  which  make  up  for  the  commonness 
of  the  thoughts  by  the  peculiarity  of  the  manner, 
nor  that  stately  poetical  phraseology  by  which 
sentiments  mean  in  themselves,  like  tlie  black- 
smith's" apron  converted  into  a  banner,  are  so 
easily  gilt  and  embroidered  into  consequence. 
Then,  as  to  the  versification,  it  was,  to  say  no 
worse  of  it,  execrable  :  it  had  neither  the  copious 
flow  of  Ferdosi,  the  sweetness  of  Hafez,  nor  the 
sententious  march  of  Sadi  ;  but  appeared  to  him, 
in  the  mieasy  heaviness  of  its  movements,  to  have 
been  modelled  upon  the  gait  of  a  very  tired  dro- 
medary. The  licenses,  too,  iu  which  it  indulged, 
were  unpardonable  ; — for  instance  this  line,  and  the 
poem  abounded  with  such  ; — 

Like  the  faint,  exquisite  music  of  a  dream. 

"  What  critic  that  can  count,"  said  Fadlvdeen, 
"  and  has  his  full  complement  of  fingers  to  count 
withal,  would  tolerate  for  an  instant  such  syllabic 
superfluities?"  —  He  here  looked  rouud,  and  dis- 
covered that  most  of  his  audience  were  asleep ; 
while  tlie  glimmering  lamps  seemed  inclined  to 
follow  their  example.  It  became  necessai-y,  there- 
fore, however  painful  to  himself,  to  put  an  end  to 
his  valuable  animadversions  for  the  present,  and 
he  accordingly  concluded,  with  an  air  of  dignified 
candor,  thus :  —  "  Notwithstandiug  the  observa- 
tions which  I  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  make, 
it  is  by  no  means  my  wish  to  discourage  the  young 
man : — so  far  from  it,  indeed,  that  if  he  will  but 
totally  alter   liis  style  of  writing   and   thiuking,  I 


Icur  racontoient  fitoient  beaucoup  plus  belles.  Cette  pr6- 
ference  attira  d  Nasser  la  malediction  de  Mahomet  ct  de  tons 
ses  disciples." — D' Herbctot. 

=  The  blacksmith  Gao,  who  successfully  resisted  the  ty- 
rant Zohak,  and  whose  apron  became  the  Royal  Standard  of 
Persia. 


%^ 


LALLA  UOOKH. 


405 


have  very  Httlo  doubt  that  I  shall  be  vastly  pleased 
with  him." 

SoiPrt  days  elapsed,  after  this  harangue  of  the 
Grea;  Chamberlain,  before  Lalla  Rookii  could 
venture  to  ask  for  another  story.  Tiio  youtli  was 
still  a  welcome  guest  in  the  pavilion— to  one  heart, 
perhaps,  too  dangerously  welcome ; — but  all  men- 
tion of  poetrj'  was,  as  if  by  common  consent, 
avoided.  .  Though  none  of  tlio  party  had  much 
respect  for  Fadladeen,  yet  his  censures,  thus 
magisterially  delivered,  evidently  made  au  impres- 
sion on  them  all.  The  Poet,  himself,  to  whom 
criticism  was  quite  a  new  operation,  (being  wholly 
unknown  in  that  Paradise  of  the  Indies,  Cash- 
mere,) felt  the  shock  as  it  is  generally  felt  at  first, 
till  use  has  made  it  more  tolerable  to  the  patient ; 
— the  Ladies  began  to  suspect  that  they  ought  not 
to  be  pleased,  and  seemed  to  conclude  that  there 
must  have  been  much  good  sense  in  what  Fad- 
ladeen said,  from  its  having  set  them  all  so 
soimdly  to  sleep  ; — while  the  self-complacent  Cham- 
berlain was  left  to  triumph  in  the  idea  of  having, 
for  the  hundred  and  fiftieth  time  in  his  life,  extin- 
guished a  Poet.  Laixa  Rookh  alone — and  Love 
knew  why — persisted  in  being  delighted  with  all 
she  had  heard,  and  in  resolving  to  hear  more  as 
^eedily  as  possible.  Her  manner,  however,  of 
first  returning  to  tlie  subject  was  unlucky.  It  was 
while  they  rested  during  the  heat  of  noon  near  a 
fountain,  on  which  some  hand  had  rudely  traced 
those  well-known  words  from  the  Garden  of  Sadi, 
— "  Many,  like  me,  have  viewed  this  fountain,  but 
they  are  gone,  and  their  eyes  are  closed  forever  I" 
— that  she  took  occasion,  from  the  mclanclioly 
beauty  of  this  passage,  to  dwell  upon  the  charms 
of  poetrj'  in  general  "  It  is  true,"  she  said,  "  few 
poets  can  imitate  that  sublime  bird,  which  flies 
always  in   the  ai~>    and  never  touchy  the  earth:' 


*  "The  Iluma,  a  bird  pecaliar  to  Ihe  East.  Ii  is  supposcil 
to  fly  constantly  in  the  air,  and  never  touch  the  ground  ;  it  is 
looked  upon  as  a  tjird  of  hnppy  omen  ;  and  that  every  head 
it  overshades  will  in  lime  wear  a  cTown."—  Ricli zrilstnt. 

In  the  lerins  of  alliance  made  by  Fuzzel  Oola  Khan  with 
Hyder  m  17G0.  one  of  the  stipulations  was,  "that  he  should 
havtf  the  distinction  of  two  honorary  attendants  standing 
behind  him,  holding  fans  comjwsed  of  the  featl;crs  of  the 
honima,  according  to  the  practice  of  his  family."— (FtYi-^'s 
South  of  India.  He  adds  in  a  note:— "The  Iluinma  is  a 
fabulous  bird.  The  head  over  which  its  shadow  once  passes 
will  assuredly  be  circled  with  a  crown.  The  splendid  little 
bird  suspended  over  the  throne  ofTippoo  Sullaun,  found  at 
Seringapalaro  in  1709,  was  intended  to  represent  this  poeti- 
cal fancr  " 

5  "To  the  pilgrims  to  Mount  Sinai  we  must  attribute  the 
Inscriplinns,  figures,  fee,  on  those  rfcks  which  havr  from 
thence  acquired  the  name  of  the  Wriiten  Mountain."— 
folney.     M.  Gebclin  and  others  have  been  at  much  pains  to 


— it  is  only  once  in  many  ages  a  Genius  appears, 
whose  words,  like  those  on  the  Written  Mountain, 
last  forever:* — but  still  tiiere  are  some,  as  de- 
lighted, perhaps,  thougli  not  so  wonderful,  who,  if 
not  stars  over  our  head,  are  at  Ie;ist  flowers  along 
our  path,  and  whose  sweetuess  of  the  moment  wo 
ought  gratefully  to  inhale,  without  calling  upon 
them  for  a  brightness  aiid  a  durability  beyond 
their  nature.  In  short,"  continued  she,  blusliing, 
as  if  conscious  of  bein^  ^aught  iu  an  oration,  "  it 
is  quite  cruel  that  a  poet  cannot  wander  through 
his  regions  oi  enchantmeut,  without  having  a  critic 
forever,  like  the  old  Man  of  the  Sea,  upon  his 
back  !"^ — Fadladee.v,  it  wa*:  plain,  took  tliis  last 
luckless  aUusion  to  himself,  and  would  treasure  it 
up  in  his  mind  as  a  whetstone  for  liis  next  criti- 
cism. A  sudden  silence  ensued;  and  the  Princess, 
glancing  a  look  at  Fr.aAMonz,  saw  plainly  she 
must  wait  for  a  more  couMreous  moment 

But  the  glories  of  Nature,  and  her  wild,  fra- 
grant airs,  playing  freshly  over  the  current  of  youth- 
ful spirits,  will  soon  heai  even  deeper  wounds  thau 
the  dull  Fadladceus  of  this  '"orld  can  inflict.  Iu 
an  evening  or  two  after,  they  camo  to  the  small 
Valley  of  Gardens,  which  had  been  planted  by 
order  of  the  Emperor,  for  Ins  favorite  sister  Ro- 
chinara,  during  their  progress  to  Cashmere,  some 
years  before  ;  and  never  was  there  a  more  spark- 
ling assemblage  of  sweets  since  the  Gulzar-e-Irem, 
or  Rose-bower  of  Irem.  Every  precious  tlower 
was  there  to  be  found,  that  poetrj',  or  love,  or  re- 
ligion, has  ever  consecrated ;  from  the  dark  hya- 
cinth, to  which  Hafez  compares  his  mistress's  hair,* 
to  the  Camalata^  by  whose  rosy  blossoms  the 
heaven  of  Indra  is  scented.^  As  tiiey  sat  in  tlie 
cool  fragrance  of  this  delicious  spot,  and  Lalla 
Rookh  remarked  that  she  could  fancy  it  the 
abode  of   that  Flower-loving   Nymph  whom  they 


attach  some  mysterious  and  important  meaning  to  these  in- 
scriptions ;  but  Niebuhr,  as  well  as  Volncy,  thinks  that  they 
must  have  been  executed  at  idle  hours  by  the  IravelltTs  if) 
Mount  Sinai,  "who  were  satisfied  with  cutting  the  unpol- 
ished rock  with  any  pointed  instrument;  adding  to  their 
names  and  the  date  of  their  journeys  siime  rude  figures, 
which  bespeak  the  hand  of  a  people  but  little  skilled  in  the 
arts." — J^ichukr. 

3  The  Story  ofSinbad. 

*  See  J^otVs  Hafez,  Ode  v. 

6  *'  The  Cimalati  (called  by  Linnsns,  Ipomoea)  is  the  most 
beautiful  of  its  order,  both  in  the  color  and  form  of  Us  leaves 
and  flowers;  its  elegant  blossoms  are  'celestial  rosy  red, 
Love's  proper  hue.'  and  have  justly  procured  it  the  name  of 
Cainalati,  or  Love's  Creeper."— .S/r  }V.  Jones. 

"  CAmalatA  may  also  mean  a  mythological  plant,  by  which 
all  desires  arc  granted  to  juch  as  inhabit  the  heaven  of  In- 
dra ;  and  if  ever  flower  was  worthy  of  paradise.  It  is  our 
charming  Ipoiiixa." — lb. 


406 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


worsliip  in  the  temples  of  Kathay,*  or  of  one  of 
tiioso  Foris,  those  beautiful  creatures  of  tlie  air, 
who  iivo  upon  perfumes,  and  to  wliom  a  place 
like  this  might  make  some  amends  for  the  Para- 
dise they  have  lost, — the  young  Poet,  in  whose 
t»yes  she  appeared,  while  she  spoke,  to  be  one  of 
tho  bright  spiritual  creatures  she  was  describing, 
said  liesitatingly  that  he  remembered  a  Story  of  a 
Peri,  which,  if  tho  Princess  had  no  objection,  he 
would  venture  to  lelate.  "  It  is,"  said  he,  with  an 
appealing  look  to  Fadladeen,  *'  in  a  lighter  and 
hmnbler  strain  than  tiie  other ;"  then,  striking  a 
few  careless  but  melancholy  cliords  on  his  kitar,  he 
thus  bcffan : — 


PAKADISE  AND  THE  PERI. 

One  morn  a  Peri  at  tne  gate 
Of  Eden  stood,  disconsohite  ; 
And  as  she  listen'd  to  the  Springs 

Of  Life  within,  like  music  flowing, 
And  caught  the  lisht  upon  her  wings 

Tlirough  the  half-open  portal  glowing, 
She  wept  to  think  her  recreant  race 
Should  e'er  have  lost  that  glorious  place! 

"  How  happy,"  exclaim'd  this  child  of  air, 
"  Are  the  holy  Spirits  who  wander  there, 

"  Mid  flowers  that  never  shall  fade  or  fall ; 
'*  Thougli  mine  are  the  gardens  of  eartli  and  spa, 
"  And  tiie  stars  themselves  have  flowers  for  me, 

"  One  blossom  of  Heaven  outblooms  them  all ! 

"  Though  sunny  the  Lake  of  cool  Cashmere, 
"  With  its  plane-tree  Isle  reflected  clcar," 

*'  And  sweetly  the  founts  of  that  Valley  fall ; 
"  Though  bright  are  the  waters  of  Sing-su-hay, 
"  And  tiie  golden  floods  that  thitherward  stray," 
a  Yet — oh,  'tis  only  tlie  Blest  can  say 

"  How  the  waters  of  Heaven  outsliine  them  all ! 

1  "  According  to  Father  Prcmare,  in  his  tract  on  Chinese 
Myllwilojry.  the  mother  of  Fo-hi  was  the  daughter  of  heaven, 
surnainod  Flower-lovin?;  anit  as  the  nymph  was  walking 
alone  on  the  hank  of  a  river,  she  fonml  lierself  encircled  by 
a  rainlitiw,  after  which  slie  became  precnant,  and,  at  the 
end  nf  twelve  years,  was  delivered  of  a  son  radiant  as  lier- 
scUV—.lsiat.  Res. 

•J  "  XutntTons  small  islands  emerge  from  the  Lake  of 
Cashmere.  One  is  called  Char  Chenaur,  from  the  plane- 
trees  upon  it." — Foster. 

"  *'  Tlie  Allan  Koi  or  Golden  River  of  Tibet,  which  runs 
into  ihe  Lakes  -if  Sing-su-hay,  has  abundance  of  pold  in  its 
siuuls,  which  e-iiploys  the  inhabit'\nts  all  tho  siunmcr  in 
gathering  it."— Description  of  Tibet  in  Piuhrrton. 

<  "The  Brahmins  of  this  province  insist  that  the  blue 
canipac  flowers  only  in  Paradise." — Sir  W.  Jones.  It  ap- 
pears, however,  from  a  curious  letter  of  the  Sultan  of  Me- 


*'  Go,  wing  thy  flight  from  star  to  star, 
•'  From  world  to  liuninous  world,  as  far 

"  As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall* 
"  Take  all  the  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres, 
"  And  multiply  each  through  endless  years, 

"  One  minute  of  Heaven  is  wortli  them  all !" 

Tlie  glorious  Angel,  who  was  keeping 
The  gates  of  Light,  beheld  her  weeping  ; 
And,  as  he  nearer  drew  and  listen'd 
To  her  sad  song,  a  tear-drop  glistcn'd 
Within  his  eyelids,  like  the  spray 

From  Eden's  fountain,  when  it  lies 
On  the  blue  flow'r,  wliich — Bramins  say — 

Blooms  nowhere  but  in  Paradise.^ 

"  Njmiph  of  a  fair  but  erring  line  T" 
Gently  he  said — "  One  hope  is  tliine. 
*'  'Tis  written  in  the  Book  of  Fate, 

"  The  Peri  yet  may  he  forgixi^n 
"  Who  hriiigs  to  this  Eternal  gale 

"  The  Gift  that  is  most  dear  to  Hcav'n  ! 
*'  Go,  seek  it,  and  redeem  thy  sin — 
"  'Tis  sweet  to  let  the  pardoa'd  in." 

Rapidly  as  comets  nin 

To  th'  embraces  of  the  Sun  ; — 

Fleeter  than  the  starry  brands 

Flung  at  night  from  angel  bands^ 

At  those  dark  and  daring  sprites 

"Who  would  climb  th'  empyreal  heights, 

Down  the  blue  vault  the  Peri  flies, 

And,  lighted  earthward  by  a  glance 
Tiiat  just  then  broke  from  morning's  eyes, 

Hung  hov'ring  o'er  our  world's  expanse. 

But  whither  shall  the  Spirit  go 

To  find  this  gift  for  Heav'n  ? — *'  I  know 

*'  Tiie  wealth,"  she  cries,  "  of  eveiy  urn, 

"  In  which  unnuniber'd  rubies  burn, 

"  Beneath  tho  pillars  of  CniLMiN.\ii  f 

*'  I  know  where  tho  Isles  of  Perfume  are,' 

nangcabow,  given  by  Marsden,  that  one  plane  on  earth  may 
lay  claim  to  the  possession  of  it.  "  This  is  the  Saltan,  who 
keeps  Ihe  flower  champaka  that  is  bUic,  and  lo  be  found  in 
no  other  coimtry  but  his,  being  yellow  elsewhere." — Jlars- 
dcii's  Sumatra. 

^  "The  Mahometans  suppose  that  falling  stars  are  the 
firebrands  wherewith  the  good  angels  drive  away  the  bad, 
when  they  approach  too  near  the  empyrean  or  vei^e  of 
the  heavens." — Fryer. 

8  The  Forty  Pillars  ;  so  the  Persians  call  the  ruins  of  Per- 
sepolis.  It  is  imagined  by  them  that  this  palace  and  Ihe 
edifices  at  Balbec  were  built  by  Genii,  for  the  purpose  of 
hiding  in  their  subterraneous  caverns  immense  trea^^res, 
which  still  remain  Ihcre. — D'Nerbclot.  Vo/nry. 

">  Diodorus  mentions  Ihe  Isle  of  Panchaia,  to  the  soith  of 
Arabia  Felix,  where  there  was  a  temple  of  Jupiter.  This 
island,  or  mtherclnsler  of  isles,  hns  disappenreti, "  sunk  (says 


\ 


406 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


wors'iip  in  the  temples  of  Kathay,'   or  of  one  of 
those    I'eris.  those    beautiful    nreatures   of  the  air. 


"  Go,  wing  thy  fliglit  from  st 


lar  to  star, 
,M    —  r_- 


IhriJtsr  anJlJu-  J*»  /■  /''.' 


I 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


407 


"  Many  a  fatliom  down  in  tlie  sea, 

"  To  the  sontli  of  sun-briglit  Araby  ;' 

"  I  know,  too,  where  the  Genii  hid 

"  The  jeweli'd  cup  of  their  King  Jamshid,' 

"  With  Life's  ehxir  sparkhng  high — 

"  Cut  gifts  Uke  these  are  not  for  the  sky. 

"  Where  was  there  ever  a  gem  that  shone 

"  Like  the  steps  of  Alla's  wonderful  Throne  ? 

"  And  the  Drops  of  Life — oh  !  what  would  they  be 

"  In  the  boundless  Deep  of  Eternity?" 

While  tluis  she  mused,  her  pinions  fann'd 
The  air  of  that  sweet  Indian  land. 
Whose  air  is  balm  ;  whose  ocean  spreads 
O'er  coral  rocks,  and  amber  beds  f 
Whose  mountains,  pregnant  by  the  beam 
Of  the  warm  sim,  witii  diamonds  teem  ; 
W^hose  rivulets  are  like  rich  brides, 
Lovely,  with  gold  beneatli  their  tides  ; 
Wliose  sandal  groves  and  bow'rs  of  spice 
Might  be  a  Peri's  Paradise ! 
But  crimson  now  her  rivets  ran 

With  human  blood — the  smell  of  death 
Came  recking  from  those  spicy  bow'rs, 
And  man,  tlie  sacrifice  of  man, 

Mingled  his  taint  witli  ev'ry  breath 
Upwaftcd  from  th'  innocent  flow'rs. 
Land  of  the  Sun !  what  foot  invades 
Thy  Pagods  and  thy  pillar'd  shades* — 
Thy  cavern  shrines,  and  Idol  stones. 
Thy  Monarchs  and  tlieir  thousand  Thrones  ?' 
'Tis  He  of  Gazxa"— fierce  in  wrath 

He  comes,  and  India's  diadems 
L; '  «catter"d  in  his  ruinous  path. — 

His  bloodhounds  he  adorns  with  gems, 
Torn  from  the  violated  necks 

Of  many  a  young  and  loved  Sultana  ;' 

Grandpri:)  in  the  abyss  made  by  the  fire  beaeath     heir 
foundations." — Voyage  tc  'Jli  Indian  Ocean, 

1  Tlie  Isles  of  Panchaia. 

2  "  The  cup  of  Jamshid,  discovered,  they  say,  when  dig- 
ging for  the  foundalions  of  Persepoiis." — Richardson. 

3  "  It  is  not  like  the  Sea  of  India,  whose  bottom  is  rich 
with  pearls  and  ambergris,  whose  mountains  of  the  coast  are 
stored  with  gold  and  precious  stones,  whose  gulfs  breed 
creatures  that  yield  ivory,  and  among  the  plants  of  whose 
shores  are  ebony,  red  wood,  and  the  wood  of  Hairzan,  aloes, 
camphor,  cloves,  sandal-wood,  and  all  other  spices  and 
aromalics ;  where  parrots  and  pqacocks  are  birds  of  the 
forest,  and  musk  and  civet  are  collected  upon  the  lands." — 
Travels  of  two  Maliammcdnns. 

4 in  the  ground 

The  bended  twigs  lake  root,  and  daughters  grow 

About  the  mother-tree,  a  pillar'd  shade, 

High  overarch'd,  and  echoing  walks  between.     Milton. 

For  a  particular  description  and  plate  of  the  Banyan-tree, 
see  Cordiner's  Ceylon. 

6  "With  this  immense  treasure  Mahmood  returned  to 
Ghizni,  and  in  the  year  400  prepared  a  magoiticent  festival, 


Maidens,  within  their  pure  Zenana, 

Priests  in  the  very  fane  he  slaughters, 

And  cliokes  up  with  the  glitt'ring  wrecks 

Of  golden  shrines  the  sacred  waters ! 

Downward  the  Peri  turns  her  gaze, 
And,  through  the  war-field's  bloody  haze 
Beholds  a  youthful  warrior  stand, 

Alone  beside  his  native  river, — 
The  red  blade  broken  in  his  hand. 

And  the  last  arrow  in  his  quiver. 
"  Live,"  said  the  Conqu'ror,  '■  live  to  share 
"  The  trophies  and  the  crowns  I  bear!" 
Silent  that  youthful  warrior  stood — 
Silent  he  pointed  to  tlie  flood 
All  crimson  with  his  country's  blood, 
Then  scut  his  last  remaining  dart, 
For  answer,  to  th'  Invader's  heart. 

False  flew  the  shaft,  though  pointed  well ; 
The  Tyrant  lived,  the  Hero  fell  !— 
Yet  mark'd  the  Peri  where  he  lay. 

And,  when  the  rush  of  war  was  past, 
Swiftly  descending  on  a  ray 

Of  morning  liglit,  she  caught  the  last- 
Last  glorious  drop  his  heart  had  shed, 
Before  its  free-bom  spirit  fled ! 

"  Be  this,"  she  cried,  as  she  wing'd  her  flight, 
"  My  welcome  gift  at  the  Gates  of  Light. 
"  Though  foul  are  the  drops  that  oft  distil 

"  On  tlie  field  of  warfare,  blood  like  this, 

"  For  Liberty  shed,  so  holy  is," 
"  It  would  not  stain  the  purest  rUI, 

"  That  sparkles  among  the  Bowers  of  Bliss  . 
"  Oh,  if  there  be,  on  this  earthly  sphere, 
"  A'  boon,  an  ofi'ering  Heav'n  holds  dear, 

where  he  displayed  to  the  people  his  wealth  in  gohlen  thrones 
and  in  other  ornaments,  in  a  great  plain  without  the  city  of 
Ghizni." — Fcrishta. 

^  "  Mahmood  of  Gazna,  or  Ghizni,  who  conquered  India 
in  the  beginning  of  the  lllh  century." — See  his  History  in 
Dow  and  Sir  ./.  Malcolm. 

'  ■'  It  is  reported  that  the  hunting  equipage  of  the  Sultan 
Mahmood  was  so  magnificent,  that  he  kept  400  greyhounds 
and  bUmdhounds,  each  of  u  hicb  wore  a  collar  set  with  jew- 
els, and  a  covering  edged  with  gold  and  pearls." — Universal 
History,  vol.  iii. 

s  Objections  may  be  made  to  my  use  of  the  word  Liberty  in 
this. and  moreespeci.illy  iti  the  story  that  follows  it,  as  totally 
inapplicable  toanystiite  of  things  tltat  has  ever  existeil  in  the 
East ;  but  though  I  cannot,  of  course,  mean  to  employ  it  in 
that  enlarged  and  noble  sense  which  is  so  well  understood  at 
the  present  day,  and,  I  grieve  to  say,  so  little  acted  upon,  yet 
it  is  no  disparagement  to  the  word  to  apply  it  to  that  national 
independence,  that  freedom  friim  the  interference  and  dicta- 
tion of  fnreigners,  without  which,  indeed,  no  liherly  of  any 
kind  can  e.xist;  and  fur  which  both  Hindoos  and  Persians 
fought  against  their  Mussulman  invaders  with,  in  many 
cases,  a  bravery  that  deserved  nuich  belter  success. 


408 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


'  'Tis  the  last  libation  Liberty  draws 

'  From  the  heart  that  bleeds  and  breaks  in  her 


"  Sweet,"  said  the  Angel,  as  she  gave 

The  gift  into  his  radiant  hand, 
'*  Sweet  is  our  welcome  of  the  Brave 

"  Who  die  thus  for  their  native  Land.— 
"  But  see — alas ! — the  crystal  bar 
*'  Of  Eden  moves  not — holier  far 
"  Than  ev'n  this  drop  the  boon  must  be, 
"  That  opes  the  Gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee!" 

Her  first  fond  hope  of  Eden  blighted, 

Now  among  Afric's  lunar  Mountams,' 
Far  to  the  South,  tlie  Peri  lighted ; 

And  sleek'd  her  plumage  at  the  fountains 
Of  that  Egj'ptian  tide — whose  birth 
Is  hidden  from  the  sons  of  earth 
Deep  in  those  solitary  woods 
Where  oft  the  Genii  of  the  Floods 
Dance  round  the  cradle  of  their  Nile, 
And  hail  tlie  new-born  Giant's  smile.' 
Thence  over  Egypt's  palmy  groves. 

Her  gi'ots;  and  sepulchres  of  Kiugs,^ 
The  exiled  Spuit  sighing  roves  ; 
And  now  hangs  list'ning  to  the  doves 
In  wann  Rosetta's  vale^ — now  loves 

To  watch  the  moonlight  on  the  winge 
Of  the  white  pelicans  that  break 
The  azure  calm  of  M<eris'  Lake.^ 
'Twas  a  fair  scene — a  Land  more  bright 

Never  did  mortal  eye  beliold  ! 
Who  could  have  thought,  that  oaw  this  night 

Those  valleys  and  their  fruits  of  gold 
Basking  in  Heav'n's  screncst  light ; — 
Those  groups  of  lovely  date-trees  bendingf 

Languidly  their  leaf-crown'd  heads, 
Like  youthful  maids,  when  sleep  descending 

Warns  them  to  their  silken  beds  f — 
Those  virgin  lilies,  all  the  night 

^  "The  Mountains  of  the  Rluon,  or  the  Montes  Lunte  of 
antiquity,  at  tlie  foot  of  which  the  Nile  is  supposed  to  arise." 
— Bruce. 

"Sometimes  called,"  says  Jachsou,  "  JililielKunirie,  orthe 
white  or  lunar-colored  mountains;  so  a  white  horse  is  called 
by  the  Arabians  a  moon-colored  horse." 

a  "The  Nile,  which  the  Abyssinians  know  by  the  names  of 
Abey  and  Alawy,  or  the  Giant."  •  .^siat. Research,  vol.i.  p.387. 

3  See  Perry's  View  of  the  Levant  for  an  account  of  the 
sepulchres  in  Upper  Thebes,  and  the  numberlei's  grots 
covered  all  over  with  hieroglyphics  in  the  mountains  of 
Upper  Egypt. 

*  "The  orchards  of  Rosetta  are  filled  with  turtle-doves." 
—'Sonnini. 

6  Savary  mentions  the  pelicans  upon  Lake  Mceris. 

«  "The  superb  date -tree,  whose  head  languidly  reclines, 
like  that  of  a  handsome  woman  overcome  with  sleep." — 
Da/ard  el  Hadad. 


Bathing  their  beauties  in  the  lake, 
That  they  may  rise  more  fresh  and  bright, 

When  their  beloved  Sun's  awake  ; — 
Those  ruin'd  slmnes  and  tow'rs  that  seem 
The  relics  of  a  splendid  dream  ; 

Amid  whose  fairy  lonelines^B 
Naught  but  the  lapwing's  cry  is  heard, 
Naught  seen  but  (when  the  shadows,  flitting 
Fast  from  the  moon,  unsheath  its  gleam,) 
Some  purple-wing'd  Sultana''  sitting 

Upon  a  column,  motionless 
And  glitt'ring  like  an  Idol  bird  I — 
Who  could  have  thought,  that  there,  ev'n  there. 
Amid  those  scenes  so  still  and  fair, 

The  Demon  of  the  Plague  hath  cast 

From  his  hot  wing  a  deadlier  blast, 
I\Iore  mortal  far  than  ever  came 
From  tlie  red  Desert's  sands  of  flame ! 
So  quick,  that  ev'ry  living  thing 
Of  human  shape,  touch'd  by  his  wing, 

Like  plants,  where  the  Simoom  hath  pass*i 
At  once  falls  black  and  withering  ! 
The  sun  went  dow^n  on  many  a  >row 

Which,  full  of  bloom  and  freshness  then, 
Is  rankling  in  the  pest-house  now, 

And  ne'er  will  feel  that  sun  again. 
And,  oh  !  to  see  th'  unburied  heaps 
On  which  the  lonely  moonlight  sleeps — 
The  very  vultures  turn  away, 
And  sicken  at  so  foul  a  prey  ! 
Only  the  fierce  hy^na  stalks^ 
Throughout  the  city's  desolate  walks® 
At  midnight,  and  his  carnage  plies: — 

Wo  to  the  half-dead  wretch,  who  meets 
The  glaring  of  those  hirge  blue  eyes'° 

Amid  the  darkness  of  the  streets ! 

'  Poor  race  of  men  I"  said  the  pitying  Spu-it, 
"  Dearly  ye  pay  for  your  primal  Fall — 

"  Some  flow'rets  of  Eden  ye  still  inherit, 

*'  But  the  trail  of  the  Serpent  is  over  them  all !" 

'  "That  beautiful  bird,  with  plumage  of  the  finest  shi- 
ning blue,  with  purple  beak  and  legs,  the  natural  and  living 
ornament  of  the  temples  and  palaces  of  the  Greeks  and 
Romans,  which,  from  the  st;iteliness  of  its  port,  as  well  as 
the  brilliancy  of  its  colors,  has  obtained  the  title  of  Sul 
tana." — Sonnini. 

B  Jackson,  speaking  oQ  the  plague  that  occurred  in  West 
Barbary,  when  he  was  there,  says,  "The  birds  of  the  air 
fled  away  from  the  abodes  of  men.  The  hyamas,  on  the 
contrarj',  visited  the  cemeteries,"  &c. 

8  "Gondar  was  full  of  hya;nas  from  the  time  it  turned 
dark,  till  the  dawu  of  day,  seeking  the  different  pieces  of 
slaughtered  carcasses,  which  this  cruel  and  unclean  people 
expose  in  the  streets  without  burial,  and  who  firmly  beiifvo 
that  these  animals  are  Falashta  from  the  neighboring  moun- 
tains, transformed  by  magic,  and  come  down  to  eat  human 
flesh  in  the  dark  in  safety."— £ruce. 

10  Ibid. 


LALLA 

ROOKH.                                                 409 

« 

She  wept — the  air  grew  pure  and  clear 

All !  once,  how  little  did  he  think 

Around  her,  as  the  bricrlit  drops  ran ; 

An  hour  would  come,  when  he  should  shrink 

For  there's  a  magic  ui  each  tear, 

With  horror  from  that  dear  embrace. 

Such  kindly  Spirits  weep  for  man ! 

Those  gentle  anns,  that  were  to  liim 

Holy  as  is  the  cradling  place 

Just  tlieu  beneath  some  orange  trees, 

Of  Eden's  infant  cherubim  ! 

AVhose  fruit  and  blossoms  in  the  breeze 

And  now  he  yields — now  turns  away, 

Were  wantoning  togctlier,  free. 

Shudd'ring  as  if  tlie  venom  lay 

Like  age  at  play  with  infancy — 

All  m  those  proffer'd  lips  alone — 

Beneath  that  fresh  and  springing  bower, 

Those  lips  thht,  then  so  fearless  grown. 

Close  by  the  Lake,  she  heard  the  moan 

Never  until  that  instant  came 

Of  one  who,  at  this  silent  hour. 

Near  his  unask'd  or  without  shame. 

Had  thilhcr  stol'n  to  die  alone. 

"  Oh !  let  me  only  breathe  the  air. 

One  who  in  life  wliere'er  he  moved. 

'*  The  blessed  air,  tiiat's  breathed  by  thee. 

Drew  after  him  the  hearts  of  many  ; 

"  And,  whether  on  its  wings  it  bear 

Yet  now,  as  though  he  ne'er  were  loved, 

"  Healing  or  death,  'tis  sweet  to  me  ! 

Dies  here  unseen,  unwept  by  any ! 

"  There — drink  my  tears,  while  yet  they  fall — 

None  to  watch  near  him — none  to  slake 

"  Would  tliat  my  bosom's  blood  were  balm. 

The  fire  that  in  his  bosom  lies. 

"  And,  well  thou  know'st,  I'd  shed  it  all. 

With  ev'u  a  sprinkle  from  that  lake. 

"  To  give  tliy  brow  one  minute's  calm. 

Which  shines  so  cool  before  his  eyes. 

"  Nay,  turn  not  from  me  that  dear  face — 

No  voice,  well  known  through  many  a  day. 

"  Am  I  not  thine — thy  own  loved  bride — 

To  speak  the  last,  the  parting  word. 

"  The  one,  the  chosen  one,  whose  place 

Which,  when  all  other  sounds  decay, 

"  In  life  or  death  is  by  thy  side  ? 

Is  still  like  distant  music  heard; — 

"  Think'st  tliou  that  she,  whose  only  lighi 

That  tender  farewell  on  the  shore 

"  In  this  dim  world,  from  thee  hath  shoiie, 

Of  this  rude  world,  when  all  is  o'er. 

"  Could  bear  tlie  long,  the  cheerless  night, 

Which  cheers  the  spirit,  ere  its  bark 

"  That  must  be  hcKi  when  thou  art  gone? 

Puts  off  into  the  unknown  Dark. 

"  That  I  can  live,  and  let  thee  go. 

"  Who  art  my  life  itself  ?— No,  no— 

,        Deserted  youth  !  one  thought  alone 

"  When  the  stem  dies,  the  leaf  that  grew 

!            Shed  joy  around  his  soul  in  death — 

"  Out  of  its  heart  must  perish  too ! 

1       That  she,  whom  he  for  years  had  known. 

"  Then  turn  to  me,  my  ovni  love,  turn, 

1        And  loved,  and  might  have  call'd  his  own, 

"  Before,  Uke  thee,  I  fade  and  burn  ; 

Was  safe  from  this  foul  midniglit's  breath, — 

"  Cling  to  these  yet  cool  lips,  and  share 

;        Safe  in  her  fathers  princely  halls. 

"  The  last  pure  life  that  lingers  there  1" 

t        "Where  the  cool  airs  from  fountain  falls, 

She  fails — she  sinks — as  dies  the  lamp 

1        Freshly  perfumed  by  many  a  brand 

In  charael  airs,  or  cavern-damp. 

1        Of  the  sweet  wood  from  India's  land. 

So  quickly  do  his  baleful  siglis 

Were  pure  as  she  whose  brow  they  fann'd 

Quench  all  the  sweet  light  of  her  eyes. 

One  stniggle — and  his  pain  is  past — 

But  see — who  yonder  comes  by  stealth,* 

Her  lover  is  no  longer  living ! 

This  melancholy  bow'r  to  seek. 

One  kiss  the  maiden  gives,  one  last, 

Like  a  young  envoy,  sent  by  Health, 

Long  kiss,  which  she  e.\pires  ui  giving '. 

With  rosy  gifts  upon  her  cheek  ? 

'Tis  she — far  off,  tlirough  moonlight  dim, 

'•  Sleep,"  said  the  Peri,  as  softly  she  stol* 

He  knew  his  own  betrothed  bride. 

The  farewell  sigh  of  that  vanishing  soul. 

She,  who  would  rather  die  with  him, 

As  true  as  e'er  warm'd  a  woman's  breast  - 

Than  live  to  gain  the  world  beside ! — 

"  Sleep  on,  in  visions  of  odor  rest. 

Iter  arms  are  round  her  lover  now. 

"  In  balmier  airs  than  ever  yet  stirr'd 

His  livid  cheek  to  here  she  presses. 

"  Th'  enchanted  pile  of  that  lonely  bird, 

And  dips,  to  bind  his  burning  brow. 

"  Who  sings  at  the  last  his  own  death-lay,^ 

In  the  cool  lake  her  loosen'd  tresses. 

"  And  in  music  and  perfume  dies  away  !" 

•  This  circumstance  has  been  often  intraluced  into  poetry ; 

^  "  In  the  East,  they  suppose  the  PhtP.nix  to  have  fit\y 

— by  VincenUus  Fabricius.  by  Darwin,  aD>l  lately,  with  very 

orilices  in  his  bill,  which  are  continued  to  his  tjiil ;  and  that. 

powerful  elTect,  by  Mr.  WUson. 

■ 1 

after  living  one  thousand  yeart,  he  builds  himself  a  faneral 

410 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Thus  saying,  from  her  lips  she  spread 

Unearthl}'^  breathing  tlirough  the  place, 
And  shook  her  sparkling  wreath,  and  shed 

Snch  lustre  o'er  each  paly  face, 
Tliat  like  two  lovely  saints  they  seem'd, 

Upon  the  eve  of  doomsday  taken 
From  their  dim  graves,  in  odor  sleeping ; 

Willie  that  benevolent  Peri  beara'd 
Like  their  good  angel,  calmly  keeping 

Watch  o'er  them  till  theu:  souls  would  waken. 

But  morn  is  blushing  in  the  sky; 

Again  the  Peri  soars  above, 
Bearing  to  Heav'n  that  precious  sigh 

Of  pure,  self-sacrificing  love. 
High  throbb'd  her  heart,  with  hope  elate, 

Th'  Elysian  palm  she  soon  shall  win, 
For  the  bright  Spirit  at  the  gate 

Smiled  as  she  gave  that  off  "ring  in ; 
And  she  already  hears  the  trees 

Of  Eden,  with  their  crj-stal  bells 
Ringing  in  tliat  ambrosial  breeze 

That  from  the  throne  of  Alla  swells ; 
And  slie  can  see  the  starry  bowls 

That  lie  around  that  lucid  lake, 
Upon  whose  banks  admitted  Souls 

Their  fii'st  sweet  draught  of  glory  take  !* 

But,  ah  !  ev'n  Feris'  hopes  are  vain — 

Again  the  Fates  forbade,  again 

Tir  immortal  baiTier  closed — "  Not  yet," 

The  Angel  said,  as,  with  regi'et, 

He  shut  from  lier  that  glimpse  of  glory — 

"  True  was  tlie  maiden,  and  her  story 

"  Written  in  light  o'er  All.v's  head, 

"  By  seraph  eyes  shall  long  be  read. 

"  But,  Peri,  see — the  crj'slal  bar 

"  Of  Eden  moves  not — holier  far 

"  Than  ev'n  this  sigh  the  boon  must  bo 

"  Tliut  opes  the  Gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee." 

Now,  upon  Syria's  land  of  roses^ 
Softly  the  light  of  Eve  reposes. 
And,  like  a  glory,  the  broad  sun 
Hangs  over  sainted  Lebanon; 

pile,  sin?s  a  melodious  airof  diflerent  hfirmonies  through  his 
fifiy  orpim  pipes,  flaps  his  win|;s  with  a  velocity  which  sets 
fire  to  the  wood,  and  consumes  himself." — Richardson. 

I  "  On  the  shores  of  a  quadrangular  lake  stand  a  thousand 
goblets,  niadeofstars,  out  of  which  souls  predestined  to  enjoy 
felicity  drink  the  crystal!  wave.*' — From  Chdieaubriand's 
Description  of  the  Mahometan  Paradise,  in  his  Beauties  of 
Christianiti/. 

'■»  Richarchon  thinks  thnt  Syria  had  its  name  from  Suri,  a 
beautiful  and  delicate  species  of  rose,  for  which  that  country 
has  been  always  famous ;— hence,  Suristan,  the  Land  of 
Roses. 

3  ■'  The  number  of  lizards  I  saw  one  day  in  the  great  court 


Whose  head  in  wintry  grandeur  tow'rs, 

And  whitens  with  eternal  sleet. 
While  summer,  in  a  vale  of  flow'rs, 

Is  sleeping  rosy  at  his  feet. 

To  one,  who  look'd  from  upper  air 

O'er  alj  th'  enchanted  regions  there, 

How  beauteous  must  have  been  the  glow, 

The  life,  the  sparkling  from  below  ! 

Fair  gardens,  shining  streams,  with  ranks 

Of  golden  melons  on  their  banks, 

More  golden  where  the  sun-light  falls  ; — 

Gay  lizards,  ghtt'ring  on  the  walls' 

Of  ruin'd  shrines,  busy  and  bright 

As  they  were  all  alive  with  light ; 

And,  yet  more  splendid,  numerous  flocks 

Of  pigeons,  settling  on  the  rocks, 

With  their  rich  restless  wings,  that  gleam 

Variously  in  the  crimson  beam 

Of  the  warm  West, — as  if  inlaid 

With  brilliants  from  the  mine,  or  made 

Of  tearless  rainbows,  such  as  span 

Th'  unclouded  skies  of  Perish  \S. 

And  then  tlie  mingluig  sounds  that  come, 

Of  shepherd's  ancient  reed,*  with  hum 

Of  the  wild  bees  of  Palestine,^ 

Banqueting  through  the  fiow'ry  vales ; 
And,  Jordan,  those  sweet  banks  of  thine. 

And  woods,  so  fiUl  of  nightingales." 

But  naught  can  chann  the  luckless  Peri; 
Her  sold  is  sad — her  wings  are  weary — 
Joyless  she  sees  the  Sun  look  down 
On  that  great  Temple,  once  his  owa,"^ 
Whose  lonely  columns  stand  sublime, 

Flinging  then  shadows  from  on  high, 
Like  dials,  which  the  wizard.  Time, 

Had  raised  to  count  his  ages  by  ! 

Yet  haply  there  may  lie  conceaVd 
Beneath  those  Chambers  of  the  Smi, 

Some  amulet  of  gems,  anneal'd 

In  upper  fires,  some  tablet  seal'd 
Witli  tlie  great  name  of  Solomon, 
Which,  spell'd  by  her  illumined  eyes, 

of  the  Temple  of  the  Sun  at  Balbcc  amounted  to  maoy  thou- 
sands ;  the  ground,  the  walls,  and  stones  of  the  ruined 
buildin£;s,  were  covered  with  them." — Bruce. 

*  "  The  Syrinx,  or  Pan's  pipe,  is  still  a  pastoral  instrument 
in  Syria." — Russel. 

6  "Wild  bees,  frequent  in  Palestine,  in  hollow  trunks  or 
branches  of  trees,  and  the  clefts  of  rocks.  Thus  it  is  said, 
(Psalm  Ixxxi.,)  'honey  out  of  the  stony  rock.*" — Burder's 
Oriental  Customs. 

8  "The  river  Jordan  is  on  both  sides  beset  with  little, 
thick,  and  pleasant  woods,  among  which  thousands  of  night- 
ingales warble  all  together."— T/iercno(. 

'  The  Temple  of  the  Sun  at  Balbec. 


LALLA  ROOivn. 


411 


May  teach  hor  whore,  beneatli  the  moon, 
In  earth  or  ocean,  lies  the  boon, 
The  charm,  tliat  can  restore  so  soon 
An  erring  Spirit  to  the  skies. 

Cheer'd  by  this  hope  sho  bends  her  tliither  ;- 

Still  laughs  the  radiant  eye  of  Heaven, 

Nor  liave  the  golden  bowers  of  Even 
lu  the  rich  West  begun  to  wither  ; — 
\Vhen,  o'er  tlie  vale  of  Balbec  wingmg 

Slowly,  she  sees  a  child  at  play. 
Among  the  rosy  wild-flow'rs  singing, 

As  rosy  and  as  wild  as  they  ; 
Chasing,  with  eager  hands  and  eyes, 
The  beautiful  blue  damsel -flies,* 
That  flutter'd  round  the  jasmine  stems, 
Like  winged  fiow'rs  or  flying  gems  : — 
And,  near  the  boy,  who  tired  with  play 
Now  nestling  'mid  tlie  roses  lay, 
She  saw  a  wearied  man  dismount 

From  his  hot  steed,  and  on  the  brink 
Of  a  small  ijiiaret's  rustic  fount^ 

Impatient  fling  him  down  to  drink. 
Then  swift  his  haggard  brow  he  tuni'd 

To  the  fair  child,  who  fearless  sat, 
Though  never  yet  hath  day-beam  buru'd 

Upon  a  brow  more  fierce  than  that, — 
Sullenly  fierce — a  mixture  dire, 
Like  thunder-clouds,  of  gloom  and  fire  ; 
In  which  the  Peri's  eye  could  read 
Dark  tales  of  many  a  ruthless  deed  ; 
The  ruin'd  maid — the  shrino  profaned — 
Oaths  broken — and  the  threshold  stain'd 
With  blood  of  guests  I — tftere  written,  all, 
Black  as  the  damning  drops  that  fall 
From  the  denouncing  Angel's  pen, 
Ere  Mercy  weeps  them  out  again. 

Yet  tranquil  now  that  man  of  crime 
(As  if  tlic  balmy  evening  time 
Soften'd  his  spirit)  look'd  and  lay, 
Watching  the  rosy  infant's  play  :— 
Though  still,  whene'er  his  eye  by  chance 
Fell  on  the  boy's,  its  hmd  glance 


1  "You  behold  there  a  considerable  niimber  of  a  remarl^- 
able  sjiecies  of  beautiful  insects,  the  elegance  of  whof-e  ap- 
pearance and  their  attire  procured  for  them  the  name  of 
DaniseU,'" — Sonnini, 

3  Imaret.  "  hospice  oii  on  loge  ct  m  urrit,  cratis,  1e-  pte- 
rins pendant  trois  jours." — Todcrini,  translated  by  the  jilibc 
de  Cuurnand. — See  also  Castellaji's  Mojurs  des  Othomans, 
torn,  v.,  p.  145. 

3  "  Such  Turks  as  at  the  common  hours  of  prayer  are  on 
the  road,  or  so  employed  as  not  to  find  convenience  to  attend 
the  mosques,  are  siill  obliged  lo  execute  that  duty  ;  nor  are 
they  ever  known  to  fail,  whatever  business  they  are  then 
about,  but  pray  immediately  when  the  hour  alarms  them, 


Met  tliat  unclouded,  joyous  gaze, 
As  torches,  that  have  biirn'd  all  night 
Through  some  impure  and  godless  rite, 

Encounter  morning's  glorious  rays. 

But,  hark  I  the  vesper  call  to  pray'r, 

As  slow  the  orb  of  daylight  sets, 
Is  rising  sweetly  on  the  air. 

From  Syria's  thousand  minarets  ! 
Tlie  boy  has  started  from  the  bed 
Of  flow'rs,  where  lie  had  laid  his  head, 
And  down  upon  the  fragrant  sod 

Kneels^  with  his  forehead  to  the  south, 
Lisping  th'  eternal  name  of  God 

From  Purity's  own  cherub  mouth. 
And  looking,  while  his  hands  and  eyes 
Are  lifted  to  the  glowing  skies, 
Like  a  stray  babe  of  Paradise, 
Just  lighted  on  that  flow'r)'  plain. 
And  seeking  for  its  home  again. 
Oh !  'twas  a  sight^that  Heav'n — that  child— 
A  scene,  whicli  might  have  well  beguiled 
Ev'n  haughty  Eblis  of  a  sigh 
For  glories  lost  and  peace  gone  by  I 

And  how  felt  7ie,  the  wretched  Man 
Reclming  there — while  memory  ran 
O'er  many  a  year  of  guilt  and  strife, 
Fiew  o'er  the  dark  flood  of  his  life, 
Nor  found  one  sunny  resting-place, 
Nor  brought  him  back  one  branch  of  grace. 
"  There  teas  a  time,"  he  said,  in  mild, 
Heart-humbled  tones — "  thou  blessed  cliild  ! 
"  When,  young  and  haply  pure  as  thou, 
"  I  look'd  and  pray'd  like  thee — but  now" — 
He  hung  his  head — each  nobler  aim, 

And  hope,  and  feeling,  which  had  slept 
From  boyhood's  hour,  that  instant  came 

Fresh  o'er  him,  and  he  wept — iio  wept  I 

Blest  tears  of  soul-felt  penitmeo  I 
In  whose  benign,  redeeming  flow 

Is  felt  the  first,  the  only  sense 

Of  guiltless  joy  that  gudt  can  know. 


whatever  they  arc  about,  in  that  very  place  they  chance  to 
stand  on  ;  insomuch  that  when  a  janizary,  whom  you  have 
to  guard  you  up  and  down  the  city,  hears  the  notice  wiiich 
is  t;iveii  bun  from  the  steeples,  he  will  turn  about,  stand 
still,  and  beckon  with  hi*;  hand,  lo  tell  his  charge  he  nmst 
have  patience  for  awhile,  when,  taking  out  his  handker- 
chief, he  spreads  it  on  the  ground,  sits  cross-legged  there- 
upon, and  says  his  prayers,  though  in  the  open  market, 
which  having  ended,  he  leaps  briskly  up.  salutes  the  per- 
son whom  he  undertook  to  convey,  and  renews  his  journey 
with  the  mild  expression  of  GheU  g-ohrinum  gheli,  or  Come, 
dear,  follow  me." — JJuron  Hill's  Travels. 


412 


MOoKE'S  WORKS. 


*  There's  a  drop,"  said  the  Peri,  **  that  down  from 

tiie  moon 
'  Fulls  through  the  withering  airs  of  June 

*  Upon  Egypt's  land,*  of  wo  heaUng  a  pow'r, 

*  So  balmy  a  virtue,  that  ev'n  in  llie  hour 
'  That  drop  descends,  contagion  dies, 

'  And  health  reanimates  earth  and  skies  ! — 

*  Oh,  is  it  not  thus,  thou  man  of  sin, 

"  The  precious  tears  of  repentance  fall  ? 
'  Though  foul  thy  fiery  plagues  within, 
'*  One  heavenly  drop  hath  dispell'd  thera  all  !" 

And  now — behold  him  kneeling  there 
By  the  child's  side,  in  humble  pray'r, 
^Vhilc  tiie  same  sunbeam  shines  upon 
The  guilty  and  the  guiltless  one, 
And  hymns  of  joy  proclaim  througli  Ileav'n 
The  triumph  of  a  Soul  Forgiv'n  ! 

'Twas  when  the  goMen  orb  had  'set, 
While  on  their  knees  they  lingered  yet, 
There  fell  a  llgiit  more  lovely  far 
Than  ever  came  from  sun  or  star, 
Upon  the  tear  tliat,  wann  and  meek, 
Dew'd  that  repentant  sinner's  cheek. 
To  mortal  eye  this  light  miglit  seem 
A  northern  flash  or  meteor  beam — 
But  well  til'  enraptured  Peri  knew 
'Twas  a  bright  smile  the  Angel  tlirew 
From  Heaven's  gate,  to  hail  that  tear 
Her  harbinger  of  glory  near  ! 

'*  Joy,  joy  forever  !  my  task  is  done — 

"  The  gates  are  pass'd,  and  Heav'n  is  won  ! 

"  Oh  !  am  I  not  happy  ?  I  am,  I  am — 

"  To  thee,  sweet  Eden  !  how  dark  and  sad 
"  Are  the  diamond  turrets  of  Shadukiam," 

"  And  the  fragrant  bowers  of  Amberabad  I 

"  Farewell,  ye  odors  of  Earth,  that  die 

"  Passing  away  like  a  lover's  sigh  ; — 
"  My  feast  is  now  of  the  Tooba  Tree,' 
*'  Whose  scent  is  the  breath  of  Eternity  ! 

'  Farewell,  ye  vanishing  flowers,  that  shone 
"  In  my  fairy  wreatli,  so  bright  and  brief; — 


■  The  Nucta,  or  Miraculous  Drcip,  which  fulls  in  Egypt 
/ir«":isfly  on  St.  John's  day,  in  .hinc,  and  is  supposed  to 
have  ihc  cli'ect  of  slopping  the  plague. 

'The  Country  of  Delight— the  n;inie  of  a  province  in  the 
^ingdont  of  Jinnistan,  or  Fairy  Land,  the  capital  of  which 
\s  called  the  City  of  Jewels.  Auibcrahad  is  another  of  t-'je 
lities  of  Jinnisian. 

3  The  tree  Tooba,  that  stands  in  Parndiso,  in  the  palace 
Of  Mahomet.  See  Sale's  Prelim.  Disc. — Tooba,  says  D^Her- 
belol,  si>rnilie3  licatitude,  or  eternal  happiness. 

*  Slahomet  is  described,  in  the  53d  chapter  of  the  Koran, 


"  Oh !   what   are   the   brightest   that   e'er   have 

blown, 
'*  To  the  lote-tree,  springing  by  Alla'b  throne,* 

"  Whose  flowers  have  a  soul  in  every  leafl 
"  Joy,  joy  forever  ! — my  task  is  done — 
"  The  Gates  are  pass'd,  and  Heav'n  is  won  !" 


*'  AwD  this "  said  the  Great  Chamberlain,  "  is 
poetry  !  this  flimsy  manmacture  of  the  bruin,  which, 
in  comparison  witli  the  lofty  and  durable  monu- 
ments of  genius*  is  as  the  gold  filigh.*^-work  of 
Zamara  beside  the  evtfrnal  architecture  of  Egypt !" 
After  this  gorgeous  sentence,  which,  with  a  few 
more  of  the  same  kind,  Fadladeen  kept  by  him 
for  rare  and  important  occasions,  lie  proceeded  to 
the  anatomy  of  the  siiort  poem  just  recited.  The 
lax  and  easy  kind  of  metre  in  wliich  it  was  written 
ought  to  be  denomiced,  lie  said,  as  one  of  the 
leading  causes  of  the  alarming  growth  of  poetrj' 
ui  our  times.  If  some  check  were  not  given  to 
this  lawless  facility,  we  should  soon  be  overrun 
by  a  race  of  bards  as  numerous  and  as  shallow  as 
the  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  Streams  of 
Basra.^  They  wlio  succeeded  in  this  style  de- 
served chastisement  for  their  very  success  ; — as 
warriors  have  been  punished,  even  after  gaining  a 
victory,  because  they  had  taken  the  liberty  of 
gaining  it  in  an  irregular  or  unestablished  manner. 
What,  then,  was  to  be  said  to  those  who  failed  ?  to 
those  who  presumed,  as  in  the  present  lamentable 
instance,  to  imitate  the  license  and  ease  of  the 
bolder  sons  of  song,  without  any  of  that  grace  or 
vigor  which  gave  a  dignity  even  to  negligence  ; — 
who,  like  them,  flung  the  jereed®  carelessly,  but 
not,  like  them,  to  the  mark ; — "  and  who,"  said 
he,  raising  ills  voice  to  excite  a  proper  degree  of 
wakefulness  in  his  hearers,  "  contrive  to  appear 
heavy  and  constrained  in  the  midst  of  aii  the 
latitude  they  allow  themselves,  like  one  of  those 
young  p-aguns  that  dance  before  the  Princess,  who 
is  inircnious  enough  to  move   as  if  her  limbs  were 


as  having  seen  the  angel  Gabriel  "  by  the  lote-tree.  beyond 
which  thete  is  no  passinj* :  near  it  is  the  Garden  of  Klernal 
Abode."  This  tree,  say  the  commentators,  stands  in  the 
seventh  Heaven,  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Throne  of  God. 

6 '*  It  is  said  that  the  rivers  or  streams  of  Basra  were 
reckoned  in  the  time  of  Pelal  ben  Abi  Bordeh,  and  amount- 
ed to  the  number  of  oue  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
streams.'* — Ebn  Hankal. 

«The  name  of  the  javelin  with  which  the  Easterns  exer- 
cise.   See  Castellan^  J\ta:urs  dcs  Otkomans,  torn.  iii.  p.  JGl. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


413 


fettered,  in  a  pair  of  the  Lghtest  and  loosest  drawers 
of  Masulipatam !" 

It  was  but  little  suitable,  he  continued,  to  the 
!;rave  march  of  criticism  to  follow  this  fantastical 
Peri,  of  wliom  they  had  just  heard,  througli  all 
her  flights  and  adventures  between  earth  and 
heaven ;  but  he  could  not  help  adverting  to  the 
puerile  conceitedness  of  the  Three  Gifts  which 
she  is  supposed'  to  carry  to  the  skies, — a  drop  of 
blood,  forsooth,  a  sigh,  and  a  tear !  How  the  first 
of  these  articles  was  delivered  into  the  Angel's 
"radiant  hand"  he  professed  himself  at  a  loss  to  dis- 
cover ;  and  as  to  the  safe  carriage  of  the  sigh  and 
the  tear,  such  Peris  and  such  poets  were  beings  by 
far  too  incomprehensible  for  him  even  to  guess 
how  they  managed  such  matters.  "  But,  in  short," 
said  he,  "  it  is  a  waste  of  time  and  patience  to  dwell 
longer  upon  a  thing  so  iucinably  frivolous, — puny 
even  among  its  own  puny  race,  and  such  as  only 
the  Banyan  Hospital'  for  Sick  Insects  should  un- 
dertake." 

In  vain  did  Lalla  Rookh  try  to  soften  this  inex- 
orable critic :  in  vain  did  she  resort  to  her  most 
eloquent  common-places, — reminduig  him  that 
poets  were  a  timid  and  sensitive  race,  whose 
sweetness  was  not  to  be  drawn  forth,  like  that  of 
the  fragrant  grass  near  the  Ganges,  by  crushing 
and  trampling  upon  them ;' — that  severity  often 
extinguished  every  chance  of  the  perfection  vriiich 
it  demanded ;  and  that,  after  all,  perfection  was 
like  the  Mountain  of  the  Talisman, — no  one  had 
ever  yet  reached  its  summit.'  Neither  these  gen- 
tle axioms,  nor  the  still  gentler  looks  with  which 
they  were  inculcated,  could  lower  for  one  instant 
the  elevation  of  Fadla  iee.n's  eyebrows,  or  charm 
him  into  any  thing  like  encouragement,  or  even 
toleration,  of  her  poet  Toleration,  iiiiced,  was 
not  among  the  weaknesses  of  Faul\d£en: — he 
carrieu  tf»-  same  spirit  into  matters  of  poetry  and 
of  religion,  and,  though  little  versed  in  the  beau- 
ties and  sublimities  of  either,  was  a  perfect  master 
of  the  art  of  persecution  in  both.  His  zeal  was 
the  same,  too,  in  either  pursuit ;  whether  the  game 


1  "  This  account  e.xcited  a  desire  of  visiting  the  Banyan 
Hospital,  as  I  liad  heard  mucli  of  their  benevolence  to  all 
kinds  of  animals  that  were  either  siclt,  lame,  or  infirm, 
through  age  or  accident.  On  my  arrival,  there  were  presented 
to  my  view  many  horses,  cows,  and  o.xen,  in  one  apartment ; 
in  another,  dogs,  sheep,  goats,  and  monkeys,  with  clean 
straw  for  them  to  repose  on.  Above  stairs  were  deposito- 
ries for  seeds  of  many  sorts,  and  flat,  broad  dishes  for  water 
for  the  use  of  birds  and  insects." — Parson's  Travels. 

It  is  said  that  all  animals  know  the  Banyans,  that  the 
most  liniid  approach  them,  and  that  birds  will  fly  nearer  to 
them  than  to  other  people. — See  Grandpre. 


L. 


before  him  was  pagans  or  poetasters, — worshippers 
of  cows,  or  writers  of  epics. 

They  had  now  arrived  at  the  splendid  city  of 
Lahore,  whose  mausoleums  and  shrines,  magnifi- 
cent and  numberless,  where  Death  appeared  to 
share  equal  honors  with  Heaven,  would  have  pow- 
erfully afTected  the  heart  and  imagination  of  Lal- 
ui  RooKU,  if  feelings  more  of  this  earth  had  not 
taken  entire  possession  of  her  already.  She  was 
here  met  by  messengers,  dispatched  from  Cash- 
mere, who  informed  her  that  the  King  had  ar- 
rived in  the  Valley,  and  was  himself  superintend- 
ing the  sumptuous  preparations  that  were  then 
making  in  the  Saloons  of  the  Shalimar  for  her 
reception.  The  chill  she  felt  on  receiving  this 
intelligence, — which  to  a  bride  whose  heart  was 
free  and  light  would  have  brought  only  images 
of  atFectiou  and  pleasure, — convinced  her  that  her 
peace  was  gone  forever,  and  that  she  was  in  lo\T, 
uretrievably  in  love,  with  young  Feramorz.  The 
veil  had  fallen  off  in  which  this  passion  :t  first 
disguises  itself,  and  to  know  th.it  she  loved  was 
now  as  painful  as  to  love  without  knowing  it  had 
been  delicious.  Fera.morz,  too, — what  misery 
would  be  his,  if  the  sweet  hours  of  intercourse  so 
imprudently  allowed  them  should  have  stolen  into 
his  heart  the  same  fatal  fascination  as  into  hers ; — 
if,  notwithstanding  her  rank,  and  the  modest  liom- 
age  he  always  paid  to  it,  even  he  should  have  yield- 
ed to  the  influence  of  those  long  and  happy  inter- 
views, where  music,  poetry,  the  delightful  scenes 
of  nature, — all  had  tended  to  bring  their  hearts 
close  together,  and  to  waken  by  every  means  that 
too  ready  passion,  which  often,  like  the  young  of 
the  desert-bird,  is  warmed  ^^J  life  by  the  ^es 
alone  I*  She  saw  but  one  way  to  preserve  herself 
from  being  culpable  as  well  as  unhappy,  and  this, 
however  painful,  she  was  resolved  to  adopt.  Fer- 
amorz must  no  more  be  admitted  to  her  presence. 
To  have  strayed  so  far  into  the  dangerous  laby- 
rinth was  wrong,  but  to  linger  ill  it,  while  the  clew 
was  yet  in  her  hand,  would  be  criminal.  Though 
the  heart  she  liad  to  offer  to  the  King  of  Bucha- 
ria  might  be  cold  and  broken,  it   should   at  least 


3  "  A  very  fragrant  grass  from  the  banks  of  the  Ganges, 
near  Heridvvar,  which  in  some  places  covers  whole  acres, 
and  dilfuses,  when  crushed,  a  strong  odor." — Sir  fV.  Jones 
on  the  Spikenard  of  the  Ancients. 

*  "Near  this  is  a  curious  hill,  called  Koh  Talism,  the 
Monntjiin  of  the  Talisman,  because,  according  to  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  country,  no  person  ever  succeeded  in  gainingils 
summit." — Kijtneir. 

*  "The  Arabians  believe  that  the  ostriches  hatch  their 
young  by  only  looking  at  them." — P.  VansUbe,  Relat. 
SEgyflt. 


414 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


be  pure ;  and  she  must  only  endeavor  to  forget 
the  eliort  dream  of  happiness  she  had  enjoyed, 
— like  that  Arabian  shepherd,  who,  in  wander- 
ing into  the  wilderness,  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
Gardens  of   Irim,  and    tlien    lost    them  again  for- 


The  arrival  of  the  young  Bride  at  Lahore  was 
celebrated  in  the  most  enthusiastic  manner.  The 
Rajas  and  Omras  iu  her  train,  who  liad  kept  at 
a  certain  distance  during  the  journey,  and  never 
encamped  nearer  to  the  Princess  than  was  strictly 
necessary  for  her  safeguard,  hero  rode  in  splendid 
cavalcade  through  the  city,  and  distributed  the 
most  costly  presents  to  the  crowd.  Engines  were 
erected  in  all  the  squares,  which  cast  forth 
showers  of  confectionary  among  the  people  ;  while 
the  artisans,  in  chariots''  adorned  with  tinsel  and 
flying  streamers,  e.iLhibItcd  the  badges  of  their 
respective  trades  through  the  streets.  Such  bril- 
liant displays  of  life  and  pageantry  among  the 
palaces,  and  domes,  and  gilded  minarets  of  La- 
hore, made  the  city  altogether  like  a  place  of  en- 
chantment ; — particularly  on  the  day  when  Lalla 
RooKU  set  out  again  upon  her  jouniey,  when  she 
was  accompanied  to  the  gate  by  all  the  fairest 
and  ricliest  of  tlie  nobility,  and  rode  along  between 
ranlis  of  beautiful  beys  and  girls,  who  kept  waving 
over  their  heads  plates  of  gold  and  silver  flowers,^ 
and  tlien  tinew  them  around  to  be  gathered  by  the 
populace. 

For  many  days  after  their  departure  from  La- 
hore, a  considerable  degree  of  gloom  hung  over 
the  whole  party.  Lalla  Rookii,  who  had  in- 
tended to  make  illness  her  e.Kcuse  for  not  admit- 
ting tlio  young  in':^.strel,  as  usual,  to  tlie  pavilion, 
soon  found  that  to  feign  indisposition  was  unne- 
cessary ; — Fadladeen  felt  tlie  loss  of  the  good 
road  they  had  hitherto  travelled,  and  was  very 
near  cursing  Jehan-Guire  (of  blessed  memory !) 
for  not  having  continued  his  delectable  alley  of 
trees,'  at  least  as  far  as  the  mountains  of  Cash- 
mere ; — while  the  Ladies,  wlio  had  notliing  now 
to  do  all  day  but  to  be  fanned  by  peacocks'  featli- 
eis  and  listen  to  Fadladeen,  seemed  heartily 
weai-y  of  the  life  they  led,  and,  in  spite  of  all  the 
Great  Chamberlain's  criticisms,  were  so  tasteless 
as  to  wish  for  the  poet  again.     One  evening,  as 


1  See  S(df\<i  Koran,  note,  vol.  ii.  p.  484. 

'  Oricnuil  Tules. 

s  Ft'ri>hla.  "  Or  rather,"  says  Scott,  upon  the  passnge  of 
Fcrishta,  from  which  this  is  taken,  "  small  cuhis,  stamped 
witli  the  fli^nre  of  a  fluvver.  They  are  still  used  in  India  to 
distribute  In  charity,  and,  on  occasion,  thrown  by  the  purse- 
bearers  of  the  great  among  the  populace." 


they  were  proceeding  to  their  place  of  rest  for  the 
night,  the  Princess,  who,  for  the  freer  enjoyment 
of  the  air,  had  mounted  her  favorite  Arabian  pal- 
frey, in  passing  by  a  small  grove  heard  the  notes 
of  a  lute  from  witliin  its  leaves,  and  a  voice,  which 
she  but  too  well  knew,  singing  the  following 
words : — 

Tell  mo  not  of  joys  above, 

If  that  world  can  give  no  bliss. 
Truer,  happier  than  the  Love 

Which  enslaves  our  souls  in  this. 

Tell  me  not  of  Houris'  eyes ; — 

Far  from  me  their  dangerous  glow, 

If  those  looks  that  liglit  tlie  skies 
Wound  like  some  tliat  burn  below. 

Who,  that  feels  what  Love  is  here, 

All  its  falsehood — all  its  pain — 
Would,  for  ev'n  Elysium's  sphere. 

Risk  the  fatal  dream  again  ? 

Who,  that  midst  a  desert's  heat 

Sees  the  waters  fade  away. 
Would  not  rather  die  than  meet 

Streams  again  as  false  as  they? 

The  tone  of  melancholy  defiance  in  which  these 
wojyis  were  uttered,  went  to  Lalla  Rookii's  heart ; 
— and,  as  she  reluctantly  rode  on,  she  could  not  help 
feeling  it  to  be  a  sad  but  stili  sweet  certainty,  that 
Feramorz  was  to  the  full  as  enamored  and  misera- 
ble as  herself. 

The  place  where  they  encamped  that  evening 
was  the  first  delightful  spot  they  had  come  to  ' 
since  they  left  Lahore.  On  one  side  of  them 
was  a  grove  full  of  small  Hindoo  temples,  and 
planted  with  the  most  graceful  trees  of  tlie  East ; 
where  the  tamarind,  the  cassia,  and  the  silken 
plantains  of  Ceylon  were  mingled  in  rich  contrast 
with  the  high  fan-like  foliage  of  the  Palmyra, — 
that  favorite  tree  of  the  luxurious  bird  that  liglits 
up  the  chambers  of  its  nest  with  fire-flies.^  In 
the  middle  of  the  lawn  where  the  pavilion  stood 
there  was  a  tank  surrounded  by  small  mango- 
trees,  on   the  clear  cold  waters   of  which  floated 


4  The  tine  road  made  by  the  Emperor  Jehan-Guire  from 
Apra  to  Lahore,  planted  with  trees  on  each  side.  This  road 
is250leagncs  hi  length.  It  h^s  "  I'ttle  pyramids  or  tnrrels," 
says  Bcrnicr,  "  erected  every  hall  liMyne,  to  mark  the  ways, 
and  frequent  wells  to  alTord  drink  to  passenger?,  and  to  wa- 
ter the  young  trees." 

^  "  The  Baya,  or  Indian  Gross-heak." — Sir  If.  Jones. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


415 


multitudes  of  the  lieautiful  red  lotus  ;'  while  at  a 
distance  stood  tlie  ruius  of  a  strange  and  awful- 
looking  tower,  wliicii  seemed  old  enough  to  have 
been  tlie  temple  of  some  religion  no  longer  known, 
and  which  spoke  the  voice  of  desolation  in  the 
midst  of  all  thut  bloom  and  loveliness.  This  singu- 
lar ruin  excited  tlie  wonder  and  conjectures  of  all. 
Lalla  Rookh  guessed  in  vain,  and  the  all-pretend- 
ing Fadladeen,  who  had  never  til!  this  journey  been 
beyond  the  precincts  of  Delhi,  was  proceeding  most 
learnedly  to  show  that  ho  knew  nothing  wliatever 
about  the  matter,  when  one  of  the  Ladies  suggested 
that  perhaps  Feramorz  could  satisfy  their  curiosity. 
They  were  now  approaching  his  native  mountains, 
and  this  tower  migiit  perliaps  be  a  relic  of  some  of 
those  dark  superstitious,  which  had  prevailed  in  that 
countrj'  before  the  light  of  Islam  dawned  upon  it. 
The  Cliamberlain,  who  usually  preferred  his  own 
ignorance  to  the  best  knowledge  that  any  one  else 
could  give  him,  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  this 
officious  reference  ;  and  the  Princess,  too,  was  about 
to  interpose  a  faint  word  of  objection,  but,  before 
either  of  them  could  speak,  a  slave  was  dispatched 
for  Feramorz,  who,  in  a  very  few  minutes,  made 
his  appearance  before  them — looking  so  pale  and 
imhappy  in  Lalla  Rookh's  eyes,  that  she  repented 
already  of  her  cruelty  in  having  so  long  excluded 
him. 

That  venerable  tower,  he  told  them,  was  the 
remains  of  an  ancient  Fire-Temple,  built  by  those 
Ghebei's  or  Persians  of  tlie  old  religion,  who,  many 
hundred  yeara  since,  had  fled  hither  from  their  Arab 
conquerors,^  preferring  liberty  and  their  altars  in  a 
foreign  land  to  the  alternative  of  apostacy  or  perse- 
cution in  their  own.  It  was  impossible,  he  added, 
not  to-  feel  interested  in  the  many  glorious  but  un- 
successful struggles,  which  h'^td  been  made  by  these 
original  natives  of  Persia  to  cast  ofi'  the  yoke  of 
their  bigoted  conquerors.  Like  their  own  Fire  in 
the  Burning  Field  at  Bakou,^  when  suppressed  in 
one  place,  they  had  but  broken  out  witli  fresh  flame 
in  another  ;  and,  as  a  native  of  Cashmere,  of  that 
fair  aud  Holy  Valley,  which  had  in  the  same  man- 


1  "Here  is  a  large  pngoda  by  a  tank,  on  the  water  of  which 
float  innltitudes  of  the  beautiful  red  lotus:  the  flower  is 
larger  than  that  of  the  white  water-lily,  and  is  the  most 
lovely  of  tlie  nyinphaias  I  have  seen." — Mrs.  Grahavi's 
Journal  ofa  Residence  in  India. 

2  "On  les  voit  pcrs6cut6s  par  les  Khalifes  se  relirer  dans 
les  montagne?  du  Kernian  :  plusieurschoisirent  pourretraite 
la  Tartarie  et  la  Chine  ;  d'autres  s'arr^tijrent  sur  les  borris 
du  Gauge,  a  Test  de  Delhi." — ^V.  ,9nquctU,  M6inoires  de 
TAcademie,  torn,  x'.xi.,  p.  346. 

3  The  "'.Ager  ardens"  described  by  Kcmpfer,  Amttnital. 
Exot. 

■*  "  Cashmere  (says  iis  historians)  had  its  own  princes  4000 


ner  become  the  prey  of  strangers,*  and  seen  lier 
ancient  shrines  and  native  princes  swept  away  be- 
fore the  march  of  her  intolerant  invaders,  he  felt  a 
sympathy,  he  owned,  with  tlie  sufferings  of  the 
persecuted  Ghebers,  which  every  monument  like 
this  before  them  hut  tended  more  powerfully  to 
awaken. 

It  was  the  fii*st  time  that  Feramorz  iiad  ever 
ventured  upon  so  much  prose  before  Fadladeen, 
and  it  may  easily  be  conceived  what  effect  such 
prose  as  this  must  liave  produced  uj)on  that  most 
orthodox  and  most  pagan-hating  personage.  He 
sat  for  some  minutes  aghast,  ejaculaling  only  at 
intei-vals,  "  Bigoted  conquerors  ! — sym|)athy  with 
Fire-worshippers  !"^ — while  Feramorz,  happy  to 
take  advantage  of  this  almost  speeciilcss  liorror  of 
the  Chamberlain,  proceeded  to  say  that  he  knew  a 
melancholy  story,  connected  with  the  events  of  one 
of  those  struggles  of  the  brave  Firc-worshippei's 
against  their  Arab  masters,  which,  if  the  evening 
was  not  too  far  advanced,  he  should  have  much 
pleasure  in  being  allowed  to  relate  to  the  Princess. 
It  was  impossible  for  Lalla  Rookh  to  refuse  ; — he 
had  never  before  looked  half  so  animated ;  and 
when  he  spoke  of  tiie  Holy  Valley  his  eyes  had 
sparkled,  she  thought,  like  the  talismanic  characters 
on  tlie  cimeter  of  Solomon.  Her  consent  was 
tlierefore  most  readily  granted  ;  and  while  Fadla- 
deen sat  in  unspeakable  dismay,  expecting  treason 
and  abomination  in  every  line,  the  poet  thus  began 
his  story  of  the  Fire- worshippers  : — 


THE  FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

'Tis  moonlight  over  Oman's  Sea  f 
Her  baulcs  of  pearl  and  palmy  isles 

Bask  in  the  night-beam  beauteously, 
And  her  blue  waters  sleep  in  smiles. 

'Tis  moonlight  in  Harmozlv's"  walls, 

And  tlirough  her  Emir's  porphyry  halls, 


years  before  its  conquest  by  Akhar  in  1585.  Akbar  would 
have  found  some  difficulty  to  reduce  this  paradise  of  the 
Indies,  situated  as  it  is  within  such  a  fortress  of  mountains, 
but  its  monarch,  Yusef-Khan,  was  basely  betrayed  by  his 
Onirahs." — Pennant. 

6  Voltaire  tells  us  that  in  his  Tragedy, ''  Les  Guebres,"  he 
was  generally  supposed  to  have  aUuded  to  the  Jansenists.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  this  story  of  the  Fire- worshippers 
were  fnund  capable  ofa  similar  doublnness  of  application. 

6  The  Persian  Gulf,  sometimes  so  called,  which  separates 
the  shores  of  Persia  and  Arabia. 

■>  The  present  Gonibarooii,  a  town  on  the  Persian  sidu  of 
the  Gulf. 


416                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Where,  some  hours  since,  was  heard  the  swell 

Never  was  Iran  doom*d  to  bend 

Of  tnuiipet  and  the  clash  of  ze!,' 

Beneath  a  yoke  of  deadlier  weight. 

Bidding  tlio  bright-eyed  sun  farewell  ; — 

Her  throne  had  falKu — her  pride  was  criish'd — 

The  peaceful  sun,  whom  better  suits 

Her  sons  were  willing  slaves,  nor  blush'd, 

The  music  of  the  bulbul's  nest, 

In  their  own  land, — no  more  their  own, — 

Or  tlie  light  touch  of  lovers'  lutes, 

To  crouch  beneath  a  stranger's  throne. 

To  sing  him  to  his  golden  rest. 

Her  tow'rs,  where  iNIithra  once  liad  bnrn'd, 

All  hush'd — there's  not  a  breeze  in  motion  ; 

To  Moslem  shrines — oh  shame  I — wore  tum'd, 

The  shore  is  silent  as  the  ocean. 

Where  slaves,  converted  by  the  sword, 

If  zepliyrs  come,  so  light  they  come, 

Their  mean,  apostate  worship  pour'd, 

Nor  leaf  is  stirr'd  nor  wave  is  driven  ;- 

And  cursed  the  faith  their  sires  adored. 

The  wind-tower  on  the  Emir's  dome' 

Yet  has  she  hearts,  mid  all  this  ill, 

Can  hardly  win  a  breath  from  heaven. 

O'er  all  this  wreck  high  buoyant  still 

AVith  hope  and  vengeance  ; — hearts  that  vet — 

Ev'n  he,  tliat  tyrant  Arab,  sleeps 

Like  gems,  in  darkness,  issuing  rays 

Calm,  while  a  nation  round  him  weeps  ; 

They've  treasured  from  the  sun  that's  set, — 

While  curses  load  the  air  he  breathes. 

Beam  all  the  light  of  long-lost  days  I 

And  falchions  from  unnumber'd  sheaths 

And  swords  slie  hatii,  nor  weak  nor  slow 

Are  starting  to  avenge  the  shame 

To  second  all  such  hearts  can  dare  : 

His  race  halii  brouglit  on  Iran's'  name. 

As  he  shall  know,  well,  dearly  know, 

Hard,  heartless  Chief,  unmoved  alike 

Who  sleeps  in  moonlight  lux'ry  there. 

Mid  eyes  that  weep,  and  swords  that  strike  ; — 

Tranquil  as  if  his  spirit  lay 

One  of  that  saintly,  murd'rous  brood, 

Becalm'd  in  Heav'n's  appro^dng  ray. 

To  carnage  and  the  Koran  giv'n. 

Sleep  on— for  purer  eyes  than  thine 

Who  think  through  unbelievers'  blood 

Those  waves  are  hush'd,  tliose  pla'nets  shme  ; 

Lies  their  directest  path  to  heav'n  ; — 

Sleep  on,  and  be  thy  rest  umnoved 

One,  who  will  pause  and  kneel  unshod 

By  the  white  moonbeam's  dazzling  power  ; — 

In  the  warm  blood  his  hand  hath  pour'd, 

None  but  the  loving  and  the  loved 

To  mutter  o'er  some  text  of  God 

Should  be  awake  at  this  sweet  hour. 

Engraven  on  his  reeking  sword  ;* — 

Nay,  who  can  coolly  note  the  line, 

And  see — where,  liigh  above  those  rocks 

The  letter  of  those  words  divine. 

That  o'er  the  deep  their  shadows  fling, 

To  which  his  blade,  with  searching  art, 

Yon  turret  stands  ; — where  ebon  locks, 

Had  sunk  into  its  victim's  heart ! 

As  glossy  as  a  lieron's  wing 

Upon  the  turban  of  a  king,^ 

Just  Alla  !  what  must  be  thy  look, 

Hang  from  the  lattice,  long  and  wild, — 

When  such  a  wretch  before  thee  stands 

*Tis  she,  tliat  Emir's  blooming  child, 

Unblushing,  with  thy  Sacred  Book, — 

All  truth,  and  tenderness,  and  grace, 

Turning  the  leaves  with  blood-stain'd  hands. 

Though  born  of  such  ungentle  race  ; — 

And  wresting  from  its  page  sublime 

An  image  of  Youth's  radiant  Fountain 

His  creed  of  lust,  and  hate,  and  crime  ; — 

Sprmging  in  a  desolate  mountain  I^ 

Ev'n  as  those  bees  of  Trebizond, 

Which,  from  the  sunniest  flow'rs  that  glad 

Oh  what  a  pure  and  sacred  tiling 

With  their  pure  smile  the  gardens  round, 

Is  Beauty,  curtain'd  from  the  sight 

Draw  venom  forth  that  drives  men  mad.' 

Of  the  gross  world,  illumining 

One  only  mansion  with  her  light  1 

Never  did  fierce  Arabia  send 

Unseen  by  man's  disturbmg  eye, — 

A  satrap  forth  more  direly  great ; 

The  flow'r  tliat  blooms  beneath  the  sea, 

»  A  Miyirish  instrument  of  music. 

6  "There  is  a  kind  of  Rhododendros  about  Trebizond, 

2  "  At  Gombiiroon  .ind  other  places  in  Persia,  they  have 

whose  flowers  the  bee  feeds  upon,  and  the  honey  thence 

towers  fur  the  purpose  of  ciuchiiig  the  wind,  and  cooling  the 

drives  people  mad."— 7"owrnr/orf. 

houses."— /.e  Bruyn. 

«  "Their  kings  wear  plumes  of  black  herons'  feaihers  up- 

3 "  Iran  is  the  true  general  name  for  the  empire  of  Persia." 

on  the  right  side,  as  a  badge  of  sovereignly."— /fdHWfly. 

— Jjsiitt.  Res..  Disc.  5. 

'  "The  Fountain  of  Youth,  by  a  Mali.nnetan  tradition,  Is 

*  "On  the  blades  of  their  cimeters  some  verse  from  the 

situated  in  some  dark  region  of  the  'E.^st."— Richardson. 

Koran  is  usually  inscribed." — Ruatd. 

LALLA  ROOKH. 


417 


Too  deep  for  sunbeams,  doth  not  lie 

Hid  in  more  chaste  obscurity. 
So,  HiNDA,  liavo  tliy  face  and  mind, 
Like  lioly  myst'ries,  lain  enshrined. 
And  oil,  what  transport  for  a  lover 

To  lift  the  veil  tliat  shades  them  o'er ! — 
Like  those  who,  all  at  once,  discover 

In  the  lone  deep  some  fairy  shore. 

Where  mort.il  never  trod  before. 
And  sleep  and  wake  in  scented  airs 
No  lip  had  ever  breathed  but  theirs. 

Beautiful  are  the  maids  that  glide. 

On  summer-eves,  tlirough  Yemen's*  dales, 
And  bright  the  glancing  looks  they  hide 

Behind  their  litters'  roseate  veils  ; — 
And  brides,  as  delicate  and  fair 
As  the  white  jasmine  flow'rs  they  wear, 
Hath  Yemen  in  her  blissful  clime, 

Wlio,  luU'd  in  cool  kiosk  or  bow'r,^ 
Before  their  mirrors  count  the  time," 

And  grow  still  lovelier  ev'ry  hour. 
But  never  yet  hath  bride  or  maid 

In  Araby's  gay  Haram  smiled, 
AVhose  boasted  brightness  would  not  fade 

Before  Al  Hassan's  blooming  child. 

Light  as  the  angel  shapes  that  bless 
An  infant's  dream,  yet  not  the  less 
Rich  in  all  woman's  loveliness ; — 
With  eyes  so  pure,  that  from  their  ray 
Dark  Vice  would  turn  abash'd  away, 
Blinded  like  serpents,  when  they  gaze 
Upon  the  em'rald's  virgin  blaze  ;' — 
Yet  fill'd  with  all  youth's  sweet  desires, 
Mingling  the  meek  and  vestal  fires 
Of  other  worlds  with  all  the  bliss. 
The  fond,  weak  tenderness  of  this: 
A  soul,  too,  more  than  half  divine, 

Where,  through  some  shades  of  earthly  feeling, 
ReUgioa's  soften'd  glories  sliine, 

Liku  light  through  suimner  foliage  stealing, 

*■  Arabia  Felil. 

2  "  In  the  midst  of  the  garden  is  the  chiosk,  that  is,  a  large 
room,  commonly  beaulitied  with  a  fine  fountain  in  Ihemidsl 
of  it.  It  is  raised  nine  or  ten  steps,  and  enclosed  with  gilded 
lattices,  round  which  vines,  jessamines,  and  honcysucliles, 
umke  a  sort  of  green  wall ;  large  trees  are  planted  round 
this  place,  which  is  the  scene  of  their  greatest  pleastires." 
— Lady  .M.  IV.  Jilontagu. 

3  The  women  of  the  East  are  never  without  their  looking- 
glasses.  "In  Barbar)-,"  says  Shaw,  "they  are  so  fond  of 
their  looking-glasses,  which  they  hang  upon  their  breasts, 
that  they  will  not  lay  them  aside,  even  when  after  the 
drudgerj*  of  the  day  they  are  obliged  to  go  two  or  three  miles 
with  a  pitcher  or  a  goal's  skin  to  fetch  water." — Travels. 

In  other  parts  of  Asia  they  wear  little  looking-glasses  on 
theh  thumbs.    "  Hence  (and  from  the  lotus  being  consider- 


Shedding  a  glow  of  such  mild  hue, 
So  warm,  and  yet  so  shadowy  too, 
As  makes  the  very  darkness  there 
More  beautiful  than  light  elsewhere. 

Such  is  the  maid  who,  at  this  hour, 

Hath  risen  from  her  restless  sleep. 
And  sits  alone  in  that  high  bow'r. 

Watching  the  still  and  shining  deep. 
All !  'twas  not  thus — with  tearful  eyes 

And  beating  heart, — slie  used  to  gaze 
On  the  magnificent  earth  and  skies. 

In  her  own  land,  in  happier  days. 
Why  looks  she  now  so  an.\ious  down 
Among  those  rocks,  whose  rugged  frown 

Blackens  the  mirror  of  the  deep? 
Whom  waits  she  all  this  lonely  night? 

Too  rough  the  rocks,  too  bold  the  steep, 
For  man  to  scale  that  turret's  height ! — 

So  deem'd  at  least  her  thoughtful  sire. 

When  high,  to  catch  the  cool  night-air, 
After  the  day-beam's  with'riug  flre,^ 

He  built  her  bow'r  of  freslmess  there. 
And  had  it  deck'd  with  costliest  skill. 

And  fondly  tliought  it  safe  as  fair : — 
Think,  reverend  dreamer !  think  so  still, 

Nor  wake  to  learn  what  Love  can  dare  ; — 
Love,  all-defying  Love,  who  sees 
No  charm  in  trophies  won  with  ease ; — 
Whose  rarest,  dearest  fruits  of  bliss 
Are  pluck'd  on  Danger's  precipice  ! 
Bolder  than  they,  who  dare  not  dive 

For  pearls,  but  when  the  sea's  at  rest, 
Love,  in  the  tempest  most  alive, 

Hath  ever  held  that  pearl  the  best 
He  finds  beneath  the  stormiest  water. 
Yes — Araby's  um-ivall'd  daughter, 
Though  high  that  tow'r,  that  rock-way  rude, 

There's  one  who,  but  to  kiss  thy  cheek. 
Would  climb  th'  untrodden  solitude, 

Of  Ararat's  tremendous  peak,' 

eJ  the  emblem  of  beautj)  is  the  meaning  of  the  following 
mute  intercourse  of  two  lovers  before  their  parents: — 
'"He  with  salute  of  dcfrence  due, 
A  lotus  to  his  forehead  press'd  ; 
She  raised  her  mirror  to  his  view. 
Then  turn'd  it  inward  to  her  breast.'  " 

Asiatic  Miscellany^  vol.  ii. 
^  "  They  say  that  if  a  snake  or  serpent  fix  his  eyes  on  the 
lustre  of  those  stones,  (emeralds,)  ho  immediately  becomes 
blind."— ^Amcif  bin  Abdalaziz,  Treatise  on  .Jewels. 

s  "  Al  Gombaroon  and  the  Isle  of  Ormus  it  is  somellmes 
so  hot,  that  the  people  are  obliged  to  lie  all  day  in  Ihe  wa- 
ter."— Marco  Polo. 

°  This  mountain  is  generally  supposed  to  be  inaccessible. 
Struy  says, ''  I  can  well  assure  the  reader  that  their  opinion  is 
not  true,  who  suppose  this  mount  to  be  inaccessible."    He 


418 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  tliink  its  steeps,  though  dark  and  dread, 

Heav'n's  pathways,  if  to  thee  they  led ! 

Ev"n  now  tliou  seest  the  flashing  spray, 

That  lights  liis  oar's  impatient  way  ; 

Ev'n  now  thou  hear'st  the  sudden  shock 

Of  his  swift  bark  against  the  rock, 

And  stretchest  down  thy  arms  of  snow, 

As  if  to  lift  him  from  below  ! 

Like  her  to  whom,  at  dead  of  night, 

The  bridegi'oom,  with  his  locks  of  light,' 

Came,  in  the  flush  of  love  and  pride, 

And  sealed  the  terrace  of  his  bride ; — 

When,  as  she  saw  him  rashly  spring. 

And  midway  up  in  danger  cling. 

She  flung  him  down  her  long  black  hair, 

Exclaiming,  breathless,  "  There,  love,  there  !" 

And  scarce  did  manlier  nerve  npliold 

The  hero  Zal  in  tliat  fond  hour, 
Than  wings  the  youth  who,  fleet  and  bold, 

Now  climbs  the  rocks  to  Hinda's  bower. 
See — light  as  up  their  granite  steeps 

The  rock-goats  of  Arabia  clamber," 
Fearless  from  crag  to  crag  he  leaps, 

And  now  is  in  the  maiden's  chamber. 

She  loves — but  knows  not  whom  she  loves. 

Nor  wliat  his  race,  nor  whence  he  came ; — 
Like  one  who  meets,  in  Indian  groves, 

Some  beauteous  bird  witliout  a  name, 
Brought  by  the  last  ambrosial  breeze. 
From  isles  in  th'  undiscover'd  seas, 
To  show  his  plumage  for  a  day 
To  wond'ruig  eyes,  and  wing  away ! 
Will  he  thus  fly — her  nameless  lover? 

Alla  forbid  I  'twas  by  a  moon 
As  fair  as  this,  while  singing  over 

Some  ditty  to  her  soft  Kauoon,' 
Alone,  at  this  same  witching  hour, 

She  first  beheld  his  radiant  eyes 
Gleam  through  the  lattice  of  the  bow'r, 

Wliere  nightly  now  they  mix  their  sighs ; 
And  thought  some  spirit  of  the  au- 
(For  what  could  waft  a  mortal  there  ?) 
Was  pausing  on  his  moonlight  way 
To  listen  to  her  lonely  lay  I 
This  fancy  ne'er  hath  left  her  mind: 

And^though,  when  terror's  swoon  had  pass'd, 

adds,  th.1t  "  the  lower  part  of  the  mountain  is  cloudy,  misty, 
and  dark.  The  middlemost  part  very  cold,  and  lilte  clouds  of 
snow,  but  the  upper  regions  perfectly  calm." — It  was  on  this 
mountain  (hat  the  .\rk  was  supposed  to  have  rested  after  the 
Delufie.  and  part  of  it,  they  say,  exists  there  still,  which 
Struy  thus  gravely  accounts  for: — ''Whereas  none  can  re- 
memlicr  that  the  air  on  the  top  of  the  hill  did  ever  change 
or  was  suliject  either  to  wind  or  rain,  which  is  presumed  to 
be  the  reason  that  the  Ark  has  endured  so  long  without  be- 
ing rotten." — See  CarreriV  Travels,  where  the  doctor  laughs 
at  this  whole  account  of  Mount  Ararat. 


She  saw  a  youth,  of  mortal  kind, 

Before  her  in  obeisance  cast, — 
Yet  often  since,  when  he  hath  spoken 
Strange,  awful  words, — and  gleams  have  broken 
From  his  dark  eyes,  too  bright  to  bear, 

Oh !  she  hath  fear'd  her  soul  was  giv'n 
To  some  unhallow'd  child  of  air. 
Some  erring  Spirit  cast  from  heav'n, 
Like  those  angelic  youths  of  old. 
Who  buni'd  for  maids  of  mortal  mould, 
Bewilder'd  left  the  glorious  skies, 
And  lost  their  heav'n  for  woman's  eyes. 
Fond  girl  I  nor  fiend  nor  angel  he 
Who  woos  thy  young  simplicity  ; 
But  one  of  earth's  impassioir'd  sons, 

As  warm  in  love,  as  fierce  in  ire, 
As  the  best  heart  whose  current  runs 

Full  of  the  Day  God's  hying  fire. 

But  quench'd  to-night  that  vdor  seems. 

And  pale  his  cheek,  and  sunk  his  brow  ; — 
Never  before,  but  in  her  dreams. 

Had  she  beheld  him  pale  as  now : 
And  those  were  dreams  of  troubled  sleep. 
From  which  'twas  joy  to  wake  and  weep ; 
Visions,  that  will  not  be  forgot. 

But  sadden  every  waking  scene. 
Like  warning  ghosts,  that  leave  the  spot 

All  wither'd  where  they  once  have  been. 

"  How  sweetly,"  said  the  trembling  maid. 

Of  her  own  gentle  voice  afraid. 

So  long  had  they  in  silence  stood. 

Looking  upon  that  tranquil  flood — 

"  How  sweetly  docs  the  moonbeam  smile 

"  To-night  upon  yon  leafy  isle  I 

"  Oft,  in  my  fancy's  wanderings, 

"  I've  wish'd  that  little  isle  had  wings, 

"  And  we,  within  its  faiiy  how'rs, 

*'  Were  wafted  off  to  seas  unknown, 
"  Where  not  a  pulse  should  beat  but  oi^, 

*'  And  we  might  live,  love,  die  alone  ! 
"  Far  from  the  cruel  and  the  cold, — 

"  Where  the  bright  eyes  of  angels  only 
"  Should  come  around  us,  to  behold 

"  A  paradise  so  pure  and  lonely. 

I  In  one  of  the  books  of  the  Shah  Nimeh,  when  Zal  (a 
celebrated  hero  of  Persia,  remarkable  for  his  white  hair) 
conies  to  the  terrace  of  his  mistress  Itudahverat  night,  she 
lets  down  her  long  tresses  to  assist  him  in  his  ascent ;— he, 
however,  manages  it  in  a  less  romantic  way,  by  Iixing  his 
crook  in  a  projecting  beam. — See  Cfiampion^s  Fcrilosi. 

'  "  On  the  lofty  hills  of  Arabia  retriea  are  rock-goats."— 
J^ichiihr. 

3  "  Canun,  espece  de  psalt6rion,  avec  dcs  cordes  de  boyaui ; 
les  dames  en  tmichent  dans  les6raH,  avec  des  d6caiiles  ar- 
mies de  pointes  de  cooc." —  Toderini,  trans,  by  De  Cournand. 


I 


LALLA 

ROOKH.                                              .    419 

"  Would  this  be  world  enough  for  thee  ?" — 

"  'Twould  be  those  eyes ; — they,  only  tliey , 

Playful  she  turu'd,  that  he  might  see 

"  Could  melt  that  sacred  seal  away  ! 

The  passing  smile  her  cheek  put  on  ; 

"  But  no — 'tis  fi.x'd — my  awful  doom 

But  when  she  mark'd  liow  mournfully 

"  Is  fix'd — on  this  side  of  the  tomb 

His  eyes  met  hers,  that  smile  was  gone  ; 

"  We  meet  no  more  ; — why,  why  did  Heav'n 

And,  bursting  into  heartfelt  tears, 

"  Mingle  two  souls  tliat  earth  has  riv'n, 

"  Yes,  yes,''  she  cried,  '■  my  hourly  fears, 

"  Has  rent  asunder  wide  as  ours  ? 

"  My  dreams  have  boded  all  too  right — 

"  Oh,  Arab  maid,  as  soon  tlie  Powers 

"  We  part — forever  part — to-night  I 

"  Of  Light  and  Darkness  may  combine, 

"  I  knew,  I  knew  it  could  not  last — 

"  As  I  he  liuk'd  with  thee  or  thine  ! 

"  'Twas  bright,  'twas  heav'nly,  but  'tis  past ! 

"  Thy  Father " 

"  Oh  !  ever  thus,  from  childliood's  hour, 

"  Holy  Alla  save 

"  I've  seen  my  fondest  hopes  decay ; 

"  His  gray  head  from  that  lightning  glance! 

"  I  never  loved  a  tree  or  flow'r. 

"  Thou  know'st  hira  not — he  loves  the  brave  ; 

"  But  'twas  the  fii'st  to  fade  away. 

"  Nor  lives  there  under  Heaven's  expanse 

"  I  never  nursed  a  dear  gazelle, 

"  One  who  would  prize,  would  worship  thee 

"  To  glad  me  with  its  soft  black  eye, 

"  And  thy  bold  spirit,  more  than  he. 

"  But  when  it  came  to  know  me  well, 

"  Oft  when,  in  childhood,  I  have  play'd 

"  And  love  me,  it  was  sure  to  die! 

"  With  the  briglit  falcliion  by  his  side 

"  Now  too — the  joy  most  like  divine 

"  I've  heard  him  swear  his  lisping  maid 

"  Of  all  I  ever  dreamt  or  knew. 

"  In  time  should  be  a  warrior's  bride. 

"  To  see  thee,  hear  thee,  call  thee  m'me, — 

"  And  still,  whene'er  at  Haram  hours, 

"  Oh  misery  i  must  I  lose  that  too  ? 

"  I  take  him  cool  sherbets  and  flow'rs, 

"  Yet  go — on  peril's  brink  we  meet ; — 

"  He  tells  me,  when  in  playful  mood. 

*'  Those  frightful  rocks — that  treach'rous  sea — 

"  A  hero  shall  my  bridegroom  be. 

'*  No,  never  come  again — though  sweet, 

*'  Since  maids  are  best  in  battle  woo'd. 

"  Though  heav'n,  it  may  be  death  to  thee. 

"  And  won  with  shouts  of  victory  ! 

"  Farewell — and  blessmgs  on  thy  way. 

"  Nay,  turn  not  from  me — thou  alone 

"  Where'er  thou  goest,  beloved  stranger ! 

"  Art  [orm'd  to  make  both  hearts  thy  o»a 

"  Better  to  sit  and  watch  that  ray. 

"  Go — ^join  his  sacred  ranks — thou  know'st 

"  And  think  thee  safe,  though  far  away. 

"  Th'  unlioly  strife  these  Persians  wage  : — 

"  Than  have  thee  near  me,  and  in  danger  I" 

"  Good    Heav'n,    that    frown  I — even  now  thou 

glow'st 

"  Danger  I — oh,  tempt  me  not  to  boast" — 

"  With  more  than  mortal  warrior's  rage. 

The  youth  exclaim'd — "  thou  little  know'st 

"  Haste  to  the  camp  by  morning's  light. 

"  What  he  can  brav^  who,  bom  and  mursed 

"  And,  when  tliat  sword  is  raised  in  tight. 

"  In  Danger's  paths,  has  dared  her  worst ; 

"  Oh  still  remember.  Love  and  I 

"  Upon  whose  ear  the  signal-word 

"  Beneath  its  shadow  trembling  lie  ! 

"  Of  strife  and  death  is  hourly  breaking ; 

"  One  vict'ry  o'er  those  Slaves  of  Fire, 

"  Who  sleeps  witli  head  upon  the  sword 

"  Those  impious  Ghebers,  whom  my  sire 

*'  His  fever'd  hand  must  grasp  in  waking. 

"  Abhors " 

"  Danger  1—" 

"  Hold,  hold — thy  words  are  death — " 

"  Say  on — thou  fear'st  not  then. 

The  stranger  cried,  as  wild  ho  flung 

"  jVnd  we  may  meet— oft  meet  again  ?" 

His  mantle  back,  and  show'd  beneath 

The  Gheber  belt  that  round  him  clung.' — 

"  Oh  I  look  not  so — beneath  the  skies 

"  Here,  maiden,  look — weep — blush  to  see 

"  I  now  fear  nothing  but  those  eyes. 

"  All  that  thy  sire  abhors  in  me  ! 

"  If  aught  on  earth  could  charm  or  force 

"  Yes — /  am  of  that  impious  race. 

"  My  spnit  from  its  destined  course, — 

"  Those  Slaves  of  Fire  who,  morn  and  even. 

"  If  aught  could  make  this  soul  forget 

"  Hail  their  Creator's  dwelling-place 

"  The  bond  to  which  its  seal  is  set. 

"  Among  the  living  lights  of  heaven :' 

1  "  They  (the  Ghebers)  lay  so  nrach  stress  on  their  cusiee, 

"Pour  se  distinguer  des  Idoldtres  de  I'lnde,  les  Guebresse 

or  girdle,  as  not  to  dare  to  be  an  instant  without  it." — Orose's 

ceignent  tons  d'un  cordon  de  iaine,  ou  de  puil  de  chameau." 

Voyage.—"  Le  jeime   homnie  nia  d'abord   ta  chose  ;  niais, 

— Encyclopedic  Francoise. 

ayanl  616  depouille  de  sa  robe,  et  la  large  ceintiire  qu'ilpor- 

D'Herbelot  says  this  belt  was  generally  of  leather. 

toil  conime  Ghebre,"  &c.  &c. — D^Herbelot,  art  Agduani. 

a  "They  suppose  the  Throne  ofihe  Almighty  is  seated  in 

420 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


«  Yes — /  am  of  that  outcast  few, 
"  To  Iran  and  to  vengeance  true, 
*•  Who  curse  the  hour  your  Arabs  came 
"To  desolate  our  shrines  of  flame, 
"And  swear,  before  God's  burning  eye, 
"  To  break  our  country's  chains,  or  die  I 
*'  Thy  bigot  sire, — nay,  tremble  not, — 

"  He,  who  gave  birth  to  those  dear  eyes, 
"  With  me  is  sacred  as  the  spot 

"  From  whicli  our  fires  of  worsliip  rise ! 
"  But  know — 'twas  he  I  sought  that  night, 

"  When,  from  my  watcli-boat  on  tiio  sea, 
"  I  caught  this  turret's  glimm'ring  light, 

**  And  up  the  rude  rocks  desp'rately 
"  Rusli'd  to  my  prey — thou  know'st  the  rest — 
"  I  chmb'd  tlie  gory  vulture's  nest, 
"  And  found  a  trenibhng  dove  witiiin  ; — 
"  Thine,  thine  the  victory — thine  the  sin — 
"  If  Love  hath  made  one  thought  his  own, 
"  That  Vengeance  claims  first — last — alone  I 
"  Oh  !  had  we  never,  never  met, 
"  Or  could  this  heart  ev'n  now  forget 
"  How    link'd,    how     bless'd     we    might    liave 

been, 
"  Had  fate  not  frown'd  so  dark  between  I 
"Hadst  thou  been  bom  a  Persian  maid, 

"  In  neigliboiing  valleys  had  wo  dwelt, 
"  Through  the  same  fields  in  childhood  play'd, 

*'  At  the  same  kindling  altar  knelt, — 
"  Then,  then,  while  all  those  nameless  ties, 
"  In  which  the  charm  of  Country  lies, 
"  Had  round  our  hearts  been  hourly  spun, 
"  Till  Iran's  cause  and  thine  were  one ; 
"  Wiiile  in  thy  lute's  awak'ning  sigh 
"  I  heard  the  voice  of  days  gone  by, 
"  And  saw,  in  every  smile  of  thine, 
"  Returning  hours  of  glory  shine  ; — 
"  While  the  wrong'd  Spirit  of  our  Land 

"  Lived,  look'd,  and  spoke  her  wrongs  through 
thee, — 
"  God  !  who  could  then  this  sword  withstand? 

"  Its  very  flash  were  victory  ! 
"  But  now — estranged,  divorced  forever, 
"  Far  as  the  grasp  of  Fate  can  sever ; 
"  Our  only  ties  wliat  love  iias  wove, — 

"  In  faith,  friends,  country,  sunder'd  wide  ; 

llie  Jiun,  and  hence  their  worship  ut  ihal  Iuniinar>\" — Han- 
way.  "  As  to  fire,  the  flhcbers  pince  the  spring-head  of  it  in 
thiit  plohe  of  fire,  the  Pun,  by  thorn  called  Mythras,  or  Mihir, 
to  which  they  pay  thehigliest  reverence,  in  gratitude  for  the 
manifold  hcnefits  flowing  from  its  ministerial  omniscience. 
But  they  ore  so  fiU"  from  confounding  the  subnrdination  of  the 
Servant  with  the  innjesty  of  its  Creator,  that  they  not  only 
attribute  no  sort  of  sense  or  reasoning  to  the  sun  or  fire,  in 
any  of  its  operaliona.but  consider  it  as  n  purely  passive  blind 
instrument,  directed  and  governed  by  the  immediate  impres- 
Biou  on  it  of  the  will  of  God;  but  they  do  notcven  give  that 


"  And  then,  then  only,  true  to  love, 

"  When  false  to  all  that's  dear  beside  . 
"  Thy  father  Iran's  deadliest  foe — 
*'  Thyself,  perhaps,  ev'n  now — but  no — 
"Hate  never  look'd  so  lovely  yet ! 

"  No — sacred  to  thy  soul  will  bo 
"  The  land  of  him  who  could  forget 

"  All  but  that  bleeding  land  for  thee. 
"  When  other  eyes  shall  see,  unmoved, 

"  Her  widows  mourn,  her  warriors  fall, 
"  Tliou'lt  think  how  well  one  Gheber  loved, 

"  And  for  his  sake  thou'lt  weep  for  all ! 

"  But  look " 

With  sudden  start  he  turn'd 

And  poilited  to  the  distant  wave, 
Where  lights,  like  charuel  meteors,  bum'd, 

Bluely,  as  o'er  some  seaman's  grave; 
And  fiery  darts,  at  intervals,^ 

Flew  up  all  sparkling  from  the  main, 
As  if  each  star  tliat  nightly  falls. 

Were  shooting  back  to  heav'n  again 

"  My  signal  lights  ! — I  must  away — 

"  Both,  both  are  ruin'd,  if  I  stay. 

"  Farewell — sweet  life  !  thou  cling'st  in  vaia- 

"  Now,  Vengeance,  I  am  thine  again  !" 

Fiercely  he  broke  away,  nor  stopp'd. 

Nor  lookM — but  from  the  lattice  dropp'd 

Down  mid  the  pointed  crags  beneath. 

As  if  he  fled  from  love  to  death. 

While  pale  and  mute  young  Hinda  stood, 

Nor  moved,  till  in  the  silent  flood 

A  momentary  plunge  below 

Startled  her  from  her  trance  of  wo  : — 

Shrieking  she  to  the  lattice  flew, 

"  I  come — I  come — if  in  that  tide 
"  Thou  sleep'st  to-night,  I'll  sleep  there  too, 

"  In  death's  cold  wedlock,  by  thy  side. 
"  Oh  !  I  would  ask  no  happier  bed 

"  Than  the  chill  wave  my  love  hes  under  :- 
"  Sweeter  to  rest  together  dead, 

"  Far  sweeter,  than  to  live  asunder  !" 
But  no — their  hour  is  not  yet  come — 

Again  she  sees  his  pinnace  fly, 
Wafting  him  fleetly  to  his  home, 

Where'er  that  ill-staled  home  may  lie; 


luminar>-,  all-glorious  as  it  is,  more  than  the  second  rank 
amongst  his  works,  reserving  the  first  for  that  stupendous 
production  of  divine  power,  the  mind  of  man." — Grose.  The 
false  charges  brought  against  the  religion  of  these  people  by 
their  Mussulman  tyrants  is  butoneproof  among  many  of  the 
truth  of  this  writer's  remark,  thai  "calunmy  is  often  added 
to  oppression,  if  hut  for  the  sake  of  justifying  it." 

1  "The  Mamelukes  that  were  in  the  other  boat,  when  it 
was  dark  used  to  shoot  up  a  sort  of  fiery  arrows  into  the  air 
which  in  some  measure  resembled  lightning  or  falling  stars.* 
~~  Baumffartcn. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


421 


And  calm  and  smooth  it  seem'd  to  win 
Its  mooulight  way  before  the  wind, 

As  if  it  bore  all  peace  within, 

Nor  left  one  breaking  heart  behind  ! 


The  Princess,  whose  heart  was  sad  enough  al- 
ready, could  have  wished  that  Feramorz  had 
chosen  a  less  melancholy  story  ;  as  it  is  only  to  the 
happy  that  tears  are  a  luxiuy.  Her  Ladies,  how- 
ever, were  by  no  means  sorry  that  love  was  once 
more  the  Poet's  tlieme  ;  for,  whenever  he  spoke  of 
love,  thoy  said,  his  voice  was  as  sweet  as  if  he  had 
chewed  the  leaves  of  that  enchanted  tree  which 
grows  over  the  tomb  of  the  musician,  Tan-Sein.' 

Their  road  all  the  morning  had  lain  through  a 
very  dreary  country  ; — tlirough  valleys,  covered 
with  a  low,  bushy  jungle,  wliere,  in  more  than  one 
place,  the  awful  signal  of  the  bamboo-staff,"  with  the 
wliite  flag  at  its  top,  reminded  the  traveller  that,  in 
that  very  spot,  the  tiger  had  made  some  human 
creature  his  victim.  It  was,  therefore,  with  much 
pleasure  that  they  arrived  at  sunset  in  a  safe  and 
lovely  glen,  and  encamped  under  one  of  those 
holy  trees,  whoso  smooth  columus  and  spreadmg 
roofs  seem  to  destine  them  for  natural  temples  of 
religion.  Beneath  this  spacious  shade,  some  pious 
hands  had  erected  a  row  of  pillars  ornamented  wltli 
the  most  beautiful  porcelain,^  which  now  supplied 
the  use  of  mirrors  to  tlie  young  maidens,  as  they 
adjusted  their  haur  ia  descending  from  the  palan- 
keens. Here,  while,  as  usual,  the  Princess  sat 
''stening  anxiously,  with  Fadladeen  in  one  of  his 
loftiest  moods  of  criticism  by  her  side,  the  young 
Poet,  leauuig  against  a  branch  of  the  tree,  thus  con- 
tinued his  story : — 

*  "  Wilhin  the  enrlosure  which  surrounds  this  monument 
fat'Gualior)  is  a  small  tomb  to  the  meinory  of  Taii-Scin,  a 
musician  of  incomparable  skill,  who  flourished  jit  the  court 
of  Akbar.  The  tomb  is  overshadowed  by  a  tree,  concerning 
which  a  superstitious  notion  prevails,  that  the  chewing  of 
its  leaves  will  give  an  extraordinary  melody  to  the  voice.*' — 
Jfarraiioe  of  a  Journey  from  jlgra  to  Oitzcia.,  by  If.  Hunter, 
Esq. 

2  "  It  is  usual  to  place  a  small  white  triangular  fli\g,  fixed 
to  a  bamboo  staff  of  ten  or  twelve  feet  long,  at  the  place 
where  a  tiger  has  destroyed  a  man.  It  is  comoion  fur  the  pas- 
sengers also  to  throw  each  a  stone  or  brick  near  the  spot,  so 
that  in  the  course  of  a  little  time  a  pile  equal  to  a  gnod  wag- 
on-load is  collecied.  The  sight  of  these  tiags  and  piles  of 
suuies  imparts  a  certain  melancholy,  not  perhaps,  altogether 
void  of  apprehension." — Orient^  Field  Sports,  vol.  ii. 

3  "The  Ficus  Indica  is  called  the  I'agod  Tree  and  Tree 
of  Councils  ;  the  firit,  from  the  idols  placed  under  its  ---hade  ; 
the  second,  because  meetings  were  held  under  its  cool 
branches.    In  some  places  it  is  believed  to  be  the  haunt  of 


The  morn  hath  risen  clear  and  calm, 

And  o'er  the  Green  Soa^  palely  shiue.s, 
Revealing  BaiireinV  groves  of  palm. 

And  lighting  KibhmaV  amber  vines. 
Fresh  smell  the  eliorcs  of  Arabv, 
While  breezes  from  tlio  Indian  Sea 
Blow  round  Sela.ma's"  sainted  cape, 

And  curl  the  shining  Hood  beneath, — 
Whose  waves  are  rich  with  many  a  grape, 

And  cocoa-nut  and  fluw'ry  v/'*eath. 
Which  pious  seamen,  as  thoy  pas's  d, 
Had  tow'rd  that  holy  headland  cast — 
Oblations  to  the  Genii  there 
For  gentle  skies  and  breezes  fair ! 
Tlie  nightingale  now  bends  her  flight' 
From  tiie  higii  trees,  where  all  the  night 

She  sung  so  sweet,  with  none  to  listen  ; 
And  hides  her  from  the  morning  star 

Where  thickets  of  pomegranate  glisten 
In  the  clear  dawn, — bespangled  o'er 

With    dew,     whoso    night-drops   would     not 
stain 
The  best  and  brightest  cimeter* 
That  ever  youtliful  Sultan  wore 

On  the  first  morning  of  his  reign. 

And  see — the  Sun  himself  I — on  wings 
Of  glory  up  the  East  ho  springs. 
Angel  of  Light !  who  from  the  time 
Those  heavens  began  their  march  sublime. 
Hath  first  of  all  the  starry  choir 
Trod  in  his  Maker's  steps  of  fire  ! 

Where  are  tlie  days,  thou  wondrous  sphere, 
When  Iran,  like  a  sun-tlow'r,  turn'd 
To  meet  that  eye  wiiere'er  it  buru'd  ? — 

When,  from  the  banks  of  Bendemeer 
To  the  nut-groves  of  Samarcand, 
Thy  temples  flamed  o'er  all  tlio  land? 

spectres,  as  the  ancient  spreading  oaks  of  Wales  have  been 
of  fairies  ;  in  others  are  erected  beneath  the  shade  pillars  of 
stone,  or  posts,  elegantly  carved,  and  ornamented  with  the 
most  beautiful  porcelain  to  supply  the  use  of  inirrors." — 
Pennant. 

^'he  Persian  Gulf. — "To  dive  for  pearls  in  the  Green 
Sea,  or  Persian  Gulf." — Sir  H\  Jones. 

^  Islands  in  the  Gulf. 

6  Or  Selemeh,  the  genuine  name  of  the  headland  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Gulf,  commonly  called  Cape  Musseldom. 
"The  Indians,  when  llicy  pass  the  promontory,  ihrov.' co- 
coa-nuls,  fruits,  or  flowers  into  the  sea,  to  secure  a  propitious 
voyage." — jMorier. 

'  "The  nightingale  sings  trom  the  pomegranate-groves  in 
the  day-time,  and  from  the  loftiest  trees  at  night.*' — RusseVs 
Aleppo. 

«  In  speaking  of  the  climate  of  Shiraz,  Francklin  says, 
"The  dew  is  of  such  a  pure  nature,  that  if  the  brightest 
cimeter  should  be  exposed  to  it  all  night,  it  would  not  re- 
ceive the  least  rust."  # 


422 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Where  are  they?  ask  the  ebades  of  them 

Who  ou  Cadepsia'b'  bloody  plains, 
Saw  fierce  invaders  pluck  the  gem 
From  Iran's  broken  diadem, 

And  bind  her  ancient  faith  in  chains : — 
Ask  the  poor  exile,  cast  alone 
On  foreign  shores,  unloved,  unknown, 
Beyond  the  Caspian's  Iron  Gates,^ 

Or  on  tiie  snowy  Mossian  mountains. 
Far  from  his  beauteous  land  of  dates, 

Her  jasmine  bow'rs  and  sunny  fountains  : 
Yet  happier  so  than  If  ho  trod 
His  own  beloved,  but  blighted,  sod, 
Beneath  a  despot  stranger's  nod  I — 
Oh,  he  would  rather  houseless  roam 

Where  Freedom  and  his  God  may  lead, 
Than  be  the  sleekest  slave  at  home 

That  crouches  to  the  conqu'ror's  creed  I 

Is  Iran's  pride  then  gone  forever, 

Quench'd  with  the  flame  in  Mithra's  caves? — 
No— she  has  sons,  that  never — never — 
Will  stoop  to  be  the  Moslem's  slaves, 
While  heav'n  has  light  or  earth  has  graves ; — 
Spirits  of  fire,  that  brood  not  long, 
But  flash  resentment  back  for  wrong  ; 
And  liearts  where,  slow  but  deep,  the  seeds 
Of  vengeance  ripen  into  deeds. 
Till,  in  some  treach'rous  liour  of  calm, 
Tliey  burst,  like  Zeilan's  giant  palm,^ 
Whose  buds  fly  open  with  a  sound 
Tliat  shakes  the  pigmy  forests  round  ! 

Yes,  Emir  !  he,  who  scaled  that  tow'r, 

And,  had  he  reach'd  thy  slumb'ring  breast, 
Had  taught  thee,  in  a  Gheber's  pow'r 

How  safe  ev'n  tyrant  heads  may  rest — 
Is  one  of  many,  brave  as  he, 
Who  loathe  thy  haughty  race  and  thee  ; 
Who,  thongli  they  know  the  strife  is  vain, 
Who,  though  they  know  tho  riven  chain 
Snaps  but  to  enter  in  the  heart 
Of  him  who  rends  its  links  apart, 
Yet  dare  tho  issue,— bless'd  to  bo 
Ev'n  for  one  bleeding  moment  free,  • 

And  die  in  pangs  of  liberty  I 
Thou  know'st  them  well — 'tis  some  moons  since 

Thy  turbau'd  troops  and  blood-red  flags, 
Thou  satrap  of  a  bigot  Prince, 

Have  swarm'd  among  these  Green  Sea  crags  ; 

1  The  phice  \\jhcre  the  Persians  were  finally  defeated  liy 
the  Anibs,  and  tlicir  ancient  monsirchy  destroyed. 

2  Derlipnd. — "  Les  Turcs  iippelent  crtto  ville  Demir 
Capi,  Purte  de  Fer;  ce  sent  les  Caapiie  Porls  des  anciens." 
—D'Herbelot. 

3  The  Tiilpot  or  Talipot  tree.  "This  hpautiful  palm-tree, 
which  grows  in  thP  heart  of  the  forests,  may  be  classed 


Yet  here,  ev'n  here,  a  sacred  band 
Ay,  in  the  portal  of  that  land 
Thou,  Arab,  dar'st  to  call  tliy  own, 
Their  spears  across  thy  path  have  thrown  ; 
Here — ere  the  winds  half  wing'd  thee  o'er — 
Rebelliou  braved  thee  from  the  shore. 

Rebellion  !  foul,  dishonoring  word. 

Whose  wrongful  blight  so  oft  has  stain'd 
The  holiest  cause  that  tongue  or  sword 

Of  mortal  ever  lost  or  gain'd. 
How  many  a  spirit,  born  to  bless, 

Hath  sunk  beneath  that  with'ring  name, 
Whom  but  a  day's,  an  hour's  success 

Had  wafted  to  eternal  fame  ! 
As  exhalations,  when  they  burst 
From  the  warm  eartli,  if  chill'd  at  first. 
If  check'd  in  soaring  from  the  plain, 
Darken  to  fogs  and  sink  again  ; — 
But,  if  they  once  triuiyphant  spread 
Their  wings  above  the  mountain-head. 
Become  enthroned  in  upper  air, 
And  turn  to  sun-bright  glories  there  ! 

And  who  is  he,  that  wields  the  might 

Of  Freedom  on  the  Green  Sea  brink, 
Before  whose  sabre's  dazzling  light* 

The  eyes  of  Yemen's  wamors  wink  ? 
Who  comes,  embower'd  in  tlie  spears 
Of  KeriMAn's  hardy  mountaineers? — 
Those  mountaineers  that  truest,  last, 

Cling  to  tlieir  country's  ancient  rites, 
As  if  that  God,  whose  eyelids  cast 

Their  closing  gleam  on  Iran's  heights, 
Among  her  snowy  mountains  threw 
The  last  light  of  his  worship  too  ! 

*Tis  Hafed — name  of  fear,  whose  sound 
Chills  like  tho  mutt'ring  of  a  charm  ! — 

Shout  but  that  awful  name  around. 
And  palsy  shakes  the  manliest  arm. 

'Tis  Hafed,  most  accursed  and  dire 

(So  rank'd  by  Moslem  hate  and  ire) 

Of  all  the  rebel  Sons  of  Fire  ; 

Of  whose  malign,  tremendous  power 

The  Arabs,  at  their  mid-watch  hour. 

Such  talcs  of  fearful  wonder  tell, 

Tliat  each  affrighted  sentinel 

Bulls  down  his  cowl  upon  his  eyes. 

Lest  Hafed  in  the  midst  sliould  rise  ! 

among  tho  loftiest  trees,  and  liecnmcs  still  higher  when  on 
the  point  of  bnrsting  forth  from  its  leal'y  summit.  The  she;ith 
which  then  envelopes  the  flower  is  very  large,  and,  when 
it  bursts,  makes  an  explosion  like  the  report  of  a  cannon.' 
—  T/tunbcrff.  y 

*  "When  the  bright  cimetcrs  make  the  eyes  of  oui  heroes 
wink." — The  Moallakat,  Poem  of  .Imru. 


I 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


423 


A  man,  they  say,  of  monstrous  birth, 
A  mingled  race  of  flame  and  earth, 
Sprnng  from  those  old,  enchanted  kings,* 

Who  in  their  fairy  lielms,  of  yore, 
A  featlier  from  the  mystic  wings 

Of  the  Simoorgli  resistless  wore  ; 
And  gifted  by  the  Fiends  of  Fire, 
Who  groan'd  to  see  tlieir  shrhies  expire. 
With  charms  that,  all  m  vain  withstood, 
Would  drown  the  Koran's  light  in  blood  ! 

Such  were  the  tales,  that  won  belief, 

And  such  the  coloring  Fancy  gave 
To  a  young,  warm,  and  dauntless  Chief, — 

One  who,  no  more  tlian  mortal  brave. 
Fought  for  the  laud  his  soul  adored, 

For  happy  homes  and  altars  free, 
His  only  talisman,  the  sword, 

His  only  spell-word,  Liberty  I 
One  of  that  ancient  hero  line. 
Along  whose  glorious  current  shine 
Names,  that  have  sanctified  their  blood ; 
As  Lebanon's  small  mountain-flood 
Is  render'd  holy  by  the  ranks 
Of  sainted  cedars  on  its  baidts.'* 
'Twas  not  for  him  to  crouch  the  knee 
Tamely  to  Moslem  tyranny ; 
'Twas  not  for  him,  whose  soul  was  cast 
In  the  bright  mould  of  ages  past, 
Whose  melancholy  spirit,  fed 
With  all  the  glories  of  the  dead, 
Tliough  framed  for  Iran's  iiappiest  years, 
Was  born  among  her  chains  and  tears  I — 
'Twas  not  for  him  to  swell  the  crowd 
Of  slavish  heads,  that  shrinlving  bow'd 
Before  the  Moslem,  as  he  pass'd, 
Lik?  shrubs  beneath  the  poison-blast — 
No  -far  he  fled — indignant  fled 

The  pageant  of  his  country's  shame  ; 
While  every  tear  her  children  shed 

Fell  ou  his  soul  like  drops  of  flame  ; 
And,  as  a  lover  hails  the  dawn 

Of  a  first  smile,  so  welcomed  he 


1  Tahmuras,  and  other  ancient  kings  of  Persia;  whose 
adveniures  in  Fairy-htnd  among  tlie  Peris  and  Dives  may  be 
found  in  Richardson's  curious  Dissertation.  The  griffin  Si- 
moorgh,  they  say,  tijok  some  feathers  from  her  breast  for 
Tahinuras,  with  which  he  adorned  his  helmet,  and  trans- 
milted  them  afterwards  to  his  descendants. 

2  This  rivulet,  Says  Dandini,  is  called  the  Holy  Iliver  from 
Ihe  "cedar-saints"  among  which  it  rises. 

In  the  Lettres  Edijiantes,  there  is  a  different  cause  as- 
signed for  its  name  of  Holy.  "In  these  are  deep  caverns, 
which  formerly  served  as  so  many  cells  for  a  great  number 
of  recluses,  who  had  chosen  these  retreats  as  the  only  wit- 
nesses upon  earth  of  the  severity  of  their  penance.  The 
tears  of  these  piotu  penitents  gave  the  river  of  which  we 


The  sparkle  of  the  first  sword  drawn 
For  vengeance  and  for  liberty ! 

But  vaiu  wag  valor — vain  the  flow'r 
Of  Kerman,  in  that  deatliful  hour, 
Against  Al  Hassan's  whelming  power, — 
In  vain  they  met  him,  helm  to  helm, 
Upon  the  threshold  of  that  realm 
He  came  in  bigot  pomp  to  sway, 
And  with  their  corpses  block'd  his  way— 
In  vain — for  every  lance  they  raised. 
Thousands  around  the  conqueror  blazed  ; 
For  every  arm  that  lined  their  sliore, 
Myriads  of  slaves  were  wafted  o'er, — 
A  bloody,  bold,  and  countless  crowd, 
Before  whose  swarm  as  fast  they  bow'd 
As  dates  beneath  the  locust  cloud. 

There  stood— but  ono  short  league  away 
From  old  IIarmozia's  sultry  bay — 
A  rocky  mountain,  o'er  the  Sea 
Of  Oman  beetling  awfully  f 
A  last  and  solitary  link 

Of  those  stupendous  chains  that  reach 
From  the  broad  Caspian's  reedy  brink 

Down  winding  to  the  Green  Sea  beaclu 
Around  its  base  the  bare  rocks  stood. 
Like  naked  giants,  in  tlie  flood. 

As  if  to  guard  the  Gulf  across  ; 
While,  on  its  peak,  that  braved  the  sky, 
A  ruin'd  Temple  tower'd,  so  high 

Tliat  oft  the  sleeping  albatross* 
Struck  the  wild  ruins  with  her  wing, 
And  from  her  cloud-rock'd  slumbering 
Started — to  find  man's  dwelling  there 
In  her  own  silent  fields  of  air  ! 
Beneath,  terrific  caverns  gave 
Dark  welcome  to  each  stormy  wave 
Tliat  dash'd,  like  midnight  revellers,  in ; — 
And  such  the  strange,  mysterious  din 
At  times  throughout  those  caverns  roll'd, — 
And  such  the  fearful  wonders  told 


have  just  treated  the  name  of  the  Holy  River." — See  Chd- 
teauhriantTs  Beauties  of  Christianity. 

3  This  mountain  is  my  own  creation,  as  the  "  stupendous 
chain,"  of  which  I  suppose  it  a  link,  does  not  extend  quite 
so  far  as  the  shores  of  the  Persian  Gulf.  'This  long  and 
lolYy  range  of  niimntiiiiis  furmerly  divided  Media  from  Assy- 
ria, and  now  forms  tiie  boundary  of  the  Persian  and  Turkish 
empires.  It  runs  parallel  with  the  river  Tigris  and  Persian 
Gulf,  and  almost  disappearing  in  llie  vicinity  of  Gomberoon, 
(Harmozia  )  seems  once  more  to  rise  in  the  southern  districts 
of  Kerman,  and  following  an  easterly  course  through  the 
centre  of  Meckraun  and  Balouchistan,  is  entiiely  lost  in  the 
deserts  of  Sinde."— S'niTuVr's  Persian  Empire. 

*  These  birds  sleep  in  the  air  They  are  most  common 
about  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope. 


424 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Of  restless  sprites  imprlson'd  there, 
That  bold  were  Moslem,  who  would  dare, 
At  twilight  hour,  to  steer  his  skiff 
Beneath  the  Gheber's  lonely  cliff.' 

On  the  land  side,  those  tow'rs  sublime, 
That  seem'd  above  the  grasp  of  Time, 
AVere  scver'd  from  the  haunts  of  men 
By  a  wide,  deep,  and  wizard  glen, 
So  fathomless,  so  full  of  gloom. 

No  eye  could  pierce  the  void  between: 
It  seem'd  a  place  where  G  holes  might  come 
With  their  foul  banquets  from  the  tomb. 

And  in  its  caverns  feed  unseen. 
Like  distant  thunder,  from  below. 

The  sound  of  many  torrents  came. 
Too  deep  for  eye  or  ear  to  know 
If  'twere  the  sea's  imprison'd  flow. 

Or  floods  of  ever-restless  flame. 
For,  each  ravine,  each  rocky  spire 
Of  that  vast  mountain  stood  on  fire ;' 
And,  though  forever  past  the  days 
Wlien  God  was  worshipp'd  in  the  blaze 
That  from  its  lofty  altar  shone, — 
Though  fled  the  priests,  the  vot'ries  gone. 
Still  did  the  mighty  flame  bum  on,^ 
Through  chance  and  change,  tlirough  good  and  ill. 
Like  its  own  God's  eternal  will, 
Deep,  constant,  bright,  unquenchable ! 

Thither  the  vanquish'd  Hafed  led 

His  little  army's  last  remains ; — 
"  Welcome,  terrific  glen  '."  he  said, 
"  Thy  gloom,  that  Eblis'  self  might  dread, 

'*  Is  Heav'n  to  him  who  flies  from  chains !" 
O'er  a  dark,  narrow  bridgeway,  known 
To  him  and  to  his  Chiefs  alone. 
They  cross'd  the  chasm  and  gain'd  the  towers, — 
"  This  home,"  he  cried,  "  at  least  is  ours  ; — 
"  Here  we  may  bleed,  unmock'd  by  hymns 

"  Of  Moslem  triumph  o'er  our  head  ; 
"  Here  we  may  fall,  nor  leave  our  limbs 

"  To  quiver  to  the  Moslem's  tread. 
"  Stretch'd  on  this  rock,  while  vultures'  beaks 
"  Are  whetted  on  your  yet  warm  cheeks. 


1  **  There  is  nn  extraordinnry  hill  in  this  neichliorhood 
called  Koh6  Gnbr,  or  the  Gucbre's  mountain.  It  rises  in  the 
form  of  a  lofty  cupola,  and  on  the  suniniit  of  it.  they  say,  are 
the  remains  of  an  Atush  Kudu,  or  Fire  Tentplc.  It  is  super- 
slitiously  held  to  be  the  residence  of  Dcevcs  or  Sprites,  and 
many  marvellous  stories  are  recounted  of  the  injury  and 
witchcraft  siitTercd  by  those  who  essayed  in  former  daj's  to 
ascend  or  explore  it." — Pottingcr^s  Beloochistan. 

a  The  Ghebers  generally  built  their  temples  over  subter- 
raneous fires. 

3  "  At  the  city  of  Yezd,  in  Tersia,  which  is  distinpaished 
by  the  appellation  of  the  Darub  Abadut,  or  Seat  of  Religion, 


"  Here — happy  that  no  tyrant's  eye 

"  Gloats  on  our  torments — we  may  die !" — 

'Twas  night  when  to  those  towers  they  came. 

And  gloomily  the  fitful  flame. 

That  from  the  ruin'd  altar  broke. 

Glared  on  his  features,  as  he  spoke ; — 

"  Tis  o'er — what  men  could  do,  we've  done — 

"  If  Iran  will  look  tamely  on, 

"  And  see  her  priests,  her  warriors  driv'n 

"  Before  a  sensual  bigot's  nod, 
"  A  wretch  who  shrines  his  lust  in  heav'n, 

"  And  makes  a  pander  of  his  God  ; 
"  If  her  proud  sons,  her  high-born  souls, 

"  Men,  in  whose  veins — oh  last  disgrace ! 
"  The  blood  of  Zal  and  Rustaji*  rolls, — 

"  If  they  loill  court  this  upstart  race 
"  And  turn  from  Mitiira's  ancient  ray, 
"  To  kneel  at  shrines  of  yesterday ; 
"  If  they  will  crouch  to  Iran's  foes, 

"  Why,  let  them — till  the  land's  despair 
"  Cries  out  to  Heav'n,  and  bondage  grows 

"  Too  vile  for  ev'n  the  vile  to  bear ! 
"  Till  shame  at  last,  long  hidden,  burns 
"  Their  inmost  core,  and  conscience  turns 
"  Each  coward  tear  the  slave  lets  fall 
"  Back  on  his  heart  in  drops  of  gall. 
"  But  Aere,  at  least,  are  arms  unchain'd, 
"  And  souls  that  thraldom  never  staiu'd ; — 

"  This  spot,  at  least,  no  foot  of  slave 
"  Or  satrap  ever  yet  profaned  ; 

"  And  though  but  few — though  fast  the  wave 
"  Of  life  is  ebbing  from  our  veins, 
"  Enough  for  vengeance  still  remains. 
"  As  panthers,  after  set  of  sun, 
"  Rush  from  the  roots  of  Lebanon 
"  Across  the  dark-sea  robber's  way,' 
"  We'll  bound  upon  our  startled  prey ; 
"  And  when  some  hearts  that  proudest  swell 
"  Have  felt  our  falchion's  last  farewell ; 
'*  When  Hope's  expiring  tlirob  is  o'er, 
"  And  ev'n  Despair  can  prompt  no  more, 
"  This  spot  shall  be  the  sacred  grave 
"  Of  the  last  few  who,  vainly  brave, 
"  Die  for  the  land  they  cannot  save !" 


the  Cnebros  are  permitted  to  have  an  Atush  Kudu  or  Fire 
Temple  (which,  they  assert,  has  had  the  sacred  fire  in  i! 
since  the  days  of  Zoroaster)  in  their  own  compartment  of  the 
city ;  but  for  this  indulgence  they  are  indebted  to  the  avarice, 
not  the  tolerance  of  the  Persian  government,  which  taxes 
them  at  twenty-five  rupees  each  man." — Pottinger^a  Be- 
loochistan. 

*  Ancient  heroes  of  Persia.  "Among  the  Guebres  there 
are  some,  who  boast  their  descent  from  Rustain." — Stiyhcn's 
Persia. 

^  See  Itussel's  account  of  the  panther's  attaciiing  travellers 
in  the  night  on  the  sea-shore  about  the  roots  of  Lebanon. 


L.VLLA  ROOKII. 


425 


His  Chiefs  stood  round — eacli  shiniug  blade 
Upon  the  broken  altar  laid — 
And  though  so  wild  and  desolate 
Tliose  courts,  where  once  the  Miglity  sate  ; 
Nor  longer  on  those  mould' ring  tow'rs 
AVas  seen  the  feast  of  fruits  and  fiow'rs, 
With  which  of  old  the  Magi  fed 
The  wand'ring  Spirits  of  their  dead  ;' 
Though  neither  priest  nor  rites  %ver6  there, 

Nor  charmed  leaf  of  pure  pomegranate  ;' 
Nor  hymn,  nor  censer's  fragrant  air, 

Nor  symbol  of  tlieir  worshipped  planet ;' 
Yet  the  same  God  that  heard  their  sires 
Heard  them,  while  on  that  altar's  fires 
They  swore*  the  latest,  holiest  deed 
Of  the  few  hearts,  still  left  to  bleed. 
Should  be,  in  Iran's  injured  name. 
To  die  upou  that  Jlount  of  Flame— 
The  last  of  all  her  patriot  line, 
Before  her  last  untrampled  Shrine  ! 

Brave,  sufTring  souls  !  tliey  little  knew 
How  many  a  tear  their  injuries  drew 
From  one  meek  maid,  one  gentle  foe. 
Whom  love  fii-st  touch'd  with  others'  wo — 
Whose  life,  as  free  from  tliought  as  sin, 
Slept  like  a  lake,  till  Love  threw  in 
His  talisman,  and  woke  the  tide, 
And  spread  its  trembling  circles  wide. 
Once,  Emir  !  thy  unheeding  child, 
Mid  all  this  havoc,  bloom'd  and  smiled, — 
Tranquil  as  on  some  battle  plam 

The  Persian  lily  shines  and  tow'rs,' 
Before  the  combat's  redd'ning  stain 

Hath  fall'n  upon  her  golden  fiow'rs. 
Lighthearted  maid,  unawed,  unmoved. 

While  Heav'n  but  spared  the  sure  she  loved, 

Once  at  thy  evening  tales  of  blood 

Unlist'ning  and  aloof  she  stood — 

And  oft,  wlien  thou  hast  paced  along 
Thy  Haram  halls  with  furious  heat. 

Hast  thou  not  cursed  her  cheerful  song. 
That  came  across  thee,  calm  and  sweet, 

Like  lutes  of  angels,  touch'd  so  near 

Hell's  confines,  that  the  damn'd  can  hear  ! 

Far  other  feelings  Love  hath  brought — 
Her  soul  all  flame,  her  brow  all  sadness, 

1  "  Among  other  ceremonies  the  Magi  used  In  place  upon 
the  lops  of  hisli  towers  various  kinils  of  rich  viands,  upon 
which  it  v.-as  supposed  the  Peris  and  the  spirits  of  their  de- 
parted heroes  regaled  themseives." — Richardson. 

2  In  the  ceremonies  of  the  Ghebers  round  Iheir  Fire,  as 
described  by  Lord,  '■  the  Daroo,"  he  says,  "  giveth  them  wa- 
ter to  drinit,  and  a  pomegranate  leaf  to  chew  in  the  mouth, 
to  cleanse  them  from  inward  uncleanness." 

3  "  Early  in  the  morning,  they  (the  Parsees  or  Ghebers  at 
Ou!ani)  go  in  crowds  to  pay  their  devotions  to  the  San,  to 


She  now  has  but  the  one  dear  thought. 

And  thinks  tliat  o'er,  almost  to  madness  ! 
Oft  doth  her  sinking  heart  recall 
His  words — "  for  my  sake  weep  for  all ;" 
And  bitterly,  as  day  on  day 

Of  rebel  carnage  fast  succeeds. 
She  weeps  a  lover  snatch'd  away 

In  cv'ry  Gheber  wretch  that  bleeds. 
There's  not  a  sabre  meets  her  eye. 

But  wi'h  his  life-blood  seems  to  swim  ; 
There's  nt  t  an  arrow  wings  the  sky, 

But  fancy  turns  its  point  to  him. 
No  more  she  brings  with  footstep  light 
Al  Hassan's  falchion  for  the  fight ; 
And — had  he  look'd  with  clearer  sight, 
Had  not  the  mists,  that  ever  rise 
From  a  foul  spirit,  dimm'd  his  eyes — 
He  would  have  mark'd  her  shudd'ring  frame, 
When  from  the  field  of  blood  ho  came, 
The  falt'ring  speech — the  look  estranged — 
Voice,  step,  and  life,  and  beauty  changed — 
He  would  havo  mark'd  all  tliis,  and  known 
Such  change  is  wrought  by  Love  alone  ! 

Ah  !  not  the  Love,  that  should  have  bless'd 
So  young,  so  innocent  a  breast ; 
Not  the  pure,  open,  prosp'rous  Love, 
That,  pledged  on  earth  and  seal'd  above, 
Grows  in  the  worid's  approving  eyes. 

In  friendship's  smile  and  home's  caress, 
Collecting  all  the  heart's  sweet  ties 

Into  one  knot  of  happiness ! 
No,  HiXDA,  no, — thy  fatal  flame 
Is  nursed  in  silence,  sorrow,  shame  ; — 

A  passion,  without  hope  or  pleasure, 
In  thy  soirl's  darkness  buried  deep. 

It  lies  like  some  ill-gotten  treasure, — 
Some  idol,  without  shrine  or  name, 
O'er  wliich  its  pale-eyed  vot'ries  keep 
Unholy  watch,  while  others  sleep. 

Seven  nights  liave  darkcn'd  O.man's  Sea, 
Since  last,  beneath  the  moonlight  ray, 

She  saw  his  light  oar  rapidly 

Hurry  her  Gheber's  bark  away, — 

And  still  she  goes,  at  midniglit  hour 

To  weep  alone  in  that  high  bow'r, 

whom  upon  all  the  altirs  there  are  spheres  consecrated, 
made  by  magic,  resembling  the  circles  uf  the  sun,  and  when 
the  sun  rises,  these  orbs  seem  to  be  inflamed,  and  to  turn  round 
with  a  great  noise.  They  have  every  one  a  cen.^er  in  their 
hands,  and  offer  incense  to  the  sun.'  —Habhi  Baijamin. 

»  "  Nul  d'entre  euxoseroitse  parjurer,  quand  il  a  pris  a  t6 
moincet  element  terrible  et  vengcur."—£nc!/rfo;i.  Franroise. 

'  "  A  vivid  verdure  succeeds  the  autumnal  rains,  and  the 
ploughed  fields  are  covered  with  the  Persian  lily,  of  £.  re- 
splendent yellow  co\n:"—Jiiissd's  Aleppo. 


426 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  watch,  and  look  along  the  deep 

For  him  whose  smiles  first  made  her  weep  ;— 

But  watching,  weeping,  all  was  vain, 

Slio  never  saw  his  bark  again. 

The  owlet's  solitary  cry. 

The  night-hawk,  flitting  darkly  by, 

And  oft  the  hateful  carrion  bird, 
Heavily  flapping  his  clogg'd  wing. 
Which  reek'd  with  that  day's  banqueting — 

Was  all  she  saw,  was  all  she  heard. 

'Tis  the  eiglith  morn — Al  Hassan's  brow 

Is  brighten'd  with  unusual  joy — 
AVhat  mighty  mischief  glads  him  now. 

Who  never  smiles  but  to  destroy  ? 
The  sparkle  upon  Hekkend's  Sea, 
When  toss'd  at  midnight  furiously,' 
Tells  not  of  wreck  and  ruin  nigh. 
More  surely  than  that  smiling  eye  ! 
"  Up,  daugliter,  up — the  Kersa's'  breath 
*'  Has  blown  a  blast  would  waken  death, 
"  And  yet  thou  eleep'st — up,  child,  and  see 
"  This  blessed  day  for  Heaven  and  me, 
"  A  day  more  rich  in  Pagan  blood 
"  Than  ever  flasli'd  o'er  Oman's  flood. 
"  Before  another  dawn  shall  shine, 
*'  His  head — heart — limbs— will  all  be  mine  ; 
"  This  verj'  niglit  his  blood  sliall  steep 
"  These  hands  all  over  ere  I  sleep  !" — 

"  Ills  blood  I"  she  faintly  scream'd — her  mind 
Still  singling  one  from  all  mankind — 
'•  Yes — -spite  of  his  ravines  and  tow'rs, 
"  Hafed,  my  child,  this  night  is  ours. 
"  Thanks  to  all-couqu'ring  treachery, 

*'  Without  wliose  aid  the  links  accursed, 
"  That  bind  these  impious  slaves,  would  bo 

"  Too  strong  for  Alla's  self  to  burst ! 
"  That  rebel  fiend,  whoso  blade  has  spread 
"  My  patli  with  piles  of  Moslem  dead, 
"  Wliose  batBing  spells  had  almost  driv'n 
"  Back  from  their  course  the  Swords  of  Heav'n, 
"  This  night,  v.'ith  all  his  band,  shall  know 
"  How  deep  an  Arab's  steel  can  go, 
"  When  God  and  Vengeance  speed  the  blow. 
"  And — I'rophet !  by  that  holy  wreath 
"  Thou  wor'st  on  Onon's  field  of  death,^ 
**  I  swear,  for  ev'ry  sob  that  parts 
"  In  anguish  from  these  heathen  hearts, 

I  "  It  is  observed,  with  respect  to  the  Sea  of  Herkend,  that 
when  it  is  tossed  liy  lempcsliious  winds  it  sparkles  like  fire." 
■ — Travels  of  Two  Mohammed'ins. 

3  .\  kind  of  trumpet; — it  "was  that  used  by  Tamerlane, 
Uie  sound  of  which  is  dcscrilied  as  unc/^liinonly  dreadful, 
and  so  loud  as  to  be  heard  al  the  distancfc  «f  several  miles." 
— Richardson. 

>  "  Mohammed  had  two  helmets,  an  interior  aod  eiterior 


"  A  gem  from  Persia's  plunder'd  mines 
"  Shall  glitter  on  thy  Shrine  of  Shrines. 
"  But,  ha  ! — she  sinks — that  look  so  wild — 
"  Those  livid  lips — my  child,  my  child, 
"  This  life  of  blood  befits  not  thee, 
"  And  thou  must  back  to  Arady. 

"  Ne'er  had  I  risk'd  thy  timid  sex 
"  In  scenes  that  man  himself  might  dread, 
"  Had  I  not  hoped  our  ev'ry  tread 

"  Would  be  on  prostrate  Persian  necks — 
Cursed  race,  they  ofTer  swords  instead  1 
"  But  cheer  thee,  maid, — the  wind  that  now 
"  Is  blowing  o'er  thy  feverish  brow, 
"  To-day  shall  waft  thee  from  the  shore  ; 
"  And,  ere  a  drop  of  this  night's  gore 
"  Have  time  to  chill  in  yonder  tow'rs, 
"  Thou'lt  see  thy  own  sweet  Arab  bow'rs  I'* 

His  bloody  boast  w  ifi  ill  too  true  ; 

There  lurk'd  one  wretch  among  the  few 

Whom  Hafed's  eagle  eye  could  count 

Around  him  on  that  Fiery  Mount, — 

One  miscreant,  wlio  for  gold  betray'd 

The  pathway  tlirough  the  valley's  shade 

To  those  high  tow'rs,  where  Freedom  stood 

In  her  last  hold  of  flame  and  blood. 

Left  on  the  field  last  dreadful  uight. 

When,  sallying  from  their  Sacred  height, 

The  Ghebers  fought  hope's  farewell  fight. 

He  lay — but  died  not  with  the  brave  ; 

That  sun,  which  should  have  gilt  his  grave. 

Saw  him  a  traitor  and  a  slave  ; — 

And,  while  the  few,  who  thence  return'd 

To  their  high  rocky  fortress,  mourn'd 

For  him  among  the  matchless  dead 

They  left  behind  on  glory's  bed, 

He  lived,  and,  in  the  face  of  mom, 

Laugh'd  them,  and  Faith,  and  Heav'n  to  scorn. 

Oh  for  a  tongue  to  curse  the  slave, 

Whose  treason,  like  a  deadly  blight. 
Comes  o'er  the  councils  of  the  brave. 

And  blasts  them  in  their  hour  of  might .' 
May  Life's  unblessed  cup  for  liim 
Be  drugg'd  with  treach'ries  to  the  brim, — 
With  hopes,  that  but  allure  to  fly. 

With  joys,  that  vanish  while  ho  sips. 
Like  Dead  .Sea  fruits,  that  tempt  the  eye. 

But  turn  to  ashes  on  the  lips  !' 

one ;  the  latter  of  which,  called  Al  Mawashah,  the  fillet, 
wreath,  or  wreathed  garland,  he  wore  at  the  battle  of  Ohod." 
—  Universal  History. 

*  ''  They  say  that  there  are  apple-trees  upon  the  sides  of 
this  sea,  whicli  bear  very  lovely  fruit,  but  within  are  all  rtll 
of  ashes." — Thevenot.  The  same  is  asserted  of  the  oranges 
there  ;  vide  Witman's  Travels  in  Asiatic  Turkey. 

"  The  Asphalt  Lake,  known  by  the  name  of  the  Dead  Sea, 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


427 


His  country's  curse,  Iiis  children's  shame, 
Outcast  of  virtue,  peace,  and  fame, 
May  he,  at  Uist,  with  hps  of  flame 
Ou  the  parcli'd  desert  thirsting  die, — 
While  lakes,  that  slione  in  mockery  nigh,' 
Ai'c  fading  off*,  untouch'd,  untasted, 
Like  the  once  glorious  hopes  he  blasted  ! 
And,  when  from  earth  his  spirit  flies. 

Just  Prophet,  let  tho  damu'd-one  dwell 
Full  in  the  sight  of  Paradise, 

Beholding  heav'u,  and  feeling  hell  I 


Lall.v  Rookh  had,  tho  night  before,  been  visited 
by  a  dream  which,  iu  spite  of  the  impending  fate  of 
poor  IIafed,  made  her  heart  more  than  usually 
cheerful  during  the  morning,  and  gave  her  cheeks 
all  the  freshened  animation  of  a  flower  that  the  Bid- 
musk  lias  just  passed  over.^  Slie  fancied  tliat  she 
was  sailing  on  that  Eastern  Ocean,  where  the  sea- 
gipsies,  who  live  forever  on  the  water,^  enjoy  a  per- 
petual summer  in  wandering  from  isle  to  isle,  when 
she  saw  a  small  gilded  bark  approaching  her.  It 
was  like  one  of  those  boats  which  the  Maldlvian 
islanders  send  adrift,  at  tlio  mercy  of  winds  and 
waves,  loaded  with  perfumes,  flowers,  and  odorifer- 
ous wood,  as  an  oftering  to  tho  Spirit  whom  they  call 
King  of  tho  Sea.  At  first,  this  little  bark  appeared 
to  be  empty,  but,  on  coming  nearer 

She  had  proceeded  thus  far  in  relating  the  dream 

is  verj'  remarkable  on  account  of  the  considerable  proportion 
of  salt  which  it  contains.  In  this  respect  it  surpasses  every 
other  known  water  on  the  surface  of  tho  earth.  This  great 
proportion  of  bitter-tasted  salts  is  the  reason  why  neither 
animal  nor  plant  can  live  in  this  watT." — Klaproth's  Chem- 
ical Analysis  of  the  Water  of  the  Dead  Sea.  Annals  of 
Philosophy,  January,  1813.  Hassclguist,  however,  doubts 
the  truth  of  this  last  assertion,  as  there  are  shell-fish  lo  be 
found  in  the  lake. 

Lord  Byron  has  a  similar  allusion  to  the  fruits  of  the  Dead 
Sea,  ill  that  wonderful  display  of  genius,  his  third  Canto  of 
Childe  Harold, — magnificent,  beyond  any  thing,  perhaps 
that  even  he  has  ever  written. 

1  "  The  Suhrab  or  Water  of  the  Desert  is  said  to  lie  caused 
by  the  rarefiction  of  the  atmosphere  from  extreme  heat; 
and,  which  aujimenls  the  delusion,  it  is  most  frequent  in 
h'lUows,  where  water  might  be  expected  to  lodge,  I  have 
seen  bushes  and  trees  reflected  in  it.  with  as  nmch  accuracy 
as  though  it  had  been  the  face  of  a  clear  and  still  lake." — 
Pottntger. 

"  As  to  the  unbelievers,  their  works  are  like  a  vapor  in  a 
pUiin,  whicli  the  thirsty  traveller  thinkelh  to  be  water,  until 
when  he  comcth  thereto  he  findclh  it  to  be  nothing.'* — Ko- 
ran, chap.  24. 

a  "  A  v\ind  which  prevails  in  February,  called  Bidmusk, 
from  a  small  and  odoriferous  flower  of  that  name." — "  The 
wind  which  blows  these  flowers  commonly  lasts  till  the  end 
of  the  month.*' — /.e  Brutfn. 


to  her  Ladies,  when  Feramorz  appeared  at  tho  door 
of  the  pavilion.  In  his  presence,  of  course,  every 
thing  else  was  forgotten,  and  the  coutinuanco  of  tho 
story  was  instantly  requested  by  all.  Fresh  wood  of 
aloes  was  set  to  burn  in  tlie  cassolets  ; — tho  violet 
sherbets*  were  hastily  handed  round,  and  after  a 
short  prelude  on  his  lute,  in  the  pathetic  measure  of 
Nava,^  which  is  always  used  to  express  the  lamenta- 
tions of  absent  lovers,  the  Poet  thus  continued  : — 


The  day  is  low'ring — stilly  black 
Sleeps  the  grim  wave,  while  heav'n's  rack, 
Dispersed  and  wild,  'twixt  earth  and  sky 
Hangs  like  a  shatter'd  canopy. 
There's  not  a  cloud  in  that  blue  plain 

But  tells  of  storm  to  come  or  past ; — ■ 
Here,  flying  loosely  as  the  mane 

Of  a  young  war-horse  in  the  blast  ; — 
There,  roll'd  in  masses  dark  and  swelling, 
As  proud  to  be  the  thunder's  dwelling  ! 
While  some,  already  burst  and  riv'n, 
Seem  melting  down  the  verge  of  heav*a  ; 
As  though  tho  infant  storm  had  rent 

The  mighty  womb  that  gave  him  birth, 
And,  having  swept  the  firmament, 

Was  now  iu  fierce  career  for  earlli. 

On  earth  'twas  yet  all  calm  around, 
A  pulseless  silence,  dread,  profoimd, 
More  awful  tlian  tlie  tempest's  soimd. 

3  "The  Biajiis  are  of  two  races  :  the  one  is  settled  on  Bor- 
neo, and  are  a  rude  but  warlike  and  indusirJous  nation,  who 
reckon  themselves  the  original  possessors  of  the  island  of 
Borneo.  The  other  is  a  species  of  sea-gipsies  or  itinerant  fish- 
ermen, who  live  in  small  covered  boats,  and  enjoy  a  perpet- 
ual summer  on  the  eastern  ocean,  shifting  to  leeward  from 
island  to  island,  with  the  variations  of  the  monsoon.  In  some 
of  their  customs  this  singular  race  resemltle  the  natives  of 
the  Maldivia  islands.  The  Maldivians  annually  launch  a 
small  bark,  loaded  with  perfumes,  gums,  flowers,  and  odo- 
riferous wood,  and  turn  it  adrift  at  the  mercy  of  wind  and 
waves,  as  an  offering  to  ihe  Spirit  of  the  Jt'iuJs  ;  and  some- 
times similar  offerings  are  made  to  the  spirit  whom  they 
term  the  King  of  the  Sea.  In  like  manner  the  Biajus  per- 
form their  offering  to  the  god  of  evil,  launching  a  small  bark, 
loaded  with  all  the  sins  and  misfortunes  of  the  nation,  which 
are  imagined  to  fall  on  the  unhappy  cr;.'W  that  may  be  so 
unlucky  as  first  lo  meet  with  it." — JJr.  Leydcn  on  the  Lan- 
guage and  Literature  of  the  Indo-Chinese  Nations. 

■*  "The  sweet-scented  violet  is  one  of  the  plants  most  es- 
teemed, particularly  for  its  great  use  in  Sorbet,  which  they 
make  of  violet  sugar." — Hasselquist. 

"The  sherbet  they  most  esteen),  and  which  is  dnink  by 
the  Grand  Signor  himself,  is  made  of  violets  and  sugar.*'— 
TaveT~nier. 

6  "  Last  of  all  she  took  a  guitar,  and  sung  a  pathetic  air  in 
the  measure  called  Nnva,  which  is  always  used  to  express 
the  lamentations  of  absent  lovers." — Persian  Talcs. 


428 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  diver  steer'd  for  Ormus*  bowers, 
And  moor'd  his  sklfFtlll  calmer  hours; 
The  sea-birds,  with  portentous  screech, 
Flew  fast  to  land  ; — upon  the  beach 
The  pilot  oft  had  paused,  with  glance 
Turz'd  upward  to  that  wild  expanse  ; — 
And  all  was  boding,  drear,  and  dark 
As  her  own  soui,  when  Hinda's  bark 
Went  slowly  from  the  Persian  shore.— 
No  music  timed  her  parting  oar,* 
Nor  friends  upon  the  less'ning  strand 
Linger'd,  to  wave  the  unseen  hand, 
Or  speak  the  farewell,  heard  no  more  ; — 
But  lone,  uuheeded,  from  the  bay 
The  vessel  takes  its  mournful  way, 
liike  some  ill-destined  bark  that  steers 
In  silence  through  tlio  Gate  of  Tears* 

And  where  was  stern  Al  Hassan  then  "^ 
Could  not  that  saintly  scourge  of  men 
From  bloodshed  and  devotion  spare 
One  rniuute  for  a  farewell  there? 
No — close  within,  in  changeful  fits 
Of  cursing  and  of  pray'r,  he  sits 
In  savage  loneliness  to  brood 
Upon  tho  coming  night  of  blood, — 

With  that  keen,  second-scent  of  death, 
By  which  the  vulture  snuiTs  his  food 

In  the  still  warm  and  living  breath  !^ 
While  o'er  the  wave  his  weeping  daughter 
Is  wafted  from  these  scenes  of  slaughter, — 
As  a  young  bird  of  Babylon,* — 
Let  loose  to  tell  of  vict'ry  won. 
Flics  home,  with  wing,  ah  !  not  unstain'd 
By  the  red  hands  that  held  her  chain'd. 

And  does  the  long-left  home  she  seeks 

Ligiit  up  no  gladness  on  her  cheeks  ? 

The  flow'rs  she  nui-sed — the  well-known  groves. 

Where  oft  in  dreams  her  spnit  roves — 

Once  more  to  see  her  dear  gazelles 

Come  bounding  with  their  silver  bells  ; 

Her  birds'  new  plumage  to  behold, 

And  the  gay,  gleaming  fishes  count, 
She  left,  all  filleted  with  gold, 

Shooting  around  tiieir  jasper  fount  ■," 


1  "The  Easterns  used  lo  set  out  on  their  longer  voyages 
with  music." — Ilarmcr. 

2  "The  fijitc  of  Tours,  the  straits  or  passage  into  the  Red 
Sea,  cimiKH'tily  called  BabeUnandet.  It  received  this  nanic 
from  the  ohl  Arabians,  on  account  of  the  danger  of  the  navi- 
gation, and  tlie  number  of  shipwrcclis  by  which  it  was  dis- 
tinguished ;  which  induced  them  to  consider  as  dead,  and  to 
wear  mourning  fur,  all  who  had  the  boldness  to  hazard  the 
passage  througli  it  into  the  Eihiopic  i>ccan." — Richardson. 

3  "  1  have  been  told  that  whensoever  an  animal  falls  down 
dcaii,  one  or  more  vultures,  unseen  betbre,  instantly  ap- 
pear."— Pennant. 


Her  little  garden  mosque  to  see, 

And  once  again,  at  evening  hour. 
To  tell  her  ruby  rosar)'' 

In  her  own  sweet  acacia  bow'r. — 
Can  these  delights,  that  wait  her  now, 
Call  up  no  sunshine  on  her  brow  ? 
No, — silent,  from  her  train  apart, — 
As  even  now  she  felt  at  heart 
The  chill  of  her  approaching  doom,— » 
She  sits,  all  lovely  in  her  gloom 
As  a  pale  Angel  of  the  Grave  ; 
And  o'er  the  wide,  tempestuous  n  ave, 
Looks,  with  a  shudder,  to  those  tow'rs, 
Where,  in  a  few  short  awful  hours. 
Blood,  blood,  in  streaming  tides  shall  nm. 
Foul  incense  for  to-morrow's  sun  ! 
"Where  art  thou,  glorious  stranger!  thou, 
"  So  loved,  so  lost,  where  art  thou  now  ? 
"  Foe — Gheber — infidel — wiidte'er 
"  Til'  unhallow'd  name  thou'rt  dix.m'd  to  bear, 
"  Still  glorious — still  to  this  fond  heart 
"  Dear  as  its  blood,  whate'er  thou  art  I 
"Yes — Alla,  dreadful  Alla  !  yes — 
"  If  there  bo  wrong,  be  crime  in  this, 
"  Let  the  black  waves  that  round  us  roll, 
*'  Whelm  mo  this  instant,  ere  my  soul, 
"  Forgetting  faith — home — father — all — 
*'  Before  its  earthly  idol  fall, 
"  Nor  worship  ev'n  Thyself  above  him — 
"  For,  oh,  so  wildly  do  I  love  him, 
"  Thy  Paradise  itself  were  dim 
"  And  joyless,  if  not  shared  with  him  I" 
Her  hands  were  clasp'd — her  eyes  upturn'd, 

Dropping  their  tears  like  moonlight  rain  ; 
And,  though  her  lip,  fond  raver!  bum'd 

With  words  of  passion,  bold,  profane. 
Yet  was  there  ligiit  around  her  brow, 

A  boliness  in  those  dark  eyes, 
Which    show'd, — though    wand'ring    earthwa  } 
now, — 

Her  spirit's  liome  was  in  the  skies. 
Yes — for  a  spirit  pure  as  hers 
Is  always  pure,  ev'n  while  it  errs ; 
As  sunshine,  broken  in  the  rill, 
Though  tum'd  astray,  is  sunshine  still  I 


*  "They  fiisten  some  writing  to  the  wings  of  a  Bai,'dal  or 
Babylonian  pigeon." — Travels  of  certain  Englishmen. 

6  "The  Empress  of  Jehan-Guire  used  to  ihvert  herself 
with  feeding  tame  lish  in  her  canals,  some  of  w  hioh  were 
many  years  afterwards  known  by  fillets  of  gold,  which  she 
caused  to  be  put  round  thcni." — Harris. 

6  '*Le  Tespih.  qui  est  un  chapelet,  compos6  de  99  petites 
bonles  d'agathe,  de  jaspe,  d*ambre,  de  corail,  on  d'auire  ma- 
licre  pr^cieuse.  J*en  ai  vu  un  superhe  au  Seigneur  Jerpos ; 
il  6toit  de  belles  et  grosses  perles  parfuites  et  6cales,  estim6 
trente  mille  piastres." — Toderini, 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


439 


So  wlioUy  had  lier  mind  forgot 

All  tlmiislits  but  one,  she  heeded  not 

Tlie  rising  storm — tlie  wave  tliat  cast 

A  moment's  midnight,  as  it  pass'd — 

Nor  lieard  tlie  frequent  shout,  tlie  tread 

Of  gatli'ring  tumult  o'er  her  head — 

Clash'd  swords,  and  tongues  tliat  seem'd  to  vie 

With  tlie  rude  riot  of  the  sky. — 

But,  hark  ! — that  vpar-whoop  on  the  deck — 

That  crash,  as  if  each  engine  there, 
Mast,  sails,  and  all,  were  gone  to  wreck. 

Mid  yells  and  stampings  of  despair  ! 
Merciful  Heaven  !  what  cmi  it  be  7 
'Tis  not  the  storm,  though  fearfully 
Tlie  ship  has  shudder'd  as  she  rode 
O'er  mountain-waves — "  Forgive  me,  God  ! 
"  Forgive  me" — shriek'd  the  maid,  and  knelt. 
Trembling  all  over — for  she  felt 
As  if  her  judgment-hour  was  near  ; 
While  crouching  round,  half  dead  with  fear. 
Her  liandmaids  clung,  nor  breathed,  nor  stirr'd- 
When,  liark  ! — a  second  crash — a  third — 
And  now,  as  if  a  bolt  of  tlmnder 
Had  riv'n  the  laboring  planks  asunder, 
The  deck  falls  in — what  horrors  then  ! 
Blood,  waves,  and  tackle,  swords  and  men 
Come  mix'd  together  through  the  chasm, — 
Some  wretches  in  their  dying  spasm 
Still  fighting  on — and  some  that  call 
"  For  God  and  Iran  '."  as  they  fall ! 

Whose  was  the  hand  that  tuni'd  away 

The  perils  of  th'  infuriate  fray. 

And  snatch'd  her  breathless  from  beneath 

This  wilderment  of  wreck  and  death  ? 

She  knew  not — for  a  faintness  came 

Chill  o'er  her,  and  her  sinking  frame 

Amid  the  ruins  of  tliat  hour 

Lay,  like  a  pale  and  scorched  flow'r, 

Beneath  the  red  volcano's  shower. 

But,  oil  I  the  sights  and  sounds  of  dread 

That  shock'd  her  ere  her  senses  fled  1 

The  yawning  deck — the  crowd  that  strove 

Upon  tlie  tott'ring  planks  above — 

Tlie  sail,  whose  fragments,  shiv'ring  o'er 

The  strugglers'  heads,  all  dash'd  with  gore, 

Flutter'd  like  bloody  flags — the  clash 

Of  sabres,  and  the  lightning's  flash 

Upon  their  blades,  high  toss'd  about 

Like  meteor  brands' — as  if  throughout 


1  The  meteors  that  Pliny  calls  "  faces." 

«  "  The  brilliant  Canopns,  unseen  in  European  climates." 
— Brouin. 

s  See  Wilford'3  learned  Essays  on  the  Sacred  Isles  in  the 
West. 

*  .'i  precious  stone  of  the  Indies,  called  by  the  ancients 


The  elements  one  fury  ran. 
One  gen'ra!  rage,  that  left  a  doubt 

Which  was  the  fiercer,  Heav'n  or  Man  ! 

Once  too — but  no — it  could  not  be — 

'Twas  fancy  all — yet  once  she  thought, 
While  yet  her  fading  eyes  could  see. 

High  on  the  ruin'd  deck  she  caught 
A  glimpse  of  that  unearthly  form. 

That  glory  of  her  soul, — even  then, 
Amid  the  whirl  of  wreck  and  slorni. 

Shining  above  his  fellow-men, 
As,  on  some  black  and  troublous  night. 
The  Star  of  Egypt,''  whose  proud  light 
Never  hath  beam'd  on  those  who  rest 
In  the  White  Islands  of  the  West,' 
Burns  through  the  storm  with  looks  of  flame 
That  put  Heav'n's  cloudier  eyes  to  sliame. 
But  no — -'twas  but  the  minute's  dream — 
A  fantasy — and  ere  the  scream 
Had  half-way  pass'd  her  pallid  lips, 
A  deathlike  swoon,  a  chill  eclipse 
Of  soul  and  sense  its  darkness  spread 
Around  her,  and  she  sunk,  as  dead. 

How  calm,  how  beautiful  comes  on 
The  stilly  hour,  when  storms  are  gone  ; 
When  warring  winds  have  died  away, 
And  clouds,  beneath  the  glancing  ray, 
Melt  off",  and  leave  the  land  and  sea 
Sleeping  in  bright  tranquillity, — 
Fresh  as  if  Day  again  were  bom. 
Again  upon  the  lap  of  Morn  ! — 
When  the  light  blossoms,  rudely  torn 
And  scatter'd  at  the  whirlwind's  will. 
Hang  floating  in  the  pure  air  still. 
Filling  it  all  with  precious  balm. 
In  gratitude  for  this  sweet  calm  ; — 
And  every  drop  the  thnnder-show'rs 
Have  left  upon  the  grass  and  flow'rs 
Sparkles,  as  'twere  that  lightning-gem' 
Whose  Uquid  flame  is  born  of  them  .' 
When,  'stead  of  one  unclianging  breeze. 
There  blow  a  thousand  gentle  airs, 
And  each  a  difi"rent  perfume  bears, — 
As  if  the  loveliest  plants  and  trees 
Had  vassal  breezes  of  their  own 
To  watch  and  wait  ou  them  alone. 
And  waft  no  other  breath  than  theirs: 


Ceraunium,  because  it  was  supposed  to  be  fonml  in  places 
where  thunder  had  fallen.  TcrtuUian  s.iys  it  has  a  glitter- 
ing appearance,  as  if  there  had  been  lire  in  it ;  and  the  au- 
thor of  the  Dissertation  in  Harris's  Voyages,  supposes  It  to 
be  the  opal. 


430                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Wlicn  the  blue  watere  rise  and  fall, 

Some  minister,  whom  Hell  had  sent, 

In  siccpy  sunshine  mantling  all  ; 

To  spread  its  blast,  where'er  he  went, 

And  ev'u  that  swell  the  tempest  leaves 

And  fling,  as  o'er  our  earth  he  trod. 

Is  like  the  full  and  silent  heaves 

His  shadow  betwixt  man  and  God  I 

Of  lovers'  hearts,  when  newly  bless'd. 

And  she  is  now  his  captive, — thrown 

Too  newly  to  be  quite  at  rest. 

In  his  fierce  hands,  alive,  alone  ; 

His  th'  infuriate  band  she  sees. 

Such  was  tlio  golden  hour  that  broke 

AM  infidels — all  enemies  ! 

Upon  tlie  world,  wlien  Hinda  woke 

What  was  the  daring  hope  that  then 

From  her  long  trance,  and  heard  around 

Cross'd  her  like  lightning,  as  again. 

No  motion  but  the  water's  sound 

With  boldnes,s  that  despair  had  lent, 

Rippling  against  the  vessel's  side, 

She  darted  through  that  armed  crowd 

As  slow  it  mounted  o'er  the  tide. — 

A  look  BO  searching,  so  intent. 

But  where  is  she  ? — her  eyes  are  dark, 

That  ev'n  the  sternest  warrior  bow'd 

Are  wilder'd  still — is  this  the  bark. 

Abash'd,  when  he  her  glances  caught, 

The  same,  that  from  IIar.mozia's  bay 

As  if  he  guess'd  whose  form  ihey  sought. 

Bore  her  at  morn — whoso  bloody  way 

But  no — she  sees  him  not — 'tis  gone. 

The  sea-dog  track'd  ? — no — strange  and  new' 

The  vision  that  before  her  shone 

Is  all  that  meets  her  wond'ring  view 

Through  all  the  maze  of  blood  and  stoi-m, 

Upon  a  galliot's  deck  slie  lies. 

Is  fled — 'twas  but  a  phantom  form — 

Beneath  no  rich  pavilion's  shade, — 

One  of  those  passing,  rainbow  dreams, 

No  i)Iumes  to  fan  her  sleeping  eyes, 

Half  light,  half  shade,  which  Fancy's  beams 

Nor  jasmine  on  her  pillow  laid. 

Paint  on  the  fleeting  mists  that  roll 

But  the  rude  litter,  ronglily  spread 

In  trance  or  slumber  round  the  soul. 

With  war-cloaks,  is  her  homely  bed, 

And  shawl  and  sash,  on  javelins  hmig. 

But  now  the  bark,  with  livelier  bound, 

For  awning  o'er  her  head  are  flung. 

Scales   the    blue    wave — the    crew's    in    mo- 

Sluidd'ring slie  look'd  around — there  lay 

tion, 

A  group  of  warriors  in  the  sun. 

The  oars  are  out,  and  with  light  sound 

Resting  their  limbs,  as  for  thac  day 

Break  the  bright  mirror  of  the  ocean, 

Their  ministry  of  deatti  were  done. 

Scatt'ring  its  brilliant  fragments  round. 

Some  gazing  on  the  drowsy  sea, 

And  now  she  sees — with  horror  sees, 

Lost  in  unconscious  revery  ; 

Their  course  is  tow'rd  that  mountain-hold, — 

And  some,  who  seem'd  but  ill  to  brook 

Those  tow'rs,  that  make  her  life-blood  freeze. 

That  sluggisli  calm,  with  many  a  look 

Where  Mecca's  godless  enemies 

To  tlie  slack  sail  impatient  cast. 

Lie,  like  beleaguer'd  scorpions,  roll'd 

As  loose  it  flagg'd  around  the  mast 

In  their  last  deadly,  venomous  fold  ! 

Amid  th'  illumined  land  and  flood 

Blest  Alla  !  who  shall  save  her  now  ? 

Sunless  that  mighty  mountain  stood  ; 

There's  not  in  all  that  warrior  band 

Save  where,  above  its  awful  liead. 

One  Arab  sword,  one  turban'd  brow 

There  shone  a  flaming  cloud,  blood-red, 

From  her  own  Faithful  Moslem  land. 

As  'twere  the  flag  of  destiny 

Their  garb — the  leatliern  belt'  that  wraps 

Hung  out  to  mark  where  death  would  be  ! 

Each  yellow  vest^ — that  rebel  hue — 

The  Tartar  fleece  upon  their  caps' — 

Had  her  bewilder'd  mind  the  pow'r 

Yes-^yes — her  fears  are  all  too  true. 

Of  thought  in  this  terrific  hour. 

And  Il&av'n  iiatli,  in  tliis  dreadful  hour. 

She  well  might  marvel  where  or  how 

Abandon'd  her  to  IIafeu's  power  ; 

Man's  foot  could  scale  that  mountain's  brow. 

Hafed,  the  Gheber  ! — at  tlie  thought 

Since  ne'er  had  Arab  heard  or  known 

Her  very  heart's  blood  chilis  within  ; 

Of  path  but  through  the  glen  alone. — 

He,  whom  her  soul  was  hourly  taught 

But  every  thought  was  lost  in  fear, 

To  loathe,  as  some  foul  fiend  of  sin, 

When,  as  their  bounding  bark  drew  near 

1  D'Hcrhdot,  art.  Agduftni. 

s  "The  Kolah.  or  cap.  worn  liy  the  Persians,  is  made  of 

*  "The  Ctiebres  are  known  by  a  dark  yellow  color,  which 

the  skin  of  the  sheep  of  Turtarj-." — iVaring. 

the  men  aliect  in  their  clothes."— TAepcnof. 

LALLA 

ROOKH.                                                431 

The  cragiry  base,  she  felt  the  waves 

But  soon  this  balmy  freshness  fled — 

Hurry  tliem  tow'rd  those  dismal  eaves, 

For  now  the  steepy  labyrinth  led 

That  from  the  Deep  in  windings  pass 

Through  damp  and  gloom — 'mid  crash  of  bouglis, 

Bcneatli  that  Mount's  volcanic  mass  ; — 

And  fall  of  loosen'd  crags  that  rouse 

And  loud  a  voice  on  deck  commands 

The  leopard  from  his  hungry  sleep. 

To  low'r  the  mast  and  light  the  brands ! — 

Who,  starting,  thinks  each  crag  a  prey. 

Instantly  o'er  the  dashing  tide 

And  long  is  heard,  from  steep  to  steep, 

Withiu  a  cavern's  mouth  they  glide. 

Chasing  them  down  their  tlumd'ring  way ! 

Gloomy  as  that  eternal  Porch 

The  jackal's  cry — the  distant  moan 

Through  which  departed  spirits  go ; — 

Of  the  hyaina,  fierce  and  lone — 

Not  ev'n  the  flare  of  brand  and  torch 

And  that  eternal  sadd'uing  sound 

Its  flick'ring  light  could  further  throw 

Of  torrents  in  the  glen  beneath, 

Than  the  thick  flood  that  boil'd  below 

As  'twere  the  ever  dark  Profound 

Silent  they  floated — as  if  each 

That  rolls  beneath  the  Bridge  of  Death  ! 

Sat  breathless,  and  too  awed  for  speech 

All,  all  is  fearful — ev'n  to  see,                    • 

In  that  dark  chasm,  where  even  sound 

To  gaze  on  those  terrific  things 

Seem'd  dark, — so  sullenly  around 

She  now  but  blindly  hears,  would  be 

The  goblin  echoes  of  the  cave 

Relief  to  her  imaginings  ; 

Mutter'd  it  o'er  the  long  black  wave. 

Since  never  yet  was  shape  so  dread. 

As  'twere  some  secret  of  the  grave  ! 

But  Fancy,  thus  in  darkness  thrown. 

And  by  such  sounds  of  horror  >ed. 

But  soft — tliey  pause — the  current  turns 

Could  frame  more  dreadful  of  her  own. 

Beneath  them  from  its  onward  track ; — 

Some  mighty,  unseen  barrier  spurns 

But  does  she  dream  ?  has  Fear  again 

The  vexed  tide,  all  foaming,  back. 

Perplex'd  the  workings  of  her  brain, 

And  scarce  the  oars'  redoubled  force 

Or  did  a  voice,  all  music,  then 

Can  stem  the  eddy's  whirling  course  ; 

Come  from  the  gloom,  lew  whisp'rmg  near— 

AVlien,  hark  1 — some  desp'rate  foot  has  sprung 

"  Tremble  not,  love,  thy  Ghcber's  here  ?" 

Among  the  rocks — the  chain  is  flung — 

She  does  not  dream — all  sense,  all  ear. 

The  oars  are  up — the  grapple  clings, 

She  drinks  the  words,  "  Thy  Gheber's  here." 

And  the  toss'd  bark  in  moorings  swings. 

'Twas  his  own  voice — she  could  not  err — 

Just  then,  a  day-beam  through  the  shade 

Throughout  the  breathing  world's  extent 

Broke  tremnlous — but,  ere  the  maid 

There  was  but  one  such  voice  for  her, 

Can  see  from  whence  tlie  brightness  steals, 

So  kind,  so  soft,  so  eloquent ! 

Upon  her  brow  she  shudd'ring  feels 

Oh,  sooner  shall  the  rose  of  May 

A  viewless  hand,  that  promptly  ties 

Mistake  her  own  sweet  nightingale, 

A  baudago  round  her  burning  eyes  ; 

And  to  some  meaner  minstrel's  lay 

While  the  rude  litter  where  she  lies, 

Open  her  bosom's  glowing  veil,* 

Uplifted  by  the  warrior  throng, 

Than  Love  shall  ever  doubt  a  tone, 

O'er  the  steep  rocks  is  borne  along. 

A  breath  of  the  beloved  one ! 

Blest  power  of  sunshine  ! — genial  Day, 

Though  blest,  'mid  all  her  ills,  to  think 

What  balm,  what  life  is  in  tliy  r?     '. 

She  has  that  one  beloved  near. 

To  feel  tliee  is  such  real  bliss. 

AVhose  smile,  though  met  on  ruin's  brink, 

That  had  the  world  no  joy  but  this, 

Hath  power  to  make  even  ruin  dear, — 

To  sit  in  sunshine  calm  and  sweet, — 

Yet  soon  this  gleam  of  rapture,  cross'd 

It  were  a  world  too  exquisite 

By  fears  for  him,  is  chill'd  and  lost. 

For  man  to  leave  it  for  tlie  gloom. 

How  shall  the  ruthless  Hafed  brook 

The  deep,  cold  shadow  of  the  tomb. 

That  one  of  Gheber  blood  should  look, 

Ev'n  Hi.NDA,  though  she  saw  not  where 

With  aught  but  curses  in  his  eye, 

Or  whither  wound  the  perilous  road. 

On  her  a  maid  of  Araby — 

Yet  knew  by  that  awak'niug  ah. 

Which  suddenly  around  her  glow'd, 
That  they  had  ris'n  from  darkness  then. 

'  A  frequent  image   among  the  oriental  poets     '  The 
nighting.iles  warLjled  their  enchanting  iiote?,  and  lent  the 

And  breathed  the  smuiy  world  again  ! 

thin  veils  of  the  rose-bud  and  the  ro^e."--Jami. 

433 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


A  Moslem  maid — the  child  of  him, 

Wliosp  bloody  banner's  dire  success 
Hath  IcIY  their  altars  cold  and  dim, 

And  their  fair  land  a  wilderness  1 
And,  worse  than  all,  that  night  of  blood 

Wi)ich  comes  so  fast — Oli  I  who  shall  stay 
The  sword,  that  once  hath  tasted  food 

Of  Persian  hearts,  or  turn  its  way  1 
What  arm  shall  then  the  victim  cover, 
Or  from  her  father  shield  her  lover  ? 

"  Save  him,  my  God  '."  she  inly  cries — 
**  Save  him  tliis  night — and  if  tliino  eyes 

"  Have  ever  welcomed  with  delight 
'  Th«  sinner's  tears,  the  sacrifice 

"  Of  siimers'  hearts — -guard  him  tliis  night, 
"  And  here,  before  tliy  throne,  I  swear 
"  From  my  heart's  inmost  core  to  tear 

"  Love,  hope,  remembrance,  though  they  be 
*'  Link'd  with  each  quiv'ring  life-string  there, 

"  And  give  it  bleeding  all  to  Thee  I 
"  Let  him  but  live, — tlio  burning  tear 
"  The  sighs,  so  sinful,  yet  so  dear, 
"  Whicli  have  been  all  too  mucli  his  own, 
"  Shall  from  this  hour  be  Heaven's  alone. 
"  Youth  pass'd  in  penitence,  and  age 
"  In  long  and  painful  pilgrimage, 
"  Shall  leave  no  traces  of  the  flame 
"  That  wastes  me  now — nor  shall  bis  name 
"  E'er  bless  my  lips,  but  when  I  pray 
"  For  his  dear  spirit,  that  away 
"  Casting  from  its  angelic  ray 
"  Th'  eclipse  of  earth,  he,  too,  may  shine 
"  Redeem'd,  all  glorious  and  all  Thine  I 
"  Think — think  what  victory  to  win 
"  One  radiant  soul  like  his  from  sin, — 
*•  One  wand'ring  star  of  virtue  back 
*'  To  its  own  native,  heavenward  track  ' 
"  Let  him  hut  live,  and  hotli  are  Thine, 

"  Together  thine — for,  blcss'd  or  cross'd, 
**  Living  or  dead,  his  doom  is  mine, 

"  And,  if  he  perish,  both  are  lost !" 


The  next  evening  Lalla  Rooku  was  entreated 
by  her  Ladies  to  continue  the  relation  of  her  won- 
derful dream  ;  but  the  fearful  interest  that  himg 
round  the  fate  of  Hinua  and  her  lover  had  com- 
pletely removed  every  trace  of  it  from  her  mind  ; — 
mucli  to  the  disappointment  of  a  fair  seer  or  two  in 

1 'Tlossonis  of  tlie  sorrowful  NycUinthcs  give  a  durable 
color  lo  silk."— /Zc7nnri5  on  the  Hushftiidnj  of  Bengal,  p. 
200.  Nilica  is  one  of  the  Indian  names  of  this  flower.— 
5tr  IK  Jovcs.    The  Persians  call  it  Gul. — Carrsri, 

*  '*  In  parts  of  Kcrman,  whatever  dates  are  shaken  from 


her  train,  who  prided  themselves  on  their  skill  in  in- 
terpreting visions,  and  who  had  already  remarked, 
as  an  imlucky  omen,  that  the  Princess,  on  the  very 
morning  after  the  dream,  had  worn  a  silk  dyed  with 
the  blossoms  of  the  sorrowful  tree,  Nilica.' 

FaDladeen,  whose  indignation  had  more  than 
once  broken  out  during  the  recital  of  some  parts  of 
this  heterodox  poem,  seemed  at  length  to  have  made 
up  his  mind  to  the  infliction  ;  and  took  his  seat  this 
evening  with  all  the  patience  of  a  martyr,  while  the 
Poet  resumed  his  profane  and  seditiotis  story  as  fol- 
lows : — 


To  tearless  eyes  and  hearts  at  ease 
The  leafy  shores  and  sun-bright  seas, 
That  lay  beneath  that  mountain's  height. 
Had  been  a  fair  enchanting  sight. 
'Twas  one  of  tliose  ambrosial  eves 
A  day  of  storm  so  often  leaves 
At  its  calm  setting — when  the  West 
Opens  her  golden  bowers  of  rest. 
And  a  moist  radiance  from  the  skies 
Shoots  trembling  down,  as  from  the  eyes 
Of  some  meek  penitent,  whose  last, 
Bright  hours  atone  for  dark  ones  past. 
And  whose  sweet  tears,  o'er  wrong  forgiv'n. 
Shine,  as  they  fall,  with  light  from  heav'n  1 

'Twas  stillness  all — the  winds  that  late 

Had  rush'd  through  Kerman's  almond  groves, 
And  shaken  from  her  bow'r«  of  date 

That  cooling  feast  the  traveller  loves," 
Now,  luU'd  to  languor,  scarcely  curl 

The  Green  Sea  wave,  whose  waters  gleam 
Limpid,  as  if  her  mines  of  pearl 

Were  melted  all  to  form  tlie  stream^ 
And  her  fair  islets,  small  and  bright. 

With  their  green  shores  reflected  there, 
Look  like  those  Peri  isles  of  light. 

That  hang  by  spell-work  in  the  air. 

But  vainly  did  those  glories  burst 
On  Hinda's  dazzled  eyes,  when  first 
The  bandage  from  her  brow  was  taken. 
And,  pale  and  awed  as  those  who  waken 
In  their  dark  tombs — when,  scowling  near. 
The  Searchers  of  tlie  Grave'  appear, — 

the  trees  by  the  wind  ihey  do  not  touch,  lint  leave  them  for 
those  who  have  not  any,  or  lor  travellers."— £in  Hfiukal. 

s  The  two  terrible  angels,  Monkir  and  Nakir,  who  are 
called  "  the  Searchers  of  the  Grave"  in  the  "  Creed  of  the 
orthodox  Mahometans"  given  by  Ocklcy,  vol.  ii. 


LALLA  ROOKH 


433 


She  shudd'ring  tom'd  to  read  her  fate 

In  the  fierce  eyes  that  flash'd  around  ; 
And  saw  those  towers  all  desolate, 

That  o'er  her  head  tenific  frown'd, 
As  if  defying  ev'n  the  smile 
Of  that  soft  heav'n  to  gild  their  pile. 
In  vain  witli  mingled  hope  and  fear, 
She  looks  for  him  whose  voice  so  dear 
Had  come,  like  music,  to  her  ear — 
Strange,  mocking  dream  !  again  'tis  fled. 
And  oh,  the  shoots,  the  pangs  of  dread 
That  tln-ough  her  inmost  hosom  run, 

Wlien  voices  from  without  proclaim 
"  Hafed,  the  Cliicf — and,  one  by  one, 

The  warriors  shout  that  fearful  name  '. 
He  comes — the  rock  resounds  his  tread — 
How  shall  she  dare  to  lift  her  head. 
Or  meet  those  eyes  whose  scorching  glare 
Not  Yemen's  boldest  sons  can  bear  ? 
In  whose  red  beam,  the  Moslem  tells, 
Such  rank  and  deadly  lustre  dwells. 
As  in  tliose  hellish  fires  that  light 
The  mandrake's  charnel  leaves  at  niglit.' 
How  shall  she  bear  that  voice's  tone. 
At  wliose  loud  battle-cry  alone 
Whole  squadrons  oft  in  panic  ran, 
Scatter'd  like  some  vast  caravan,      . 
When,  stretcli'd  at  evening  round  the  well, 
Tliey  hear  the  thirsting  tiger's  yell. 

Breathless  she  stands,  with  eyes  cast  down, 
Shrinking  beneath  the  fiery  frown, 
Which,  fancy  tells  her,  from  that  brow 
Is  flashing  o'er  her  fiercely  now : 
And  shudd'ring  as  she  hears  the  tread 

Of  his  retiring  warrior  band. — 
Never  was  pause  so  full  of  dread  ; 

Till  Hafed  with  a  trembling  hand 
Took  hers,  and,  leaning  o'er  her,  said, 
"  HiNDA  ;" — that  word  was  all  he  spoke. 
And  'twas  enough — tho  shriek  that  broke 

From  her  full  bosom,  told  the  rest. — 
Panting  with  terror,  joy,  surprise. 
The  maid  but  lifts  her  wond'ring  eyes. 

To  hide  them  on  her  Gheber's  breast ! 
'Tis  he,  'tis  he — the  man  of  blood. 
The  fellest  of  the  Fire-fiend's  brood, 
Hafed,  the  demon  of  the  fight. 
Whose  voice  unnerves,  whose  glances  blight,— 
Is  her  own  loved  Gheber,  mild 
And  glorious  as  when  first  he  smiled 
In  her  lone  tow'r,  and  left  such  beams 
Of  his  pure  eye  to  light  her  dreams, 

1  "  The  Arabians  call  the  mandrake  '  the  Devil's  candle,' 
on  account  of  its  shining  appearance  in  the  night."— 
Richard3im, 


That  she  believed  her  bower  had  giv'n 
Rest  to  some  wanderer  from  heav'n  ! 

Moments  there  are,  and  this  was  one 
Snatcli'd  like  a  minute's  gleam  of  sun 
Amid  the  black  Simoom's  eclipse — 

Or,  like  those  verdant  spots  that  bloom 
Around  the  crater's  burning  lips, 

Sweet'ning  the  very  edge  of  doom  ! 
The  past — the  future — all  that  Fate 
Can  bring  of  dark  or  desperate 
Around  such  hours,  but  makes  them  cast 
Intenser  radiance  while  they  last ! 

Ev'n  he,  this  youth — though  dimm'd  and  gone 

Each  star  of  Hope  that  cheer'd  him  on — 

His  glories  lost — his  cause  betray'd — 

Iran,  his  dear-loved  country,  made 

A  land  of  carcasses  aud  slaves. 

One  dreary  waste  of  chains  and  graves  ! — 

Himself  but  ling'ring,  dead  at  heart. 

To  see  the  last,  long  struggling  breath 
Of  Liberty's  great  soul  depart, 

Then  lay  him  down  and  share  her  death — 
Ev'n  he,  so  sunk  in  wretchedness. 

With  doom  still  darker  gath'rmg  o'er  him, 
Yet,  in  this  moment's  pure  caress, 
In  the  mild  eyes  that  shone  before  him, 
Beaming  that  blest  assurance,  worth 
All  other  transports  known  on  earth. 
That  he  was  loved — well,  warmly  loved — 
Oh  !  in  this  precious  hour  he  proved 
How  deep,  how  thorough-felt  the  glow 
Of  rapture,  kindling  out  of  wo  ; — 
How  exquisite  one  single  drop 
Of  bliss,  thus  sparkling  to  the  top 
Of  mis'ry's  cup — how  keenly  qualTd, 
Though  death  must  follow  on  the  draught ! 

She,  too,  while  gazing  on  those  eyes 

That  sink  into  her  soul  so  deep. 
Forgets  all  fears,  all  miseries. 

Or  feels  them  hke  the  wretch  in  sleep, 
Whom  fancy  cheats  into  a  smile. 
Who  dreams  of  joy,  and  sobs  the  while  ! 
The  mighty  Ruins  where  they  stood. 

Upon  the  mount's  high,  rocky  verge. 
Lay  open  tow'rds  the  ocean  flood. 

Where  lightly  o'er  the  illumined  surge 
Many  a  fair  bark  that,  all  the  day. 
Had  lurk'd  ui  shelt'ring  creek  or  bay. 
Now  bounded  on,  and  gave  their  sails. 
Yet  dripping,  to  the  ev'ning  gales ; 
Like  eagles,  when  the  storm  is  done, 
Spreadmg  their  wet  wings  in  the  son 
The  beauteous  clouds,  though  daylight  Star 
Had  sunk  behmd  the  hills  of  Lar, 


33 


434                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Were  still  with  ling'ring  glories  bright, — 

"  Alike  beyond  its  hope — its  dread — 

As  if,  to  grace  the  gorgeous  West, 

"  In  gloomy  safety,  like  the  Dead  ! 

The  Spirit  of  departing  Light 

"  Or,  could  ev'n  earth  and  hell  unite 

Tliat  eve  had  left  his  sunny  vest 

"  In  league  to  storm  this  Sacred  Height, 

Behind  him,  ere  he  wing'd  his  flight. 

"  Fear  nothing  thou — myself,  to-night. 

Never  was  scene  so  form'd  for  love  ! 

"  And  each  o'erlooking  star  that  dwells 

Beneath  them  waves  of  cr>-stal  move 

"  Near  God,  will  be  thy  sentinels  ; — 

In  silent  swell — Heav'n  glows  above, 

"  And,  ere  to-morrow's  dawn  shall  glow. 

And  their  pure  hearts,  to  transport  giv'n. 

"  Back  to  thy  sire " 

Swell  like  the  wave,  and  glow  like  Heav'n. 

"  To-morrow  ! — no" — 

The  maiden  scream'd — "  thou'lt  never  see 

But  ah  !  too  soon  that  dream  is  past — 

"  To-morrow's  sun — death,  death  will  be 

Again,  again  lier  fear  returns  ; — 

"  The  night-ciy  through  each  reeking  tower, 

Night,  dreadful  night,  is  gath'ring  fast, 

"  Unless  we  fly,  ay,  fly  this  hour  ! 

More  faintly  the  horizon  burns, 

"  Thou  art  betray'd — some  wretch  who  knew 

And  every  rosy  tint  that  lay 

"  That  dreadful  ^'en's  mysterious  clew — 

On  the  smooth  sea  hath  died  away. 

"  Nay,  doubt  not — by  y;n  stars,  'tis  true — 

Hastily  to  the  dark'ning  skies 

"  Hath  sold  thee  to  my  vengeful  sire  ; 

A  glance  she  casts — then  wildly  cries 

"  This  morning,  with  that  smile  so  dire 

"  At  night,  he  said — and,  look,  'tis  near — 

"  He  wears  in  joy,  he  told  me  all. 

"  Fly,  fly— if  yet  thou  lov'st  me,  fly— 

"  And  stamp'd  in  triumph  through  our  hall. 

"  Soon  will  his  murd'rous  band  be  here. 

"  As  though  thy  heart  already  heat 

"  And  I  shall  see  thee  bleed  and  die. — 

"  Its  last  life-throb  beneath  his  feet ! 

"  Hush  ;  hcard'st  tliou  not  the  tramp  of  men 

"  Good  Heav'n,  how  little  dream'd  I  then 

"  Sounding  from  yonder  fearful  glen  ? — 

*'  His  victim  was  my  own  loved  youtli  1 — 

"  Periiaps  ev'n  now  they  climb  the  wood — 

*'  Fly — send — let  some  one  watch  the  glen — 

"  Fly,  fly — though  still  the  West  is  bright. 

"  By  all  my  hopes  of  heav'n  'tis  truth !" 

"  He'll  come — oh  1  yes — he  wauts  thy  blood — 

"  I  know  him — he'll  not  wait  for  night !" 

Oh !  colder  than  the  wind  that  freezes 

Founts,  that  but  now  in  sunshine  play'd 

In  terrors  ev'n  to  agony 

Is  that  congealing  pang  which  seizes 

She  clings  around  the  wond'ring  Chief ; — 

The  trusting  bosom,  when  betray'd. 

"  Alas,  poor  wilder'd  maid  !  to  me 

He  felt  it — deeply  felt — and  stood. 

"  Thou  ow'st  this  raving  trance  of  giicf. 

As  if  the  tale  had  froz'n  his  blood. 

"  Lost  as  I  am,  nauglit  ever  grew 

So  mazed  and  motionless  was  he  ; — 

"  Beneath  my  shade  but  perish'd  too — 

Like  one  whom  sudden  spells  enchant. 

"  My  doom  is  like  the  Dead  Sea  air, 

Or  some  mute,  maibia  habitant 

"  And  nothing  lives  that  enters  there '. 

Of  the  still  Halls  of  Isumoxie  !' 

"  Why  were  oiu  barks  together  driv'n 

"  Beneath  this  morning's  furious  heav'n  ? 

But  soon  the  pamful  chill  was  o'er. 

*'  Why,  when  I  saw  the  prize  that  chance 

And  his  great  soul,  herself  once  more. 

"  Had  tliroivn  into  my  de.sp'rate  arms, — 

Look'd  from  his  brow  in  all  the  rays 

"  Wlien,  casting  but  a  single  glance 

Of  her  best,  happiest,  grandest  days. 

"  Upon  thy  pale  and  prostrate  charms. 

Never,  in  moment  most  elate. 

"  I  vow'd  (though  watciiing  viewless  o'er 

Did  that  high  spirit  loftier  rise  ; — 

*'  Thy  safety  through  that  hour's  alarms) 

While  bright,  serene,  determinate, 

"  To  meet  tli'  unmanning  sight  no  more — 

His  looks  are  lifted  to  the  skies. 

"  Why  have  I  broke  that  heart-wrung  vow  ? 

As  if  the  signal  lights  of  Fate 

"  Why  weakly,  madly  met  thee  now  ? — 

Were  shining  in  those  awful  eyes  ! 

*'  Start  not — that  noise  is  but  the  shock 

'Tis  come — his  hour  of  martyrdom 

"  Of  torrents  through  yon  valley  hurl'd — 

In  Iran's  sacred  cause  is  come  ; 

"  Dread  nothing  here — upon  this  rock 

And,  though  his  life  hath  pass'd  away, 

"  We  stand  above  the  jarring  world, 

Like  lightoiug  on  a  stormy  day, 

For  an  account  of  Rimnnle,  the  petrified  city  ii-  Upper 

women,  &;c.,  to  be  seen  to  this  day.  see  Perry's  Firio  of  At 

Eg^-pt,  where,  il  is  said,    here  are  many  slalucs  of  men, 

Levant. 

LALLA 

ROOKH.                                                   435 

Yet  shall  his  death-hour  leave  a  track 

'■  If  in  that  soul  tliou'st  ever  felt 

Of  glory,  permanent  and  bright, 

"  Half  what  thy  lips  impassion'd  swore, 

To  wliich  the  bravo  of  after-times, 

"  Here,  on  my  knees  that  never  knelt 

The  sulfVing  bravo,  shall  long  look  back 

"  To  any  but  their  God  before. 

With  proud  regret, — and  by  its  light 

"  I  pray  thee,  as  thou  IcJv'st  me,  fly — 

"Watch  through  the  liours  of  slavery's  night 

"  Now,  now — ere  yet  their  blades  are  nigh 

Kor  vengeance  on  tli'  oppressor's  crimes. 

"  Oh  liastc — the  bark  that  bore  mo  hither 

This  rook,  his  monument  aloft, 

"  Can  waft  us  o'er  yon  dark'ning  sea, 

Sliall  speak  the  talc  to  many  an  age  ; 

*'  East — west — alas,  I  care  not  whither. 

And  hither  bards  and  heroes  oft 

"  So  thou  art  safe,  and  I  with  thee  ! 

Shall  come  in  secret  pilgrimage, 

"  Go  where  we  will,  this  hand  in  thine, 

And  bring  their  warrior  sons,  and  tell 

"  Those  eyes  before  me  smiling  thus, 

The  wond'ring  boys  where  Hafed  fell ; 

"  Through    good    and    ill,    tlirough    storm    and 

And  swear  them  on  those  lone  remains 

shine. 

Of  their  lost  countr)''s  ancient  fanes. 

"  The  world's  a  world  of  love  for  us  ! 

Never — while  breath  of  life  shall  live 

"  On  some  calm,  blessed  shore  we'll  dwell, 

Within  them — never  to  forgive 

"  Where  'tis  no  crime  to  love  too  well ; — 

Th'  accursed  race,  whose  ruthless  chain 

"  Where  thus  to  worship  tenderly 

Hath  left  on  Iran's  neck  a  stain 

"  An  erring  child  of  liglit  like  thee 

Blood,  blood  alone  can  cleanse  again  ! 

"  Will  not  be  sin — or,  if  it  be. 

"  Where  we  may  weep  our  faults  away. 

Such  are  the  swelling  tlioughts  that  now 

"  Together  kneeling,  night  and  day. 

Enthrone  themselves  on  Hafed's  brow ; 

"  Thou,  for  mi/  sake,  at  Alla's  shrine, 

And  ne'er  did  Saint  of  Issa'  gaze 

"  And  I — at  any  God's,  for  thine  !" 

On  the  red  wreath,  for  martyrs  twined, 

More  proudly  than  tlie  youth  sur-veys 

Wildly  these  passionate  words  she  spoke — 

That  pile,  which  througii  the  gloom  behind. 

Then  hung  her  head,  and  wept  for  shame  ; 

Half  lighted  by  tire  altar's  fire. 

Sobbing,  as  if  a  heart-string  broke 

Glimmers — his  destined  fimeral  pyre  ? 

With  every  deep-heaved  sob  that  came. 

Heap'd  by  his  own,  his  comrades'  hands, 

While  he,  young,  warm — oh  !  wonder  not 

Of  ev'iy  wood  of  odorous  breath. 

If,  for  a  moment,  pride  and  fame. 

There,  by  the  Fire-God's  shrino  it  stands, 

His  oath — his  cause — that  shrme  of  flame, 

Ready  to  fold  in  radiant  death 

And  Ira.n's  self  are  all  forgot 

The  few  still  left  of  those  who  swore 

For  her  whom  at  his  feet  he  sees 

To  perish  there,  when  hope  was  o'er— 

Kneeling  in  speechless  agonies. 

The  few,  to  whom  that  couch  of  flame, 

No,  blame  him  not,  if  Hope  awhile 

Which  rescues  them  from  bonds  and  shame, 

Dawn'd  in  his  soul,  and  threw  her  smile 

Is  sweet  and  welcome  as  the  bed 

O'er  hours  to  come — o'er  days  and  nights. 

For  their  own  infant  Prophet  spread, 

Wing'd  with  those  precious,  pure  delights 

When  pitying  Heav'n  to  roses  tum'd 

Which  she,  who  bends  all  beauteous  there, 

The  death-flames  that  beneath  liim  bm'n'd  I" 

Was  born  to  kindle  and  to  share. 

A  tear  or  two,  which,  as  he  bow'd 

With  watchfulness  the  maid  attends 

To  raise  the  suppliant,  trembling  stole. 

His  rapid  glance,  where'er  it  bends — 

Fii*st  warn'd  him  of  this  duug'rous  cloud 

Why  shoot  his  eyes  such  awful  beams  ? 

Of  softness  passing  o'er  his  soul. 

What  plans  he  now  ?  what  thinlis  or  dreams  ? 

Starting,  he  brush'd  tlie  drops  away, 

Alas  !  why  stands  he  musing  here, 

Unworthy  o'er  that  cheek  to  stray ; — 

When  ev'ry  moment  teems  with  fear  ? 

Like  one  who,  on  the  morn  of  fight, 

"  Hafed,  my  own  beloved  Lord," 

Shakes  from  his  sword  the  dews  of  night. 

She  kneehug  cries — "  first,  last  adored ! 

That  had  but  dimm'd,  not  staiu'd  its  Ught. 

1  Jesus. 

Dion  Prusausy  Orat.  30,  that  the  love  of  wisdom  and  virtno 

2  The  Ghebers  say  that  when  Abraham,  their  great  Pro- 

leading him  to  a  solitary-  life  upon  a  monntain,  he  found  it 

phet,  was  thrown  into  the  fire  by  order  of  Nimroii.  the  flame 

one  day  all  in  a  flame,  shining  with  celestial  tire,  ont  of 

turned  instantly  into  ''  a  bed  of  roses,  where  the  child  sweet- 

which he  came  without  any  harm,  and  instituted  certain 

ly  reposed." — Tavernicr. 

sacrifices  to  God,  who.  he  declared,  tlien  appeared  tp  him." 

Of  tlieir  other  Prophet,  Zoroaster,  there  is  a  story  told  in 

—Vide  Patrick  on  Exodus,  iii.  2. 

436 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Yet,  tliough  subdued  th'  unnerving  thriJI, 
Its  warmth,  its  weakness,  linger'd  still 

So  touching  in  its  look  and  tone, 
That  the  fond,  fearing,  hoping  maid 
Half  counted  on  the  flight  she  pray'd, 

Half  tliought  the  hero's  soul  was  grown 

As  soft,  as  yielding  as  her  own, 
And  smiled  and  bless'd  him,  while  lie  said, 
"'Ves — if  there  be  some  happier  sphere, 
"  Where  fadeless  truth  like  oiu-s  is  dear, — 
"  If  there  be  any  laud  of  rest 

"  For  those  who  love  and  ne'er  forget, 
"  Oh  I  comfort  thee — for  safe  and  bless'd 

"  We'll  meet  in  tliat  calm  region  yet !" 

Scarce  had  she  time  to  ask  her  heart 
If  good  or  ill  these  words  impart, 
When  the  roused  youth  impatient  flew 
To  the  tow'r-wall,  where,  high  in  view, 
A  pond'rous  sea-hom*  hung,  and  blew 
A  signal,  deep  and  dread  as  tiiose 
The  storm-fiend  at  his  rising  blows. — 
Full  well  his  Chieftains,  sworn  and  true 
Througli  life  and  death,  tliat  signal  knew  ; 
For  'twas  th'  appointed  warning  blast, 
Th'  alann,  to  tell  when  liope  was  past, 
And  the  tremendous  death-die  cast ! 
And  there,  upon  the  mould'ring  tow'r, 
Hath  hung  this  sea-horn  many  an  hour, 
Ready  to  sound  o'er  laud  and  sea 
That  dirge-note  of  the  brave  and  free 

They  came — his  Cliieftains  at  the  call 
Came  slowly  round,  and  with  them  all — 
Alas,  how  few  ! — the  worn  remains 
Of  those  who  late  o'er  Kerm.4n's  plains 
Went  gayly  prancing  to  the  clash 

Of  Moorish  zel  and  tymbalon, 
Catching  new  hope  from  every  flash 

Of  their  long  lances  in  the  sun, 
And,  as  their  coursers  charged  the  wind. 
And  the  white  ox-tails  stream'd  behind,' 
Looking,  as  if  the  steeds  they  rode 
Were  wing'd,  and  every  Chief  a  God ! 
How  fall'n,  how  alter'd  now  !  how  wan 
Each  scarr'd  and  faded  visage  shone 
As  round  the  burning  shrine  they  came  ;— 

How  deadly  was  the  glare  it  cast, 
As  mute  they  paused  before  tlie  flame 

To  light  their  torches  as  they  pass'd  I 
'Twas  silence  all — the  youth  had  plann'd 
The  duties  of  liis  soldier-band  ; 

»  "The  shell  called  Siiankos,  common  to  India,  Africa, 
and  the  Mediterranean,  and  still  used  in  many  parts  as  a 
tninipet  lor  blowing  alarms  or  giving  signals  ;  it  sends  forth 
a  deep  and  hollow  sound." — Pennant. 

•  "The  finest  ornament  for  the  horses  is  made  of  six  large 


And  each  determined  brow  declares 
His  faithful  Chieftains  well  know  theirs. 

But  minutes  speed — night  gems  the  skies— 
And  oh,  how  soon,  ye  blessed  eyes, 
That  look  from  heaven,  ye  may  behold 
Sights  that  will  turn  your  star-fires  cold  I 
Breathless  with  awe,  impatience,  hope, 
The  maiden  sees  the  veteran  group 
Iltr  litter  silently  prepare. 

And  lay  it  at  her  trembling  feet  ,— 
And  now  the  youtli,  with  gentle  care. 

Hath  placed  her  in  the  shelter'd  seat, 
And  press'd  her  hano — that  ling'ring  press 

Of  hands,  tiiat  for  tlie  last  time  sever  ; 
Of  hearts,  whose  pulse  of  happiness,    - 

When  that  hold  breaks,  is  dead  forever. 
And  yet  to  her  this  sad  caress 

Gives  hope — so  fondly  hope  can  err  I 
'Twas  joy,  she  thought,  joy's  mute  excess — 

Their  happy  flight's  dear  harbinger  ; 
'Twas  warmtli — assurance — tenderness — 

'Twas  any  thing  but  leaving  her. 

"  Haste,  haste  !"  she  cried,  "  the  clouds  grow  dark, 
"  But  still,  ere  night,  we'll  reach  the  bark  ; 
"  And  by  to-morrow's  dawn — oh  bliss  ! 

"  With  thee  upon  the  sun-bright  deep, 
"  Far  off,  I'll  but  remember  tliis, 

"  As  some  dark  vanish'd  dream  of  sleep  ; 
"  And  thou "  but  ah  .' — he  answers  not — 

Good  Heav'n  I — and  does  she  go  alone  ? 
She  now  has  reach'd  that  dismal  spot, 

Where,  some  hours  since,  his  voice's  tone 
Had  come  to  sooth  her  fears  and  ills. 
Sweet  as  the  angel  Israfil's,' 
When  every  leaf  on  Eden's  tree 
Is  trembling  to  his  minstrelsy — 
Yet  now — oh,  now,  he  is  not  nigh. — 

"  Hafed  !  my  Hafed  I — if  it  be 
"  Tliy  will,  thy  doom  this  night  to  die, 

"  Let  mo  but  stay  to  die  with  thee, 
"  And  I  will  bless  thy  loved  name, 
"  Till  the  last  life-breath  leave  this  frame. 
"  Oh  I  let  our  lips,  our  cheeks  be  laid 
"  But  near  each  other  while  they  fade  ; 
"  Let  us  but  mi.x  our  parting  breaths, 
"  And  I  can  die  ten  thousand  deaths  ! 
"  You  too,  who  hurry  me  away 
"  So  cruelly,  one  moment  stay — 

"  Oh  !  stay — one  moment  is  not  much^ 

flying  tassels  of  long  white  hair, token  ont  of  the  tails  of 
wild  oxen,  that  are  to  be  found  in  some  places  of  the  la- 
dies."—  Thevenot. 

*  "  The  angel  Israfil,  who  has  the  most  melodious  voico 
of  all  God's  creatures." — Sale. 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


437 


*'  He  yet  may  come — for  hiin  I  pray — 
"  Hafed  I  dear  Hafed  1" — all  the  way 

In  wild  luracHtiiigs,  that  would  touch 
A  heart  of  stoue,  she  shriek'd  his  name 
To  the  dark  woods — no  IIafed  came  : — 
No — hapless  pair — you've  look'd  your  last : — 

Your  hearts  should  both  have  broken  then 
The  dream  is  o'er — your  doom  is  cast — 

You'll  never  meet  on  earth  again  I 

Alas  for  him,  who  hears  her  cries ! 

Still  half-way  down  the  steep  he  stands, 
Watching  with  fix'd  and  feverish  eyes 

The  glimmer  of  those  burning  brands, 
That  down  the  rocks,  with  mournful  ray, 
Light  all  he  loves  on  earth  away  1 
Hopeless  as  they  who,  far  at  sea. 

By  the  cold  moon  have  just  consign'd 
The  corse  of  one,  loved  tenderly, 

To  the  bleak  flood  they  leave  behind  ; 
And  on  the  deck  still  ling'riug  stay. 
And  long  look  back,  with  sad  delay, 
To  watch  the  moonlight  on  the  wave, 
That  ripples  o'er  that  cheerless  grave. 

But  see — he  starts — what  heard  he  then  1 
That  dreadful  shout ! — across  the  glen 
From  tlie  laud-side  it  comes,  and  loud 
Rings  through  the  chasm  ;  as  if  the  crowd 
Of  fearful  things,  that  haunt  that  dell, 
Its  Gholes  and  Dives  and  shapes  of  hell, 
Had  all  in  one  dread  howl  broke  out, 
So  loud,  so  terrible  that  shout ! 
"  They  come — the  Moslems  come  !" — he  cries, 
His  proud  soul  mounting  to  his  eyes, — 
"  Now,  Spirits  of  the  Brave,  who  roam 
•'  Enfrauchised  tlirough  yon  starry  dome, 
*'  Rejoice — for  souls  of  kindred  fire 
"  Are  on  the  wing  to  join  your  choir !" 
He  said — and,  light  as  bridegrooms  bound 

To  their  young  loves,  reclimb'd  the  steep 
And  gain'd  the  Slirine — -his  Chiefs  stood  round — 

Their  swords,  as  with  instinctive  leap, 
Together,  at  that  cry  accursed. 
Had  from  their  sheaths,  like  sunbeams,  burst 
And  hark  ! — again — again  it  rings  ; 
Near  and  more  near  its  echoiugs 
Peal  through  the  ch^sm — oh  !  who  that  then 
Had  seen  those  list'uing  warri.r-men, 
With  their  swords  grasp'd,  their  eyes  of  flame 
Turn'd  on  their  Ciiief — could  doubt  the  shame, 
Th'  indignant  shame  with  which  they  thrill 
To  hear  those  shouts,  and  yet  stand  still  ? 

He  read  their  thoughts — they  were  his  own — 
"  What !  while  our  anns  can  wield  these  blades, 


"  Shall  we  die  tamely  ?  die  alone  ? 

"  Without  one  victim  to  our  shades, 
'*  One  Moslem  heart,  where,  buried  deep, 
"  The  sabre  from  its  toil  may  sleep  ? 
"  No — God  of  Iran's  burning  skies  ! 
*'  Thou  scorn'st  tli'  inglorious  sacrifice, 
"  No — though  of  all  earth's  hope  bereft, 
"  Life,  swords,  and  vengeance  still  are  left. 
"  We'll  make  yon  valley's  reeking  caves 

"  Live  in  the  awe-struck  minds  of  men, 
"  Till  tyrants  shudder,  when  their  slaves 

"  Tell  of  the  Glieber's  bloody  glen. 
"  Follow,  brave  hearts  I — this  pile  remains 
"  Our  refuge  still  from  life  and  chains  ; 
"  But  his  the  best,  the  holiest  bed, 
"  Who  sinlcs  entomb'd  'in  Moslem  dead  !" 

Down  the  precipitous  rocks  they  sprung, 
While  vigor,  more  than  human,  strung 
Each  arm  and  heart — Th'  exultmg  foe 
Still  through  the  dark  defiles  below, 
Track'd  by  his  torches'  lurid  fire. 

Wound  slow,  as  through  Golconda's  vale' 
The  mighty  serpent,  in  his  ire. 

Glides  on  with  glitt'ring,  deadly  trail. 
No  torch  the  Ghebers  need — so  well 
They  know  each  myst'ry  of  the  dell. 
So  oft  have,  in  their  wanderings, 
Cross'd  the  wild  race  that  round  them  dwell, 

The  very  tigers  from  their  delves 
Look  out,  and  let  them  pass,  as  things 

Untamed  and  fearless  like  themselves  ! 

There  was  a  deep  ravine,  that  lay 

Yet  darkling  in  the  Moslem's  way  ; 

Fit  spot  to  make  invaders  rue 

The  many  fall'n  before  the  few. 

The  torrents  from  that  morning's  sky 

Had  fill'd  the  narrow  chasm  breast-high. 

And,  on  each  side,  aloft  and  wild, 

Huge  cliffs  and  toppling  crags  were  piled, — 

The  guards  witli  which  young  Freedom  lines 

The  pathways  to  her  mountain-shrines. 

Here,  at  this  pass,  the  scanty  band 

Of  Iran's  last  avengers  stand  ; 

Here  wait,  in  silence  like  the  dead. 

And  listen  for  the  Moslem's  tread 

So  anxiously,  the  carrion-bird 

Above  them  flaps  his  wing  unheard  I 

They  come — that  plunge  into  the  water 
Gives  signal  for  the  work  of  slaughter. 
Now,  Ghebers,  now — if  e'er  your  blades 

Had  point  or  prowess,  prove  them  now — 
Wo  to  the  file  that  foremost  wades  ! 

They  come — a  falchion  greets  each  brow, 

1  See  Uoole  upon  the  Slory  of  Sinbad. 


438                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

And,  as  tliey  tumble,  trunk  on  trunk, 

And,  as  a  lion  swept  away 

Beneath  tlie  gory  waters  sunk, 

By  stidden  swell  of-TonDAN's  pride 

Still  o'er  their  drowning  bodies  press 

From  the  wild  covert  where  he  lay,' 

New  victims  quick  and  numberless  ; 

Long  battles  with  th'  o'erwhelming  tide, 

Till  scarce  an  arm  in  Hafed's  band. 

So  fought  he  back  with  fierce  delay. 

.So  fierce  their  toil,  hath  power  to  stir, 

And  kept  both  foes  and  fate  at  bay. 

But  listless  from  each  crimson  hand 

• 

Tlie  sword  hangs,  clogg'd  with  massacre 

But  whither  now?  their  track  is  lost. 

Never  was  horde  of  tyrants  met 

Their  prey  escaped — guide,  torches  gone — 

With  bloodier  welcome — never  yet 

By  torrent-beds  and  labyrinths  cross'd. 

To  patriot  vengeance  hath  the  sword 

The  scatter'd  crowd  rush  blindly  on — 

More  terrible  libations  pour'd  ! 

"  Curse  on  those  tardy  lights  that  wind," 

They  panting  cry,  "  so  far  behind  ; 

All  up  the  dreary,  long  ravine. 

"  Oh  for  a  bloodliound's  precious  scent, 

By  the  red,  murky  glimmer  seen 

"  To  track  the  way  the  Gheber  went !" 

Of  half-quencli'd  brands,  that  o'er  the  flood 

Vain  wish — confusedly  along 

Lie  scattered  round  and  burn  in  blood. 

They  rush,  more  desp'rate  as  more  wrong: 

AVhat  ruin  glares  !  what  carnage  swims  ! 

Till,  wildcr'd  by  the  far-ofl"  lights, 

Heads,  blazing  turbans,  quiv'ring  limbs, 

Yet  glitt'ring  up  those  gloomy  heights. 

Lost  swords  that,  dropp'd  from  many  a  hand^ 

Their  footing,  mazed  and  lost,  they  miss. 

In  that  thick  pool  of  slaughter  stand  ; — 

And  down  the  darkling  precipice 

Wretches  who  wading,  half  on  fire 

Are  dash'd  into  the  deep  abyss  ; 

From  the  toss'd  brands  that  round  them  fly 

Or  midway  hang,  iiupaled  on  rocks, 

'Twixt  flood  and  flame  in  shrieks  expire  ; — 

A  banquet,  yet  alive,  for  flocks 

And  some  who,  grasp'd  by  those  that  die, 

Of  rav'ning  vultures, — while  the  dell 

Sink  woundless  with  them,  smother'd  o'er 

Re-echoes  with  each  horrid  yell. 

la  their  dead  brethren's  gushing  gore  ! 

Those  sounds — the  last,  to  vengeance  dear. 

But  vainly  hundreds,  thonsands  bleed, 

That  e'er  shall  ring  in  Hafed's  ear, — 

Still  hundreds,  thousands  more  succeed  ; 

Now  reacli'd  him,  as  aloft,  alone. 

Countless  as  tow'rds  some  flame  at  night 

Upon  the  steep  way  breathless  thrown. 

The  North's  dark  insects  wing  their  flight. 

He  lay  beside  his  reeking  blade. 

And  quench  or  perish  in  its  liglit. 

Resigned,  as  if  life's  task  were  o'er. 

To  this  terrific  spot  they  pour — 

Its  last  blood-oliering  amply  paid. 

Till,  bridged  with  Moslem  bodies  o'er, 

And  Iran's  self  could  claim  no  more. 

It  bears  aloft  their  slipp'iy  tread. 

One  only  thought,  one  ling'ring  beam 

And  o'er  the  dying  and  the  dead, 

Now  broke  across  his  dizzy  dream 

;        Tremendous  causeway  !  on  they  pass. — 

Of  pain  and  weariness — 'twas  she. 

Then,  hapless  Ghebere,  then,  alas, 

His  heart's  pure  planet,  shining  yet 

Wliat  hope  was  left  for  you  ?  for  you, 

Above  the  waste  of  memory. 

Whose  yet  warm  pile  of  sacrifice 

AVIien  all  life's  other  lights  were  set. 

Is  sraokiug  in  their  vengeful  eyes  ; — 

And  never  to  his  mind  before 

\yhose  swords  how  keen,  how  fierce  they  knew, 

Her  image  such  enchantment  wore. 

And  burn  with  shame  to  find  how  few  ? 

It  seem'd  as  if  each  thought  that  staiii'd. 

Each  fear  that  chiU'd  their  loves  was  past, 

Crush'd  dowu  by  that  vast  multitude. 

And  not  one  cloud  of  earth  remuin'd 

Some  found  their  graves  where  first  tliey  stood  ; 

Between  him  and  her  radiance  cttst ; — 

While  some  with  hardier  struggle  died, 

As  if  to  charms,  before  so  bright. 

And  still  fought  on  by  Hafed's  side, 

N^w  grace  from  other  worlds  was  giv'u. 

Who,  fronting  to  the  foe,  trod  back 

And  his  soul  saw  her  by  the  light 

Tow'rds  the  high  towors  liis  gory  track  ; 

Now  breaking  o'er  itself  from  heav*n  ! 

1  '■  In  this  thjckel  upon  the  banks  of  the  Jordan  several 

river,  gave  occasion  to  that  allusion  of  Jeremiah,  he  shall 

!    sorts  of  wilj  beasts  are  wont  to  harbor  themselves,  whose 

come  vp  tike  a  lion  from  the  swelling  of  Jordan.''^ — J^aitn- 

being  washed  out  of  the  covert  by  the  ovcrHowings  of  the 
1 

drelt's  Aleppo. 

LALLA  ROOKH.                                                 439 

A  Toieo  spoke  near  him^'twas  the  tone 

Confided  to  the  watchful  care 

Of  a  loved  friend,  tlio  only  one 

Of  a  small  veteran  band,  with  whom 

Of  all  his  warriors,  left  with  life 

Tlieir  gen'rous  Chieftain  would  not  share 

From  that  short  night's  tremendous  strife. — 

Tho  secret  of  his  fiui  doom. 

"  And  must  we  then,  my  Chief,  die  here  1 

But  hoped  when  Hinda,  ^afe  and  free, 

"  Foes  round  us,  and  the  Shrine  so  near !" 

Was  render'd  to  her  father's  eyes, 

These  wgrds  have  roused  the  last  remains 

Their  pardon,  full  and  prompt,  would  be 

Of  life  within  him — "  What !  not  yet 

I'iie  ransom  of  so  dear  a  prize. — 

"  Beyond  the  reach  of  Moslem  chains  !" 

Unconscious,  thus,  of  Hafed's  fate. 

The  thought  could  make  ev'n  Death  forget 

And  proud  to  guard  their  beauteous  freight. 

His  icy  hondage — with  a  hound 

Scarce  had  they  clear'd  the  surfy  waves 

He  springs,  all  bleeding,  from  the  gromid, 

That  foam  around  those  frightfid  caves. 

And  grasps  his  comrade's  ami,  now  growu 

When  the  cursed  war-whoops,  known  so  well, 

Ev'n  feebler,  heavier  than  his  own. 

Camo  echoing  from  the  distant  dell — 

And  up  the  painful  pathway  leads. 

Sudden  eacii  oar,  upheld  and  still. 

Death  gaining  on  each  step  he  treads. 

Hung  dripping  o'er  the  vessel's  side, 

Speed     them,    thou    God,    wiio    heardst    their 

And,  driving  at  the  current's  will. 

vow  ! 

They  rock'd  along  the  whisp'riug  tide  ; 

They  mount — they  bleed — oh  save  them  now — ' 

Wliile  every  eye,  in  mute  dismay, 

The  crags  are  red  they've  clamber'd  o'er. 

Was  tow'rd  that  fatal  mountain  tum'd, 

The  rock-weed's  dripping  with  their  gore  ; — 

Where  the  dim  altar's  quiv'ring  ray 

Thy  blade  too,  Hafkd,  false  at  length, 

As  yet  all  lone  and  tranquil  burn'd. 

Now  breaks  beneath  tliy  tott'ring  strength  ! 

Haste,  haste — the  voices  of  the  Foe 

Oh  !  'tis  not,  Hixda,  in  the  pow'r 

Come  near  and  nearer  from  below — 

Of  Fancy's  most  terrific  touch 

One  effort  more — thauk  Heav'n  1  'tis  past, 

To  paint  tliy  pangs  in  that  dread  hour — 

They've  gain'd  the  topmost  steep  at  last. 

Thy  silent  agony — 'twas  such 

Arid  now  they  touch  the  temple's  walls. 

As  those  who  feel  could  paint  too  well, 

Now  H.iFED  sees  the  Fire  divine — 

But  none  e'er  felt  and  lived  to  tell ! 

When,  lo  ! — his  weak,  worn  comrade  falls 

'Twas  not  alone  the  dreary  state 

Dead  on  the  threshold  of  the  Shrine. 

Of  a  lorn  spirit,  crush'd  by  fate. 

"  Alas,  brave  soul,  too  quickly  fled  ! 

When,  though  no  more  remains  to  dread. 

"  And  must  I  leave  thee  with'ring  here, 

The  panic  chill  will  not  depart ; — 

"  The  sport  of  every  ruffian's  tread. 

When,  though  the  inmate  Hope  be  dead. 

"  The  mark  for  every  coward's  spear  ? 

Her  ghost  still  haunts  the  mould'ring  heart ; 

"  No,  by  yon  altar's  sacred  beams  I" 

No — pleasures,  hopes,  affections  gone. 

He  cries,  and,  with  a  strength  that  seems 

The  wretch  may  bear,  and  yet  live  on. 

Not  of  tliis  world,  uplifts  the  frame 

Like  things,  within  the  cold  rock  found 

Of  the  fall'n  Chief,  and  tow'rds  the  flame 

Alive,  when  all's  congeal'd  around. 

Bears  him  along  ; — with  death-damp  hand 

But  there's  a  blank  repose  in  this. 

The  corpse  upon  tiie  pyre  he  lays. 

A  calm  stagnation,  tliat  were  bliss 

Then  lights  the  consecrated  brand. 

To  tho  keen,  burning,  han'owing  pain, 

And  tires  the  pile,  whose  sudden  blaze 

Now  felt  through  all  thy  breast  and  brain  ; — 

Like  lightning  bursts  o'er  0.m.\n's  Sea. — 

That  spasm  of  terror,  mute,  intense. 

"  Now,  Freedom's  God  !  I  come  to  Thee," 

That  breathless,  agonized  supense. 

The  youth  exclaims,  and  with  a  smile 

From  whose  hot  throb,  whose  deadly  aching. 

Of  triumph  vaulting  on  the  pile, 

The  heart  hath  no  relief  but  breaking  ! 

In  that  last  clTort,  ere  the  fires 

Have  harm'd  one  glorious  limb,  expires ! 

Calm  is  the  wave — heav'n's  brilliant  lights 

Reflected  dance  beneath  the  prow  ; 

Wiat  shriek  was  that  on  0.man's  tide  ? 

Time  was  when,  on  such  lovely  nights, 

It  came  from  yonder  drifting  bark, 

She  who  is  there,  so  desolate  now. 

That  just  hath  caught  upon  her  side 

Could  sit  all  cheerful,  though  alone. 

The  death-light — and  again  is  dark. 

And  ask  no  happier  joy  than  seeing 

It  is  the  boat — ah,  why  delay'd  ? — 

That  starlight  o'er  the  waters  thrown— 

That  bears  the  wretched  Moslem  maid  ; 

No  joy  but  tliat,  to  make  her  blest. 

440 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  tlie  fresh,  buoyant  sense  of  Being, 
Whicli  bounds  in  youtli's  yet  careless  breast, — 
Itself  a  star,  not  borrowing  liglit. 
But  in  its  own  glad  essence  bright. 
How  diiFerent  now  ! — but,  hark,  again 
The  yell  of  havoc  rings — brave  men  ! 
In  vain,  with  beating  hearts,  ye  stand 
On  the  bark's  edge — iu  vain  each  hand 
Half  di'aws  the  falchion  from  its  slieath  ; 

All's  o'er — in  rust  your  blades  may  lie  : — 
He,  at  whose  word  they've  scatter'd  death, 

Ev'n  now,  tliis  niglit,  himself  must  die  ! 
Well  may  ye  look  to  yon  dim  tower, 

And  ask,  and  wond'ring  guess  what  means 
The  battle-cry  at  this  dead  hour — 

All !  she  could  tell  you — she,  who  leans 
Unheeded  there,  pale,  sunk,  aghast, 
With  brow  against  the  dew-cold  mast ; — 

Too  well  she  knows — her  more  than  life, 
Her  soul's  first  idol  and  its  last. 

Lies  bleeding  in  that  murd'rous  strife. 

But  see — what  moves  upon  the  height  ? 
Some  signal ! — 'tis  a  torch's  light. 

What  bodes  its  solitaiy  glare  ? 
In  gasping  silence  tow'rd  the  Shrine 
All  eyes  are  turn'd — thine,  Hinda,  thine 

Fix  their  last  fading  life-beams  there. 
'Twas  but  a  moment — fierce  and  high 
The  deatli-pile  blazed  into  the  sky. 
And  far  away,  o'er  rock  and  flood 

Its  melancholy  radiance  sent ; 
While  Hafed,  like  a  vision  stood 
Reveal'd  before  the  burning  pyre, 
Tall,  shadowy,  like  a  Spirit  of  Fire 

Shrined  iu  its  own  grand  element ! 
"  'Tis  ho  I" — the  shudd'ring  maid  e.vclaims,— 

But,  wliile  she  .speaks,  he's  seen  no  more  ; 
High  burst  in  air  the  funeral  flames, 

And  Iran's  hopes  and  iiers  are  o'er ! 

One  wild,  heart-broken  sliriek  she  gave  ; 
Then  sprung,  as  if  to  reach  that  blaze, 
Where  still  she  fix'd  her  dying  gaze, 

And,  gazing,  sunk  into  the  wave, — 
Deep,  deep,— where  never  care  or  pain 
Shall  reach  her  innocent  heart  again  ! 


Farewell — farewell  to  thee,  Araby's  daughter  I 
(Thus  warbled  a  Peki  beneath  the  dark  sea,) 

1  "This  wind  (the  Panioor)  so  softens  the  strings  of  lutes, 
that  they  can  never  be  tuned  while  it  lasts  "— Sfq»/ien'« 
Pcrjia. 

a  "  One  of  the  greatest  curiosities  found  in  the  Persian 
Gulf  is  a  fish  which  the  EngUsli  call  Star-lish.  It  is  circu- 
lar, and  at  night  very  linninous,  resembling  the  full  moon 
surrounded  by  rays." — Mirza  ^bu  Talcb. 

3  For  a  description  of  the  merriment  of  the  date-time,  of 


No  pearl  ever  lay,  under  Oman's  green  water. 
More  pure  in  its  shell  than  thy  Spirit  in  thee 

Oh  I  fair  as  the  sea-flower  close  to  thee  growing, 
How  light  was  thy  heart  till  Love's  witchery  came, 

Like  the  wiud  of  the  soutli'  o'er  a  summer  lute 
blowing. 
And  hush'd  all  its  music,  and  wither'd  its  frame  ! 

But  long,  upon  Araby's  green  sunny  highlands, 
Shall  maids  and  their  lovers  remember  the  doom 

Of  her,  who  lies  sleeping  among  the  Pearl  Islands, 
With   naught   but  the  sea-star^  to  light  up  her 
tomb. 

And  still,  when  the  merry  date-season  is  burning,' 
And  calls  i;  *he  palm-groves  the  yomig  and  the 
old. 

The  happiest  there,  from  {heir  pastime  returning 
At  sunset,  will  weep  when  thy  story  is  told. 

The  young  village-maid,   when   with   flow'rs  Lt.e 
dresses 

Her  dark  flowing  hair  for  some  festival  day, 
Will  think  of  thy  fate  till,  neglecting  her  tresses. 

She  mournfully  turns  from  the  mirror  away. 

Nor  shall  Iran,  beloved  of  her  Hero  !  forget  tliee — 
Though  tyrants  watch  over  her  tears  as  they  start. 

Close,  close  by  the  side  of  that  Hero  she'll  set  thee, 
Embalm'd  in  the  innermost  shrine  of  her  I'leart. 

Farewell — be  it  ours  to  embellish  thy  pillow 

With  cv'ry  thing  beauteous  that  grows  in  tlie 
deep  ; 

Each  flow'r  of  the  rock  and  each  gem  of  the  billow 
Shall  sweeten  thy  bed  and  illumine  thy  sleep. 

Around  thee  shall  glisten  the  loveliest  amber 
That  ever  the  sorrowing  sea-bird  has  wept  ;* 

With  many  a  shell,  in  whose  hollow-wreath'd  cham- 
ber. 
We,  Peris  of  Ocean,  by  moonlight  have  slept. 

We'll  dive  where  the  gardens  of  coral  lie  darkling. 
And  plant  all  the  rosiest  stems  at  thy  head  ; 

We'll  seek  where  the  sands  of  the  Caspian'  are 
sparkling. 
And  gatlier  their  gold  to  strew  over  thy  bed. 

their  work,  their  dances,  and  their  return  home  from  the 
palm-groves  at  the  end  of  autumn  with  the  fruits. — See 
Kcmpfer,  JimfEnitut.  Exot.  , 

*  Some  naturalists  have  imagined  that  amber  is  a  concre- 
tion of  the  tears  of  birds. — See  Trcvouz,  Chambers. 

*  "The  bay  Kieselarke,  which  is  otherwise  called  the 
Golden  Bay,  the  sand  whereof  shines  as  fire."— Sfrwy. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


441 


Furewell — farewell — until  Pity's  sweet  fountalu 
Is  lost  in  tiie  hearts  of  the  fair  and  the  brave, 

They'll  \veep  for  the   Chieftain  who  died  on  that 
mountain, 
They'll  weep  for  the  Maiden  who  sleeps  in  this 


TiiE  singular  placidity  with  which  Fadladee?! 
had  listened,  during  the  latter  part  of  tliis  obnoxious 
story,  surprised  the  Princess  and  Feramorz  exceed- 
ingly ;  and  even  inclined  towards  him  the  hearts  of 
these  unsuspicious  young  persons,  who  little  Itnew 
the  source  of  a  complacency  so  marvellous.  The 
truth  was,  he  had  been  organizing,  for  the  last  few 
days,  a  most  notable  plan  of  persecution  against 
the  poet,  in  consequence  of  some  passages  that 
had  fallen  from  him  on  the  second  evening  of  re- 
cital,— which  appeared  to  this  worthy  Chamberlain 
to  contain  language  and  principles,  for  which  nothing 
short  of  the  summary  criticism  of  the  Chabuk' would 
be  advisable.  It  was  his  intention,  therefore,  imme- 
diately on  tlieir  arrival  at  Cashmere,  to  give  infor- 
mation to  the  King  of  Bucharia  of  the  very  danger- 
ous sentiments  of  his  minstrel ;  and  tf,  unfortuuatel}', 
that  monarch  did  not  act  with  suitable  vigor  on  the 
occasion,  (that  is,  if  he  did  not  give  the  Chabuk  to 
Feramorz,  and  a  place  to  Fadladeen,)  there  would 
be  an  end,  he  feared,  of  all  legitimate  government 
in  Bucharia.  He  could  not  help,  however,  augur- 
ing better  both  for  himself  and  tlie  cause  of  poten- 
tates in  general ;  and  it  was  the  pleasiue  arising 
from  these  mingled  anticipations  that  diffused  such 
unusual  satisfaction  through  his  features,  and  made 
his  eyes  shine  out  like  poppies  of  the  desert,  over  tho 
wide  and  lifeless  wilderness  of  that  countenance. 

Having  decided  upon  the  Poet's  chastisement  in 
this  manner,  he  thought  it  but  humanity  to  spare 
him  the  minor  tortures  of  criticism.  Accordingly, 
when  they  assembled  the  following  evening  in  the 


1  "The  application  of  whips  or  rods." — Dubois. 

3  Kenipfer  menlions  such  an  officer  among  the  attendants 
of  the  King  of  Persia,  and  calls  him  "  forniEe  corporis  esti- 
mator." His  business  was,  at  stated  periods,  to  measure  the 
ladies  of  the  Haram  by  a  sort  of  regulation-girdle,  whose 
Umits  it  was  ntil  thuught  graceful  to  exceed.  Ifany  of  them 
outgrew  this  st^indard  of  shape,  Ihey  were  reduced  by  absti- 
nence till  thpy  came  within  proper  hounds. 

3  The  Attock. 

"Akbar  nn  his  way  ordered  a  fort  to  be  built  upon  the 
Kilab,  which  he  called  Attock,  which  means  in  the  Indian 
language  Forbidden  ;  for,  by  the  superstition  of  the  Hindoos, 
it  was  held  unlawful  to  cross  that  river." — Dow's  Hindostan. 


pavilion,  atid  Lalla  Rookh  was  cxpfc'cting  to  see  all 
the  beauties  of  her  bai'd  melt  away,  ono  by  one,  in 
the  acidity  of  criticism,  like  pearls  in  tho  cup  of  the 
Egyptian  queen, — lie  agreeably  disappointed  her,  by 
merely  saying,  with    an    ironical    smile,  that    the    I 
merits  of  such  a  poem  deserved  to  be  tried  at  a  much    ! 
higher  tribunal ;  and  then  suddenly  passed  off  into 
a  panegyric  upon  all  Mussulman  sovereigns,  more 
particularly  his  august   and   Imperial  master,  Au- 
rnngzebe, — the  wisest  and  best  of  the  descendants    I 
of  Timiu' — who,  among  other  great  tilings  he  had 
done  for  mankind,  had   given  to  him,  Fauladeen, 
tho  ver)' profitable  posts  of  Betel-carrier,  and  Taster 
of  Sherbets  to  the  Emperor,  Chief  Holder  of  the 
Girdle  of   Beautiful  Forms,^  and  Grand  Nazir,  or    j 
Chamberlain  of  the  HarauL 

They  were  now  not  far  from  that  Forbidden 
River,^  beyond  which  no  pure  Hindoo  ct  a  pass ; 
and  were  reposing  for  a  time  in  the  rich  valley  of 
Hussun  Abdaul,  which  had  always  been  a  favorite 
resting-place  of  the  Emperors  in  their  annual  migra- 
tions to  Cashmere.  Here  often  had  the  Light  of  the 
Faith,  Jehan-Guire,  been  known  to  wander  with  his 
beloved  and  beautiful  Nourmahal ;  and  here  would 
Lalla  Rookh  liave  been  happy  to  remain  forever, 
giving  up  the  throne  of  Bucliaria  and  the  world,  for 
FeramorT  and  love  in  this  sweet  lonely  valley.  But 
tlie  time  was  now  fast  approaching  when  she  must 
see  him  no  longer, — or,  what  was  still  worse,  behold 
him  with  eyes  whose  every  look  belonged  to  an- 
other ;  and  there  was  a  melancholy  prcciousness  in 
these  last  moments,  which  made  her  heart  cling  to 
them  as  it  would  to  life.  Dturing  the  latter  part  of 
the  journey,  indeed,  she  had  sunk  into  a  deep  sad- 
ness, from  which  nothing  but  the  presence  of  the 
yoimg  minstrel  could  awake  her.  Like  those 
lamps  in  tombs,  which  only  light  up  when  the 
air  is  admitted,  it  was  only  at  his  approacli  that  her 
eyes  became  smiHng  and  animated.  But  here, 
in  this  dear  valley,  every  moment  appeared  an 
age  of  pleeisiu-e ;  she  saw  him  all  day,  and  was, 
therefore,  all  day  happy, — resembling,  she  often 
thought,   that  people  of  Zinge,"*  who  attribute   the 


**  "The  inhabitants  of  this  country  (Zinge)  are  never  af- 
flicted with  sadness  or  melancholy  ;  on  this  subject  the 
Shedvh  Abu-al-Khcir-Azhari  has  the  following  distich: — 

"'Who  is  the  man  without  care  or  sorrow,  (tell)  that  I 
may  rub  my  hand  to  him. 

*"  (Behold)  the  Zingians,  without  care  or  sorrow,  frolic- 
some with  tipsiness  and  mirth.' 

"The  philosophers  have  discovered  thiit  the  c;i  iseof  this 
cheerfulness  proceeds  from  the  influence  cf  the  siar  Sohcil, 
or  Canopus.  which  rises  over  them  every  night." — Eitract 
from  a  Geographical  Persian  Manuscript  called  Heft  .Sft/iw, 
or  the  Seven  Climates,  translated  by  IV.  Ouselq/,  Esq. 


442 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


unfading  ciicerftiliiess  they  enjoy  to  one  genial  star 
tliat  rises  nightly  over  their  heads.* 

Tiie  whole  party,  indeed,  seemed  in  their  liveliest 
mood  during  the  few  days  tliey  passed  in  this  de- 
lightful solitude.  Tiio  young  attendants  of  the 
Princess,  who  were  hero  allowed  a  mucli  freer  range 
than  they  could  safely  be  indulged  with  in  a  less 
sequestered  place,  ran  wild  among  the  gardens  and 
bounded  through  the  meadows  lightly  as  young  roes 
over  the  aromatic  plains  of  Tibet.  While  Fadla- 
DEEN,  in  addition  to  the  spiritual  comfort  derived  by 
him  from  a  pilgrimage  to  tiie  tomb  of  the  saint  from 
whom  the  vnlley  is  named,  had  also  opportunities  of 
indulging,  in  a  small  way,  bis  tasto  for  victims,  by 
putting  to  death  some  hundreds  of  those  unfortunate 
little  lizards,-  which  all  pious  I\lussulnians  make  it 
a  point  to  kill ; — taking  for  granted,  that  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  creature  bangs  its  head  is  meant 
as  a  mimicry  of  the  attitude  in  which  the  Faithful 
say  their  prayers. 

About  two  miles  from  Hussun  Abdaul  were  those 
Royal  Gardens,^  which  had  grown  beautiful  under 
the  care  of  so  many  lovely  eyes,  and  were  beautiful 
still,  thougli  those  eyes  could  see  them  no  longer. 
This  place,  with  its  flowers  and  its  holy  silence,  in- 
terrupted only  by  the  dipping  of  the  win^s  of  birds 
in  its  marble  basins  filled  with  the  pure  water  of 
those  hills,  was  to  Lalla  Rookh  all  that  her  heart 
could  fancy  of  fragrajice,  coolness,  and  almost  heav- 
enly tranquillity.  As  the  Prophet  said  of  Damascus, 
"it  was  too  delicious;''^ — and  here,  in  listening  to 
the  sweet  voice  of  Feramorz,  or  reading  in  his  eyes 
what  yet  he  never  dared  to  tell  her,  the  most  exqui- 
site moments  of  lier  whole  life  were  passed.  One 
evening,  when  they  had  been  talking  of  the  Sultana 
Nourmabal,  the  Light  of  the  Haram,'^  who  had  so 
oftan  wandered  among  these  flowers,  and  fed  witli 
her  own  hands,  in  tlioso  marblo  basins,  the  small 

1  The  st:ir  Soheil,  or  Canopus. 

3  "The  liz;ird  Stellio.  The  Anibs  call  it  Ilardun.  The 
Turks  kill  U,  for  they  imagine  Ihm  by  dcd'ming  ihe  head  ii 
mimics  them  when  they  say  thoir  prayers."— //a. ■rsc/jit/si. 

3  For  Ihcse  particulars  respecting  Hussun  Abdiiul  I  am 
indebted  to  the  very  interesting  Introduction  of  Mr.  Elphin- 
slone's  work  upon  Ciiubul. 

4  "As  you  enter  at  that  Bazar,  without  the  gate  of  Da- 
mascus, you  sec  the  Green  Moscjueisn  callud  because  it  hath 
a  sleepic  lUccd  with  green  glazed  bricks,  ^vhich  render  it 
very  resplendent ;  it  is  covered  at  top  with  a  pavilion  of  the 
same  stuff.  The  'J'urks  say  this  mosque  was  made  in  that 
place,  because  Muhoniel  being  come  so  far,  would  not  enter 
the  tiiwn,  saying  it  was  too  delicious.*' — Thrvenot.  This 
remind-i  one  of  the  following  pretty  passage  in  Isaac  Wal- 
ton : — "'When  I  sat  last  on  this  primrose  bank,  and  looked 
down  these  meadows,  I  thought  of  them  as  Charles  the 
Emperor  did  of  the  city  of  Florence,  'that  they  were  loo 
pleasant  to  be  looked  on,  but  only  on  holidays.'  " 


shining  fishes  of  which  she  was  so  fond,**  the  youth, 
in  order  to  delay  the  moment  of  separation,  proposed 
to  recite  a  short  storj',  or  rallier  rhapsody,  of  which 
this  adored  Sultana  was  the  heroine.  It  related,  he 
said,  to  tlio  reconcilement  of  a  sort  of  lovers'  quarrel 
which  took  place  between  her  and  the  Emperor 
during  a  Fea.st  of  Roses  at  Cashmere  ;  and  would 
remind  the  Princess  of  tliat  dificrence  between 
Haroun-al-Raschid  and  his  fair  mistress  Marida,'^ 
which  was  so  happily  made  up  by  tlie  soft  strains  of 
the  musician,  Moussali  As  the  story  was  cliiefly 
to  be  told  in  song,  and  FeRaMorz  had  unluckily  for- 
gotten his  own  lute  in  the  valley,  he  borrowed  tlie 
vina  of  Lalla  Rookii's  little  Persiau  slave,  and  thus 
began : — 


Who  has  not  heaic  of  the  Vale  o'  Cashmere, 

With  its  roses  the  brightest  that  earth  ever  gave,* 

Its  temples,  aud  grottoes,  and  fountains  as  clear 
As  tlio  love-lighted  eyes   that   hang   over  their 
wave  ? 

Oh  !  to  see  it  at  sunset, — when  warm  o'er  tlie  Lake 

Its  splendor  at  parting  a  summer  eve  throws, 
Like  a  bride,  full  of  blushes,  when  ling'ring  to  take 
A  last  look  of  her  mirror  at  night  ere  she  goes  ! — 
Wlien  the  shrines  through  the  foliage  are  gleaming 

half  shown. 
And  each  hallows  the  hour  by  somo  rites  of  its 

own. 
Here  the  music  of  pray'r  from  a  minaret  swells. 
Here    tiie  Magian    bis   nrn,  full    of  perfume,  is 
swinging, 
And  here,  at  the  altar,  a  zone  of  sweet  bells 

Round  tlie  waist  of  some  fan*  Indian  dancer  is 
ringing.^ 

fi  Nourmahal  signifies  Light  of  the  Ilaram,  Slie  was  af- 
terwards called  Nourjehan,  or  the  Light  of  the  World. 

0  See  note  ^  p.  42S. 

■^  "  Ilaroun  Al  Raschid,  cinquieme  Khalife  des  Abassides, 
s'eiant  un  jour  brouilie,  avec  une  de  scs  mailresses  nommte 
RIaridah,  qu'il  aimoit  cependnnt  jusqu'a  I'cxccs,  et  cette 
m6sintelligence  ayant  d6ja  dur^e  quelque  tems,  coinmenca 
a  s'ennuyer.  Giafar  Barmaki,  son  favori,  qui  s'en  appcrcut, 
commanda  a  Abbas  ben  Ahnaf,  excellent  poL'tc  de  ce  terns 
la,de  composer  quelquesvers  sur  le  sujetde  cclte  brouillcrie. 
Ce  poete  cxecuta  I'ordre  de  Giafar,  qui  fit  chanter  res  vers 
par  Moussali  en  presence  du  Khalife,  et  ce  prince  ful  tene- 
ment touch6  de  la  tendresse  des  vers  du  poete,  et  de  la 
douceur  de  lavois  du  muslcien,  qu'il  alia  aussitOt  trouver 
Maridah,  et  fil  sa  paix  avec  elle." — fy Herbelot. 

8  "  The  rose  of  Kashmire  for  its  brilliancy  and  delicacy  of 
odor  has  long  been  jiroverbial  in  the  East." — Forstcr. 

9  "Tied  round  her  waist  the  zone  of  bells,  that  sounded 
with  ravishing  melody." — Song  of  Jayadeva. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


443 


Or  to  see  it  by  moonlight, — when  mellowly  shines 
The  li<;ht  o*er  its  palaces,  gardens,  and  shrines  ; 
When  the  water-falls  gleam,  like  a  quiek  fall  of  stars, 
And  the  nightingale's  hymn  from  tho  I^lo  of  Chenars 
la  broken  by  laughs  and  light  echoes  of  feet 
From  tho  cool,  shining  walks  where  the  young  peo- 
ple meet. — 
Or  at  morn,  when  the  mafric  of  daylight  awakes 
A  new  wonder  each  minute,  as  slowly  it  breaks, 
Hills,  cnpolas,  fountains,  cali'd  forth  every  one 
Out  of  darkness,  as  if  but  juL^t  born  of  the  Sun. 
When  the  Spirit  of  Fragrance  is  up  with  the  day, 
From  his  Haram  of  night-flowers  stealing  away  ; 
And  the  wind,  full  of  wantonnes^',  woos  like  a  lover 
Tlie  young  aspcn-trees,*  till  they  tremble  all  over. 
When  tlie  East  is  as  warm  as  the  light  of  first  hopc^, 

And  Day,  with  his  banner  of  radiance  unfurl'd. 
Shines   in    through   tlie    mountainous    portaP   that 
opes, 

Sublime,  from  that  Valley  of  bliss  to  the  world  ! 

But  never  yet,  by  night  or  da)"-, 
In  dew  of  spring  or  summer*s  ray, 
Did  tiie  sweet  Valley  shine  so  gay 
As  now  it  shines — all  love  and  light, 
Visions  by  day  and  feasts  by  night ! 
A  happier  smile  illumes  each  brow, 

With  quicker  spread  each  heart  uncloses, 
And  all  is  ecstasy,— for  now 

The  Valley  holds  its  Feast  of  Roses  ;' 
The  joyous  time,  when  pleasures  pour 
Profusely  round  and,  in  their  shower, 
Hearts  open,  like  the  Season's  Rose, — 

Tiic  flow'ret  of  a  hundred  leaves,* 
Expanding  while  the  dew-fall  flows, 

And  every  leaf  its  balm  receives. 

'Twas  when  the  hour  of  evening  came 

Upon  the  Lake,  serene  and  cool, 
When  Day  liad  hid  his  sultry  flame 

Behind  the  palms  of  Baramoule,^ 
When  maids  began  to  lift  their  head?, 
Rcfresli'd  from  their  embroider'd  beds, 
Where  they  had  slept  the  sun  away, 
And  waked  to  moonlight  and  to  play. 

I  "The  Utile  isles  in  Ihe  Lake  nf  Cachemire  are  set  wilh 
arbors  and  large-leaved  aspuu- trees,  slender  and  tall." — 
Bcrnicr. 

3  "The  Tuckt  Suliman,  the  name  bestowed  by  the  Ma- 
honimet.ins  on  this  hill,  forms  one  sido  of  u  grand  portal  tn 
the  Lake." — Forstcr. 

3  "The  Feast  of  Roses  continues  the  whole  time  of  their 
remaining  in  bloom." — See  Pictro  dc  la  Valle. 

*  "Gul  sad  berk,  the  Rose  of  a  hundred  leaves.  I  believe 
a  pailicular  species." — Ousciey. 

s  Bernier. 

*  A  place  mentioned  in  the  Toozek  Jehangeery,  or  Me- 


Al!  were  abroad— tho  busiest  hive 
On  Bia^AV  hills  is  less  alive, 
When  saflion-beds  are  full  in  flow'r, 
Than  look'd  tho  Valley  in  that  hour. 
A  thousand  restless  torches  play'd 
Through  every  grove  and  island  shade  ; 
A  thousand  sparkling  lamps  were  set 
On  every  dome  and  minaret ; 
And  fields  and  pathways,  far  and  near, 
Were  lighted  by  a  blaze  so  clear, 
That  you  could  sec,  in  wand'ring  round. 
The  smallest  rose-leaf  on  the  gronnd. 
Yet  did  the  maids  and  matrons  leave 
Their  veils  at  home,  that  brilliant  eve  ; 
And  there  were  glancing  eyes  about, 
And  cheeks,  that  would  not  dare  shine  out 

In  open  day,  but  thought  they  might 
Look  lovely  then,  because  'twas  niglit. 
And  all  were  free,  and  wandering, 

And  all  exclaimM  to  all  they  met, 
Tliat  never  did  the  summer  bring 

So  gay  a  Feast  of  Roses  yet ; — 
The  moon  had  never  shed  a  light 

So  clear  as  that  which  bless'd  them  there  ; 
The  roses  ne'er  shone  half  so  bright,      * 

Nor  th?y  themselves  look'd  half  so  fair. 

And  wliat  a  wilderness  of  flow're  ! 
It  seem'd  as  though  from  all  tlie  bow'is 
And  fairest  fields  of  all  tho  year, 
Tlie  mingled  spoil  were  scatter'd  here. 
The  Lake,  too,  like  a  garden  breathes, 

With  the  rich  buds  that  o'er  it  lie, — 
As  if  a  shower  of  fairy  wreatlis 

Had  fall'ii  upon  it  from  the  sky  ! 
And  then  the  sounds  of  joy, — the  beat 
Of  tabors  and  of  dancing  feet ; — 
The  minaret-crier's  chant  of  glee 
Sinig  from  his  hghted  gallery,' 
And  answer'd  by  a  ziraleet 
From  neighboring  Haram,  wild  and  sweet ; — 
The  merry  laughter,  echoing 
From  gardens,  whf  re  the  silken  swing^ 
Wafts  some  delighted  girl  above 
The  top  leaves  of  the  orange-grove  ; 

moirs  of  Jehan-Guire,  where  there  is  an  acconnlof  the  beds 
of  saffron-flowers  abont  Cashmerf. 

'  "It  is  the  cnstom  among  the  women  to  employ  the 
Maazeen  to  chant  from  the  gallery  of  the  nearest  minaret, 
which  on  that  occasion  is  iMuniinated,  and  the  women  as- 
sembled at  the  house  respond  at  intervals  wilh  a  ziraleet  or 
joyous  chorus.*' — Russel. 

6  "The  swing  is  a  favorite  pastime  in  tho  East,  as  pro- 
moting a  circulation  of  air,  e.tiremely  refreshing  in  those 
sultry  cWni^tes."—  Richardson. 

"The  swings  are  adorned  with  festo.^is.  This  pastime  is 
accompanied  with  mu-ic  of  voices  and  of  instrnments,  hired 
by  the  masters  of  the  swings."— 7%creno(. 


444 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Or,  from  lliosi  infant  groups  at  play 
Among  Oie^lonts'  that  line  thie  way, 
Flinging,  unawed  by  slave  or  mother, 
Hanilfuls  of  rosea  at  each  other. — ■ 
Then,  the  sounds  from  the  Lake, — the  low  whis- 
p'ring  in  boats, 
As  they  shoot  through  the  moonlight ; — the  dip- 
ping of  oars, 
And  the  wild,  airy  warbling  that  ev'rywliere  floats, 
Tlirough  the  groves,  round  the  islands,  as  if  all 
the  shores, 
!    Like  those  of  Kathav,  ntter'd  music,  and  gave 
An  answer  in  song  to  tlie  kiss  of  each  wave." 
But  the  gentlest  of  all  are  those  sounds,  full  of  feel- 
ing, 
That  soft  from  the  lute  of  some  lover  are  stealing, — 
Some    lover,  who  knows    all    the    heart-touching 

power 
Of  a  lute  and  a  sigh  in  this  magical  hour. 
Oh  !  best  of  delights  as  it  ev'rywhere  is 
To  be  near  the  loved  One, — what  a  rapture  is  his 
Who  in  moonlight  and  music   tlms   sweetly  may 
glide  [side  I 

O'er  the  Lake  of  Cashmere,  with  that  One  by  his 
If  woman  can  make  the  worst  wilderness  dear. 
Think,  think  what  a  Heav'n  she  must  make  of 
Cashmere  ! 

So  felt  the  magnificent  ?on  of  Acbar,' 

When  from  pow'r  and  pomp  and  the  trophies  of 

war 
He  flew  to  that  Valley,  forgetting  them  all 
With  the  Light  of  the  Haram,  his  young  NouR^u- 

iial. 
When  free  and  uncrown'd  as  the  Conqueror  roved 
By  the  banks  of  that  lake,  witli  his  only  beloved. 
He  saw,  in  the  wreatlis  she  would  playfully  snatch 
From    the    hedges,  a    glory  his    crown    could    not 

match. 
And  preferr'd    in    his    heart   the   least  ringlet  that 

curl'd 
Down  her   exquisite    neck    to    the    throne    of  the 

world. 

There's  a  beauty,  forever  unchangingly  bright. 
Like  the  long,  sunny  lapse  of  a  siuumer-day's  light. 


1  "  At  Ihe  keeping  of  Ihe  Fe.ist  of  Roses  we  beheld  .in  in- 
finite nniiiber  of  Icnls  pitched,  with  such  a  crowd  of  men, 
women,  boys,  and  girls,  with  music,  dances,"  &c.,  &c. — 
Herbert. 

^  "  An  old  commentator  of  the  Chou-King  says,  the  an- 
cients having  remarked  that  a  current  of  water  made  some 
of  the  stones  near  its  banks  send  forth  a  sound,  they  detach- 
ed some  of  thcni,  and  being  charmed  with  the  delightful 
sound  they  emitted,  constructed  Kingormaslcal  instrtunents 
of  them." — Grosier 

Tills  miraculous  ^aality  has  been  attributed  also  to  the 


Shining  on,  shining  on,  by  no  shadow  made  tender, 
Till   Love   falls   asleep  in  its  sameness   of  splen- 
dor. 
This  was  not  the  beauty — oh,  nothing  like  this, 
That  to  young  Nourmahal  gave    such   magic  of 

bhss  ! 
But  die  loveliness,  ever  in  motion,  which  plays 
Like  the  liglit  upon  autumn's  soft  shadowy  days. 
Now  hero  and  now  there,  giving  warmth  as  it  flies 
From  the  lip  to  the  cheek,  from  the  cheek  to  the 

eyes; 
Now  melting  in  mist  and  now  breaking  in  gleams, 
Like  the  glimpses  a  samt  hath  of  Heav'n  in  his 

dreams. 
When  pensive,  it  seem'd  as  if  that  very  grace. 
That  charm  of  all  others,  was  bom  with  her  face  ! 
And    when    angry, — for   ev'u   in   tlie    tranquiUest 

climes 
Light  breezes  will  rufile  the  blossoms  sometimes — 
The  short,  passing  anger  but  seem'd  to  awaken 
New  beauty,  like  flow'rs  that  are  sweetest  when 

shaken. 
If  tenderness  touch'd  her,  the  dark  of  her  eye 
At  once  took  a  darker,  a  heav'nlier  dye, 
From  the  deptli  of  whose  shadow,  like  holy  reveal- 

uigs 
From  inuerinost  shrines,  came  the  light  of  her  feel- 
ings. 
Then  her  mirth — oh  !  'twas  sportive  as  ever  took 

wing 
From  the  heart  with  a  burst,  like  the  wild  bird  in 

spring  ; 
Illumed  by  a  wit  that  would  fascinate  sages. 
Yet  playful  as  Peris  just  loosed  from  their  cages.* 
While  her  laugh,  full  of  hfe,  without  any  control 
But  the  sweet  one  of  gracefulness,  rung  from  her 

soul ; 
And  where  it  most  sparkled  no  glance  could  dis- 
cover, 
In  lip,  cheek,  or  eyes,  for  she  brighten'd  all  over, — 
Like  any  fair  lake  tliat  the  breeze  is  upon. 
When  it  breaks  into  dimples  and  laughs  in  the  sun. 
Such,  such   were   the   peerless  encliautments,  that 

gave 
Nourmahal  the  proud  Lord  of  tlie   East  for  her 
slave : 


shore  of  Attica.  "IIujus  littns,  ait  Capella,  conccntum  nm- 
sicum  illisis  terrs  uniiis  rcddere,  quod  propter  tinLnm  erudi- 
tionis  vim  pr.to  dicturn." — Luduv.  Vivcs  in  ,8ugHsiin.  dt 
Civilat.  Dei.  lib.  ivlii-  c.  8. 

3  Jehan-Giiire  was  the  son  of  the  Great  Acbar. 

*  In  the  wars  of  the  Dives  with  the  Peris,  whenever  the 
former  took  the  latter  prisoners,  "  they  shut  them  up  in  iron 
cages,  and  hung  them  on  the  highest  trees.  Here  they  were 
visited  by  their  companions,  who  brought  them  the  choicest 
odors.*'— iiicAarJjon. 


LALLA 

ROOKH.                                                   445 

And  tlioHgh  bright  was  liis  Haram, — a  living  par- 

That smiling  left  the  mountain's  brow 

terre 

As  though  its  waters  ne'er  could  sever, 

Of  tlie   flow'rs'   of  this   planet — though   treasures 

Yet,  ere  it  reach  tlie  plain  below, 

were  there, 

Breaks  into  floods,  that  part  forever. 

For  which   Soliman's  self  miglit  have  giv'n  all  the 

store 

Ob,  you,  that  have  the  charge  of  Love, 

That  the  navy  from  Oram  e'er  wing'd  to  his  shore, 

Keep  him  in  rosy  bondage  bound, 

Yet  dim  before  her  were  the  smiles  of  them  all, 

As  in  the  Fields- of  Bliss  above 

Aud  the  Light  of  his  Haram  was  young  Nourma- 

He  sits,  with  fiow'rets  fetter'd  round  ;' — 

lUL  ! 

Loose  not  a  tie  that  round  him  clings, 

Nor  ever  let  him  use  his  wings  ; 

But  where  is  she  now,  this  niglit  of  joy, 

For  ev'n  an  hour,  a  minute's  flight 

When  bliss  is  every  heart's  employ  ? — 

Will  rob  the  plumes  of  half  their  light 

When  all  arou«d  her  is  so  bright, 

Like  that  celestial  bud, — whose  nest 

So  like  the  visions  of  a  trance, 

Is  found  beneath  far  Eastern  skies, — 

That  one  might  think,  who  came  by  chance 

Whose  wings,  though  radiant  when  at  rest, 

Into  the  vale  this  happy  night. 

Lose  all  their  glory  when  he  flies  !* 

He  saw  that  City  of  Delight^ 

In  Fairj'-Iand,  wlioso  streets  and  tow'rs 

Some  difF'rence,  of  this  dang'rous  kind, — 

Are  made  of  gems,  and  light,  and  flow'rs  I 

By  which,  though  light,  the  links  that  bind 

Where  is  the  loved  Sultana  1  where. 

The  fondest  hearts  may  soon  be  riv'n  ; 

When  mirth  brings  out  the  young  and  fair, 

Some  shadow  in  Love's  summer  heav'n, 

Does  she,  the  fairest,  hide  her  brow, 

Which,  tliough  a  fleecy  speck  at  first, 

In  melancholy  stillness  now  ? 

May  yet  ui  awful  thunder  burst  ; — 

Such  cloud  it  is,  that  now  hangs  over 

Alas  I — how  light  a  cause  may  move 

The  heart  of  the  Imperial  Lover, 

Dissension  between  hearts  tliat  love ! 

And  far  hath  banish'd  from  his  sight 

Hearts  that  the  world  in  vain  had  tried, 

His  NouRMAHAL,  his  Haram's  Light ! 

Aud  sorrow  but  more  closely  tied ; 

Hence  is  it,  on  this  happy  night. 

That  stood  the  storm,  when  waves  were  rough. 

When  Pleasure  through  the  fields  and  groves 

Yet  in  a  sunny  hour  fall  off. 

Has  let  loose  all  her  world  of  loves. 

Like  ships  that  have  gone  down  at  sea. 

And  every  heart  has  found  its  own. 

When  heaven  was  all  tranquillity  ! 

He  wanders,  joyless  and  alone, 

A  something,  light  as  air — a  look. 

And  weary  as  that  bird  of  Thrace, 

A  word  unkind  or  wrongly  taken — 

Whose  pinion  knows  no  resting-place.' 

Oh  I  love,  that  tempests  never  shook. 

A  breath,  a  touch  like  this  hath  shaken 

In  vain  the  loveliest  cheeks  and  eyes 

And  ruder  words  will  soon  rush  in 

This  Eden  of  the  Earth  supplies 

To  spread  the  breach  that  words  begin  ; 

Come  crowding  round — the  cheeks  are  pale, 

And  eyes  forget  the  gentle  ray 

The  eyes  are  dim  : — though  rich  the  spot 

Tiiey  wore  in  courtship's  smiling  day  ; 

With  every  flow'r  this  earth  has  got. 

And  voices  lose  the  tone  that  shed 

What  is  it  to  tlie  nightingale, 

A  tenderness  round  all  they  said  ; 

If  there  his  darling  rose  is  not  7° 

Till  fast  declining,  one  by  one. 

In  vain  the  Valley's  smiling  throng 

The  sweetnesses  of  love  are  gone. 

Worship  him,  as  he  moves  along ; 

And  hearts,  so  lately  mingled,  seem 

He  heeds  them  not — one  smile  of  hers 

Like  broken  clouds, — or  like  the  stream, 

Is  worth  a  world  of  worshippers. 

t  In  the  Malay  language  the  same  word  signifies  womer. 

beautiful  colors,  but  when  it  flies  they  lose  all  their  splen- 

and  fluv.ers. 

dor."^Gro5icr. 

3  The  capital  of  Shadakiam.    See  note  2,  p.  412, 

6  "  As  these  birds  on  the  Bosphorus  are  never  known  to 

3  See  the  representation  of  the  Eastern  Cupid,  pinioneL 

rest,  they  are  called  by  the  French  'les  ames  damages.**' — 

closely  round  with  wreaths  of  tlowers,  in  PicarVs  C6r6rao- 

Dalloway. 

nies  Religieuses. 

=  "  You  may  place  a  hundred  handfuls  of  fragrant  herbs 

*  *'  Among  the  birds  of  Tonqn^n  is  a  species  of  goldfinch 

and  flowers  before  the  nightingale,  yet  he  ivishes  not,  in  his 

which  sings  so  melodiously  that  it  is  called  the  Celestial 

constant  heart,  for  more  than  the  sweet  breath  of  his  beloved 

Bird.    Its  wings,  when  it  is  perched,  appear  variegated  with 

rose." — Jami. 

446 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


They  but  the  Star's  adorers  are, 

She  is  tlie  Heavn  tliat  lights  the  Star! 

Hcnco  is  it,  too,  that  Nourmahal, 

Amid  the  luxuries  of  this  hour 
Far  from  tiie  joyous  festival, 

Sits  in  her  owu  sequester'd  bow'r, 
Witli  no  one  near,  to  sooth  or  aid, 
But  that  inspired  and  wondrous  maid, 
Namou.va,  the  Enchantress; — one, 
O'er  whom  his  race  the  golden  euu 
For  unremember'd  years  lias  run, 
Yet  never  saw  her  blooming  brow 
Younger  or  fairer  than  'tis  now. 
Nay,  rather, — as  the  west  wind's  sigh 
Freshens  tlic  flow'r  it  passes  by, — 
"''me's  wing  but  seem'd,  in  stealing  oVr, 
To  leave  her  lovelier  than  before. 
Yet  on  ht>    '^miles  a  sadness  hung, 
And  when,  as  oft,  slie  spoke  or  sung 
Of  other  worlds,  there  came  a  light 
From  her  dark  eyes  so  strangely  bright. 
That  all  believed  nor  man  uor  earth 
Were  conscious  of  Namouna's  birth  ! 

All  spells  and  talismans  she  knew, 

From  the  great  Mantra,'  which  aromid 
The  Air's  sublimcr  Spirits  drew. 

To  the  gold  gems"  of  Afric,  bound 
Upon  the  wandVing  Arab's  arm. 
To  keep  him  from  the  Siltim's^  harm. 
And  she  had  pledged  her  powerful  art, — 
Pledged  it  with  all  the  zeal  and  heart 
Of  one  wiio  knew,  though  high  her  sphere, 
^Vhat  'twas  to  lose  a  love  so  dear,— 
To  find  some  spell  that  sliould  recall 
Her  Selim's''  smile  to  Nourmaiial  ! 

'Tvvas  midnight — through  the  lattice,  wreath'd 
With  woodbine,  many  a  perfiune  breatlied 
From  plants  that  wake  when  others  sleep, 
From  timid  jasmine  buds,  that  keep 
Their  odor  to  themselves  all  day, 
But,  when  the  sunlight  dies  away, 

1  *'  lie  is  snid  to  liiive  foiinA  the  great  J\Iantra,  spell  or 
tnlismari,  through  wliich  he  ruled  over  the  elements  and 
spirits  of  nil  denominations." — IVUford, 

2  "The  gold  jewels  of  Jinnie,  which  are  called  hy  the 
Amhs  El  llcrrez,  from  the  supposed  charm  they  contain." — 
Jackson. 

3  "  A  demon,  supposed  to  haunt  woods,  &.c.,  in  a  human 
shape." — Richardson. 

*  The  name  of  Jehan-Gulre  before  his  accession  to  the 
til  rone. 

&  "  llcmasagara.  or  the  Sea  of  Gold,  with  flowers  of  the 
lirii^hiest  gold  color." — Sir  W,  Junes. 

"  Th.-i  'sec  (the  Nagacesara)  is  one  of  the  most  delight- 


Let  the  delicious  secret  out 

To  every  breeze  that  roams  about  ; — 

When  thus  Najiouna  : — "  'Tis  the  hour 

"  That  scatters  spells  on  herb  and  flow'r, 

"  And  garlands  might  be  gathcr'd  now, 

"  That,  twined  around  the  sleeper's  brow, 

"  Would  make  him  dream  of  such  delights, 

"  Such  miracles  and  dazzling  sights, 

'•As  Genii  of  the  Sun  behold, 

*'  At  evening,  from  their  tents  of  gold 

*'  Upon  ih'  horizon — where  they  play 

"  Till  twilight  comes,  and,  ray  by  ray, 

"  Tlieir  sunny  mansions  melt  away. 

"  Now,  too,  a  chaplet  might  be  wreath'd 

"  Of  buds  o'er  which  the  moon  has  brealhfd, 

'•  Which  worn  by  her,  whose  love  has  stray'd, 

"  !Might  bring  some  Peri  from  the  skies, 
"  Some  sprite,  whose  very  soul  is  made 

"  Of  flow'rets'  breaths  and  lovers'  siglis, 

*'  And  who  might  tell " 

"  For  me,  for  mn," 
Cried  NouRMAitAL  impatiently, — 
"  Oh  !  twine  that  wreath  for  me  to-;,  ^ht." 
Then,  rapidly,  with  foot  as  light 
As  the  young  musk-roe's,  out  she  flew. 
To  cull  each  shining  leaf  that  grew 
Beneath  the  moonlight's  hallowing  beams. 
For  this  enchanted  Wreath  of  Dieams. 
Anemones  and  Seas  of  Gold-^ 

And  new-blown  lilies  of  the  river. 
And  those  sweet  flow'rets,  that  unfold 

Their  buds  on  Camadeva's  quiver  f — 
The  tube-rose,  with  her  silv'ry  light, 

That  in  the  Gardens  of  Malay 
Is  call'd  the  Mistress  of  the  Night,'' 
So  like  a  bride,  scented  and  briglit. 

She  comes  out  when  the  sun's  away  ; — 
Amarautiis,  such  as  crown  the  maids 
That  wander  through  Zamara's  shades  f — 
And  tlie  white  moun-flow'r,  as  it  shows, 
On  Serendib's  high  crags,  to  those 
Who  near  tlie  isle  at  evening  sail, 
Scenting  her  clove-trees  in  the  gale  ; 
In  short,  all  flow'rets  and  all  plants, 

From  the  divine  Amrita  tree,* 

fill  on  earth,  and  the  delicious  odor  of  its  blossoms  justly 
gives  them  a  place  in  the  quiver  of  Camadeva,  or  the  Coil 
of  Love." — Sir  fV.  Jones. 

'  "The  Malayans  style  the  tube-rose  (Polianthes  tubero 
sa)  Sandal  Mahini.or  the  Mistress  of  ihe  Ni^hl." — Pennant. 

B  The  jieople  of  the  Balta  country  in  Sumatra,  (of  which 
Zamara  is  one  of  the  ancient  names,)  "  when  not  engaged 
in  war,  lead  an  idle,  inactive  life,  passing  the  day  in  pLaying 
on  a  kind  of  flute,  crowned  with  p^rlnnds  of  flowers,  .-imoag 
which  the  glohe-amarunthus.uuauvtj  uf  ihe  country,  mostly 
prevails." — Marsdcn. 

*  The  hirgest  and  richest  sort  (of  the  Janibu,  or  roso- 
apple)  is  called  Amrita,  or  inuiiortal,  and  the  mythologists  oi 


J 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


447 


Tliat  blesses  heaven's  inhabitants 

With  fruits  of  immortality, 
Down  to  the  basil  tuft,^  that  waves, 
Its  fragrant  blossom  over  graves, 

And  to  the  humble  rosemary, 
Whose  sweets  so  thanklessly  are  shed 
To  scent  the  desert"  and  the  dead  ; — 
All  in  tiuit  garden  bloom,  and  al! 
Are  gatlicr'd  by  young  Nouhmahal, 
Who  heaps  her  baskets  with  the  flow'rs 

And  leaves,  till  they  can  hold  no  more  ; 
Then  to  Namouna  flics,  and  show'i* 

Upon  her  lap  the  shining  store. 

With  what  delight  th'  Enchantress  views 

So  many  buds,  ballied  with  the  dews 

And  beams  of  that  bless'd  hour  I — lier  glance 

Spolvc  sonietliing,  past  all  mortal  pleasures, 
As,  in  a  kind  of  holy  trance. 

She  iiung  above  those  fragrant  treasures, 
Bending  to  drink  their  balmy  airs, 
As  if  she  mix'd  her  soul  with  tiieirs. 
And  'twas,  indeed,  the  perfume  slied 
From  flow'rs  and  scented  flame,  that  fed 
Her  charmed  life — for  none  had  e'er 
Beheld  her  taste  of  mortal  fare, 
Nor  ever  in  aught  earthly  dip. 
But  the  morn's  dew,  her  roseate  lip. 
Fill'd  with  the  cool,  inspiring  smell. 
Til'  Enchantress  now  begins  her  spell. 
Thus  singing  as  she  winds  and  weaves 
In  mystic  form  the  glittering  leaves  : — 

I  know  where  the  winged  visions  dwell 

Tiiat  around  the  night-bed  play  ; 
I  know  eacii  lierb  and  fiow'ret's  bell, 
Where  they  hide  their  wings  by  day. 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-moiTow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 

The  image  of  love,  that  nightly  flies 
To  visit  the  bashful  maid, 

Tibet  apply  the  same  word  to  a  celestial  tree,  bearing  am 
brosial  fruit,"— 5t>  W.  Jones. 

1  Sweet  hisil,  called  Rayhan  in  Persia,  and  gener,illy  found 
in  churchyards. 

*'The  women  in  Egypt  go,  at  least  two  days  in  the  week, 
In  pray  and  weep  at  the  sepulchres  of  the  dead ;  and  the 
custom  then  is  to  throw  upnn  the  tombs  a  sort  of  herb  which 
the  Arabs  call  rihan,  and  which  is  our  sweet  basil." — Maillet, 
Lett.  10. 

2  "  In  the  Great  Desert  are  found  many  stalks  of  lavender 
and  rosemary." — .^siat.  Res. 

3  "The  almond  tree,  with  white  flowers,  blossoms  on  the 
bare  brandies." — Naiistrlquist. 

*  An  htrl)  nn  Mount  Lib;inus,  which  is  said  to  communi- 
cate a  yrllow  gulden  hue  to  the  teeth  of  the  goats  and  other 
auimals  that  graze  upon  it. 

J^iehuhr  thinks  this  may  be  the  herb  which  the  Eastern 
ilchymists  look  to  as  a  means  of  making  gold.    "Most  of 


Steals  from  the  jasmine  flower,  that  sighs 

Its  sold,  like  her,  in  the  shade. 
The  dream  of  a  future,  happier  hour, 

That  alights  on  misery's  brow. 
Springs  out  of  the  silv'ry  almond-flow'r, 
That  blooms  on  a  leafless  bough.' 
Then  hasten  we,  maid. 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 

The  visions,  that  oft  to  worldly  eyes 

The  glitter  of  mines  unfold. 
Inhabit  the  mountain-herb,"'  that  dyes 

The  tooth  of  the  fawn  like  gold. 
The  phantom  shapes — oh  touch  not  them — 

That  appal  the  murd'rnr's  sight, 
Lurk  in  tiie  fleshly  mandrai-:^'s  stem, 

That  shrieks,  when  pluck'd  at  niglit ! 
Then  hasten  we,  maid. 
To  twine  our  braid. 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 

The  dream  of  the  injured,  patient  mind, 
That  smiles  with  the  wrongs  of  men, 
Is  found  in  the  bruised  and  wounded  rind 
Of  the  cinnamon,  sweetest  then. 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 

No  sooner  was  the  flow'ry  crown 

Placed  on  her  head,  than  sleep  came  down, 

Gently  as  nights  of  summer  fall. 

Upon  the  lids  of  Nourmahal  ; — 

And,  suddenly,  a  tuneful  breeze, 

As  full  of  small,  rich  harmonies 

As  ever  wind,  that  o'er  the  teuts 

Of  AzAB^  blew,  was  full  of  scents, 

Steals  on  her  ear,  and  floats  and  swells, 

Like  the  first  air  of  morning  creeping 
Into  those  wreathy.  Red  Sea  shells, 

Where  Love  himself,  of  old,  lay  sleeping  ;° 

tliOiC  alchymical  enthusiasts  think  themselves  sure  ot  sttc- 
cess,  if  they  could  but  find  out  the  herb,  which  gilds  the 
teeth  and  gives  a  yellow  color  to  the  flesh  of  the  shet-'p  that 
eat  it.  Even  the  oil  of  this  plant  must  be  of  a  golden  color. 
It  is  called  Haschischat  ed  dab.** 

Father  Jerome  Dandini,  however,  asserts  that  the  teeth  of 
the  goats  at  Mount  Libanus  are  of  a  silver  color  ;  and  adds, 
"this  confirms  to  me  that  which  I  observed  in  C;india :  to 
wit,  that  the  animals  that  live  on  Mount  Ida  eat  a  certain 
herb,  which  renders  their  teeth  of  a  golden  color  ;  which, 
according  to  my  judgment,  cannot  otherwise  proceed  than 
from  the  mines  wliich  are  under  ground." — Davdini,  Voy- 
age to  Mount  Libanus. 

6  The  myrrh  country. 

*  "This  idea  (of  deities  living  in  shells)  was  not  unknown 
to  the  Greeks,  who  represent  the  young  Xeriies,  one  of  the 
Cupids,  as  living  in  shells  on  the  shores  of  the  Red  Sea.  '— 
WUfurd. 


448 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  now  a  Spirit  form'd,  'twould  seem, 

Of  music  and  of  light, — so  fair, 
So  briiiiantly  his  features  beam. 

And  such  a  sound  is  in  the  air 
Of  sweetness  when  he  waves  his  wings, — 
Hovers  around  her,  and  thus  sings  : 

From  Chixdara's^  warbling  fount  I  come, 
Call'd  by  that  moonlight  garland's  spell ; 
From  Ciiixdara's  fount,  my  fairy  home. 

Where  in  music,  morn  and  niglit,  I  dwell. 
Where  lutes  in  the  air  are  heard  about. 

And  voices  are  singing  the  wliole  day  long. 
And  every  sigli  the  heart  Ireathes  out 
Is  turn'd,  as  it  leaves  tiie  lips,  to  song 
Hither  I  come 
From  my  fairy  home. 
And  if  there's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain, 
I  swear  by  the  breath 
Of  tliat  moonlight  wreath, 
Thy  Lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 

For  mine  is  tlie  lay  that  lightly  floats,         ■ 
And  mine  are  the  murm'ring,  dying  notes. 
That  fall  as  soft  as  snow  on  the  sea. 
And  melt  in  the  heart  as  instantly  : — 
And  the  passionate  strain  that,  deeply  going, 

Refines  the  bosom  it  trembles  through, 
As  the  musk-wind,  over  the  water  blowing. 

Ruffles  the  wave,  but  sweetens  it  too. 

Mine  is  the  charm,  whose  mystic  sway 

The  Spirits  of  past  Delight  obey  ; — 
j        Let  but  the  tuneful  talisman  sound. 

And  they  come,  like  Genii,  hov'ring  round. 
I        And  mine  is  the  gentle  song  that  bears 
;  From  soul  to  soul,  the  wishes  of  love. 

As  a  bird,  that  wafts  through  genial  airs 

The  ciimamon-seed  from  grove  to  grove.^ 

I 

I       I  '*  A  fabulous  fountain,  where  instruments  are  said  to  bo 

;    constantly  playing." — Richardson. 

^  "  The  Pompadour  pigeon  is  th&  species,  which,  by  carry- 
ing the  fruit  of  the  cinnamon  to  diflcrent  places,  is  a  great 
disseminator  of  this  valualjle  tree." — See  Brown'a  lUustr., 

I    Tab.  19. 

5  "  Whenever  our  pleasure  arises  from  a  succession  of 
sounds,  it  is  a  perception  of  a  complicated  nature,  made  up 
of  a  sensation  of  the  present  sound  or  note,  and  an  idea  or 

j    remembrance  of  the  foregoing,  while  their  mi.\ture  and  con- 

(  currence  produce  such  a  mysterious  delight,  as  neither  could 
have  produced  alone.  And  it  is  often  heightened  by  an  anti- 
cipation of  the  succeeding  notes.    Thus  Sense,  Memory,  and 

!    Imagination,   are  conjunctively  employed." — Gcrrard   on 

I    Taste. 

I        This  is  exactly  the  Epicurean  theory  of  Pleasore,  as  ex- 

I  plained  by  Cicero ; — "  Quocirca  corpus  gaudere  tamdiu,  dum 
prtpsentem  sentiret  voluptatem  :  ar.inium  et  pra^sentem  per- 

I    cipere  pariter  cum  corporc  et  prospicere  venientcm,  nee  prte- 

I    teritam  prjilertiuere  sincre." 


'Tis  I  that  mingle  in  one  sweet  measure 
The  past,  the  present,  and  future  of  pleasure  ;' 
When  Memory  links  the  tone  that  is  gone 

With  the  blissful  tone  that's  still  in  the  car ; 
And  Hope  from  a  heavenly  note  flies  on 

To  a  note  more  heavenly  still  that  is  near. 

The  warrior's  heart,  when  touch'd  by  me, 

Can  as  downy  soft  and  as  yielding  be 

As  his  own  white  plume,  that  high  amid  death 

Through  the  field  has  shone — yet  moves  with  a 

breath  ! 
And,  oh,  how  the  eyes  of  Beauty  glisten, 

When  Music  has  reach'd  her  inward  soul. 
Like  the  silent  stars,  that  wink  and  listen 
While  Heaven's  eternal  melodies  roll. 
So,  hither  I  come 
From  my  fairy  home. 
And  if  there's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain, 
I  swear  by  the  breath 
Of  that  moonlight  wreath. 
Thy  lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 

'Tis  dawn — at  least  that  earlier  dawn. 
Whose  glimpses  are  again  withdrawn,' 
As  if  the  mom  had  waked,  and  then 
Shut  close  her  lids  of  light  again. 
And  NouRMAHAL  is  up,  and  trying 

The  wonders  of  her  lute,  whose  strings — 
Oh,  bliss  ! — now  raurmtu:  like  the  sighing 

From  that  ambrosial  Spirit's  wings. 
And  then,  her  voice — 'tis  more  than  human — 

Never,  till  now,  had  it  been  given 
To  lips  of  any  mortal  woman 

To  utter  notes  so  fresh  from  heaven  ; 
Sweet  as  the  breath  of  angel  sighs, 

When  angel  sighs  are  most  divine. — 
"  Oh  !  let  it  last  till  night,"  she  cries, 

"  And  he  is  more  tlian  ever  mine." 

Madame  de  Staiil  accounts  upon  the  same  principle  for  the 
gratiticatiou  we  derive  froiu  rhyme: — "Elle  est  I'image  de 
Tesperanceetdti  souvenir.  Un  son  nous  fait  desirerceluiijui 
doit  lui  repondre,  et  quand  le  second  retentit  il  nous  rappelle 
celui  qui  vient  de  nous  echapper." 

♦  "  The  Persians  have  two  mornings,  the  Soobhi  Kazim 
and  the  Soobhi  Sadig,  the  false  and  the  real  daybreak.  They 
account  for  this  phenomenon  in  a  most  whimsical  manner. 
They  say  that  as  the  sun  rises  from  behind  the  Kohl  Qaf, 
(Mount  Caucasus,)  it  passes  a  hole  perlorated  through  that 
mountain,  and  that  darting  its  rays  through  it,  it  is  the  cause 
of  the  Soobhi  Kazini,  or  this  temporary  appearance  of  day- 
break. As  it  ascends,  the  earth  is  again  veiled  in  darkness, 
until  the  sun  rises  above  the  mountain,  and  brings  with  it 
the  Soobhi  Sadig,  or  real  morning."— 5cott  Warin^r.  He 
thinks  Milton  may  allude  to  this,  when  he  says, — 

"  Ere  the  blabbing  Eastern  scout. 
The  nice  morn  on  the  Indian  steep 
From  her  cabin'd  loop-hole  peep." 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


449 


And  iiourly  she  renews  the  lay, 

So  fearful  lest  its  heav'nly  sweetness 
Should,  ere  the  evening,  fade  away, — 

For    things    so     heav'idy    have    such    fleet- 
ness ! 
But.  far  from  fading,  it  but  grows 
Richer,  diviner  as  it  flows  ; 
THl  rapt  she  dwells  on  ever)'  string, 

And  pours  again  each  sound  along, 
Like  eclio.  lost  and  languishing, 

In  love  with  her  own  wondrous  song. 

That  evening,  (trusting  tliat  his  soul 

Mi^ht  be  from  haunting  love  released 
By  mirth,  by  music,  and  tlie  bowl,) 

Til'  Imperial  Selim  held  a  feast 
In  Ills  magnificent  Shalimar  :' — 
In  whose  Saloons,  when  the  first  star 
Of  evening  o'er  the  waters  trembled. 
The  Valley's  loveliest  all  assembled  ; 
All  the  bright  creatures  that,  like  dreams, 
Glide  througli  its  foliage,  and  drink  beams 
Of  beauty  from  its  founts  and  streams  f 
And  all  those  wand'ring  minstrel-maids, 
Who  leave — how  can  they  leave  ? — the  shades 
Of  that  dear  Valley,  and  are  found 

Singing  in  gardens  of  the  South^ 
Tliose  songs,  that  ne'er  so  sweetly  sound 

As  from  a  young  Cashmerian's  moutli. 

There,  too,  the  Haram's  inmates  smile  ; — 
Maids  from  tlie  West,  with  sun-bright  hair, 

And  from  the  Garden  of  the  Nile, 
Delicate  as  the  roses  there  •* — 

Daughters  of  Love  from  Cyprus'  rocks, 

With  Paphian  diamonds  in  their  locks  ;" — 

1  "  In  the  centre  of  the  plain,  as  it  approaches  the  Lake, 
one  of  the  Delhi  Emperors,  I  believe  Shah  Jehan,  construct- 
ed a  spscious  garden  called  the  Shalimar,  which  is  abun- 
dantly stored  with  fruit-trees  and  floweriny  shrubs.  Some  of 
the  rivulets  which  intersect  the  plain  are  led  into  a  canal  at 
the  back  of  the  garden,  and  flowing  through  its  centre,  or 
occasionally  thrown  into  a  variety  of  water-works,  compose 
the  chief  beauty  of  the  Shalimar.  To  decorate  this  spot  the 
Blogiil  Princes  of  India  have  displayed  an  equal  magnificence 
and  taste:  especially  Jehan  Gheer,  who,  with  (he  enchant- 
ing Noor  Mahl,  made  Kashmire  his  usual  residence  during 
the  summer  months.  On  arches  thrown  over  the  canal  are 
erected,  at  equal  distances,  four  or  live  suites  of  apartments, 
each  consisting  of  a  saloon,  with  four  rooms  at  the  angles, 
where  the  followers  of  the  court  attend,  and  the  servants 
prepare  sherbets,  coffee,  and  the  hookah.  The  frame  of  the 
doors  of  the  principal  saloon  iscomposedof  piecesof  a  stone 
of  a  black  color,  streaked  with  yellow  lines,  and  of  a  closer 
grain  and  higher  polish  than  porphyry.  They  were  taken, 
it  is  said,  from  a  Hindoo  temple,  by  one  of  the  Mogul  princes, 
and  are  esteemed  of  great  value." — Forster. 

a  "The  waters  of  Cachemir  are  the  more  renowned  from 
its  being  supposed  that  the  Cachemirians  are  indebted  for 
their  beauty  to  them." — ^li  Yetdi 


Light  Peri  forms,  such  as  tliey  aro 
On  the  gold  meads  of  Candahar  f 
And  they,  before  whose  sleepy  eyes, 

In  their  own  bright  Kathalan  bow'rs, 
Sparkle  such  rainbow  butterflies, 

That  they  might  fancy  the  rich  flow'rs, 
That  round  them  in  the  sun  lay  sighing, 
Had  been  by  magic  all  set  flying.*" 

Every  thing  young,  every  thing  fair 
From  East  and  West  is  blushing  there, 
Except — except — oh,  Nourmaual  ! 


eiyxsl 
srme 


The  one,  whose  srMe  shone  out  alone. 
Amidst  a  world  the  only  one  ; 
Wiiose  light,  among  so  many  lights, 
Was  like  that  star  on  starry  nights, 
The  seaman  singles  from  the  sky, 
To  steer  his  bark  forever  by  ! 
Thou  wert  not  there — so  Selim  thought, 

And  every  thing  seem'd  drear  without  thee  ; 
But,  ah  !  thou  wert,  thou  wert, — and  brought 

Thy  charm  of  song  all  fresh  about  thee. 
Mingling  minotlced  with  a  band 
Of  lutanlsts  from  many  a  land, 
And  veil'd  by  such  a  mask  as  shades 
The  features  of  young  Arab  maids,® — 
A  mask  that  leaves  but  one  eye  free, 
To  do  its  best  in  witchery, — 
She  roved,  with  beating  heart,  around, 

And  waited,  trembling,  for  the  minute, 
When  she  miglit  try  if  still  the  sound 

Of  her  loved  lute  had  magic  in  it. 

The  board  was  spread  with  fruits  and  wine  ; 
With  grapes  of  gold,  like  those  that  shine 

3  "  From  him  I  received  the  following  little  Gazze!,  or 
Love  Song,  the  notes  of  which  he  comnutted  to  paper  from 
the  voice  of  one  of  those  singing  girls  of  Cashmere,  who 
wander  from  that  delightful  valley  over  the  various  parts  of 
India." — Persian  Jiliscellanies. 

^  "  The  roses  of  the  Jinan  rs'ile,  or  Garden  of  the  Nile  (at- 
tached to  the  Emperor  of  Morocco's  palace)  are  unequalled, 
and  mattresses  are  made  of  their  leaves  for  the  men  of  rank 
to  recline  upon." — Jackson. 

'i"On  the  side  of  a  mountain  near  Paphos  there  is  a 
cavern  which  produces  the  most  beautiful  rock-crystal.  On 
account  of  its  brilliancy  it  has  been  called  the  Paphian  dia- 
mond."— J\Iariti. 

6  "  There  is  a  part  of  Candahar,  called  Peria,  or  Fairy 
Land." — Thevcnot.  In  some  of  those  countries  to  the  north 
of  India,  vegetable  gold  is  supposed  to  be  produced. 

'  "These  are  the  butterflies  which  are  called  in  the  Chi- 
nese language  Flying  Leaves.  Some  of  them  have  such 
shining  colors,  and  are  so  variegated,  that  they  may  be  call- 
ed flying  flowers;  and  indeed  they  are  always  produced  in 
the  finest  flower-gardens." — Dunn. 

*"The  Arabian  women  wear  black  masks  with  little 
clasps  prettily  ordered." — Carreri.  Niebuhr  mentions  their 
showing  but  one  eye  in  conversation. 


450 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


On  Casbin'b  hills  ;' — pomegranates  full 

Of  melting  sweetness,  and  the  pears, 
And  sunniest  apples'  that  Caubul 

In  all  its  thousand  gardens^  bears ; — 
Plantains,  the  golden  and  the  gi'ceu, 
Malaya's  nectar'd  mangusteen  ;* 
Prunes  of  Bokhara,  and  sweet  nuts 

From  tlio  far  groves  of  Samarcand, 
And  Basra  dates,  and  apricots. 

Seed  of  the  Sun,'  from  Iran's  land  ; — 
With  rich  conserve  of  Visna  cherries," 
Of  orange  flowers,  and  of  those  berries 
That,  wild  and  fresh,  the  vmuig  gazelles 
Feed  on  in  Erac's  rocky  (otIs.' 
All  these  in  richest  vases  smile, 

In  baskets  of  pure  sandal-wood, 
And  urns  of  porcelain  from  that  isle' 

Sunk  underneath  the  Indian  flood, 
Whence  oft  the  lucky  diver  brings 
Vases  to  grace  the  halls  of  kings. 
Wines,  too,  of  every  clime  and  hue, 
Around  their  liquid  lustre  threw  ; 
Amber  RosoUi," — the  bright  dew 
From  vineyards  of  the  Green-Sea  gushing  ;" 
And  SiiiRAZ  wine,  that  richly  ran 

As  if  that  jewel,  large  and  rare. 
The  ruby  for  which  Kublai-Khan 
Offer'd  a  city's  wealtli,"  was  blushing, 

Melted  within  the  goblets  there ! 

And  amply  Selim  quaffs  of  each. 

And  seems  resolved  the  flood  shall  reach 

His  inward  heart, — sliedding  aroimd 

A  genial  deluge,  as  they  run. 
That  soon  shall  leave  no  spot  undrown'd. 

For  Love  to  rest  his  wings  upon. 
He  little  knew  how  well  the  boy 

Can  float  uwn  a  goblet's  streams, 

'  "The  golden  grapes  oC C;isWm."—Dcscrlplion  of  Persia. 

2  "  The  fruils  exported  from  Cabul  are  apples,  pears,  pome- 
granates," &.C. — Elphhistone. 

8  "  Wc  sat  down  under  a  tree,  listened  to  the  birds,  and 
talked  with  tlie  son  of  our  Mehniaundar  about  our  country 
and  Caubul,  of  which  lie  gave  an  enchanting  account:  that 
cily  and  its  100,000  gardens,"  &c.— W. 

4  "The  mangusteen,  the  most  delicate  fruit  in  the  world; 
the  pride  of  the  Malay  islands."— jl/arsdcn. 

0  "  A  delicious  kind  of  apricot  called  by  the  Persians  tokitt- 
ek-shems,  signiryinj  sun's  seed."— JDcscr;>Iiim  of  Persia. 

fl  "  Sweetmeat's,  i'n  a  crystal  cup,  consisting  of  rose-leaves 
in  conserve,  with  lemon  of  Visna  cherry,  orange  flowers," 
&c. — Russet. 

7  "  Antelopes  cropping  the  fresh  berries  of  Erac." — The 
Moallalcat,  Poem  of  Tarafa. 

8  "  Mauri-ga-Sinia,  an  island  near  Formosa,  supposed  to 
have  been  sunk  in  the  sea  for  the  crimes  of  its  inhabitants. 
The  vessels  whicn  the  fishermen  and  divers  bringup  from 
it  are  sold  at  an  miniense  price  in  China  and  Japan." — See 
Kempfer. 


Lighting  them  with  his  smile  of  joy  ; — 
As  bards  have  seen  him  in  their  dream."), 

Down  the  blue  Ganges  laughing  glide 
Upon  a  rosy  lotus  wreath," 

Catching  new  lustre  from  the  tide 
Tliat  with  bis  image  shone  beneath. 

But  what  arc  cups,  witliout  the  aid 

Of  song  to  speed  them  as  they  flow  ? 
And  see — a  lovely  Georgian  maid. 

With  all  the  bloom,  the  freshen'd  glow 
Of  her  own  country  maidens'  looks. 
When  warm  they  rise  from  Teflis'  brooks  ;" 
And  with  an  eye,  whose  restless  ray. 

Full,  floating,  dark — oh,  he,  who  knows 
His  heart  is  weak,  of  Heav'n  should  pray 

To  guard  bim  from  such  eyes  as  those  !— 

With  a  voluptuous  wildness  flings 

Her  snowy  hand  across  the  strings 

Of  a  syrinda,"  and  thus  sings  : — 

Come  hither,  come  hither — ^by  niglit  and  by  day, 
We  linger  in  pleasures  that  never  are  gone  ; 

Like  the  waves  of  the  summer,  as  one  dies  away, 
Another  as  sweet  and  as  shining  comes  on. 

And  the  love  that  is  o'er,  in  expiring,  gives  birth 
To  a  new  one  as  warm,  as  unoquall'd  in  bliss ; 

And,  oh !  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth. 
It  is  this,  it  is  this.'' 

Hero  maidens  are  sighing,  and  fragrant  their  sigh 
As  the  flow'r  of  tire  Amra  just  oped  by  a  bee  ;'" 

And  precious  their  tears  as  that  rain  from  the  sky," 
Which  turns  into  pearls  as  it  falls  in  the  sea. 

Oh  !  think  wliat  the  kiss  and  the  smile  must  be  worth 
^Vhen  the  sigh  and  the  tear  arc  so  perfect  ill  bliss, 

And  own  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  eartli. 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 


9  Persian  Tales. 

^°  The  %vhite  wine  of  Kishma. 

1^  "The  kingof  Zcilan  is  said  to  have  the  very  finest  ruby 
that  was  ever  seen.  Kublai-Khan  sent  and  olTered  the  value 
of  a  city  for  it,  but  the  King  answered  he  would  not  give  it 
for  the  treasure  of  the  world." — Marco  Polo. 

"  The  Indians  feign  that  Cnpid  was  first  seen  floating  down 
the  Ganges  on  the  Nymphxa  Nelumbo. — See  Pennant. 

"  Teflis  is  celebrated  for  its  natural  warm  baths.— Sec  Ebn 
Haultal. 

H  "  The  Indian  Syrinda,  or  guitar."— Symc:. 

'5  "  Around  the  e.\tcrior  of  the  Dewan  Khafs  (a  building 
of  Shah  .ilium's)  in  the  cornice  are  the  following  lines  in 
letters  of  gold  upon  a  ground  of  white  marble— *  If  there  he  a 
paradiae  upon  earth,  it  is  this,  it  is  Oiis.* " — FraneUhn. 

"  "DelighUul  are  the  flowers  of  the  Amra  trees  on  the 
mountain-tops,  while  the  murmuring  bees  pursue  their  vo  ■ 
lupluous  toil." — Son^^  of  Jayadcva. 

17  "  The  Nisan  or  drops  of  spring  rain,  which  they  believe 
to  produce  pearls  if  they  fall  into  shells." — Richardxzn. 


LALLA 

[lOOKH.                                                   451 

Hero  sparkles  the  nectar,  that,  hallow'd  by  love. 

But,  oh  !  tlie  choice  what  heart  can  doubt, 

Could  draw  down  those  angels  of  old  from  their 

Of  tents  with  love,  or  thrones  without  ? 

splicre, 

Who  for  wine  of  this  earth'  left  the  fountains  above, 

Our  rocks  are  rough,  but  smiling  there 

And  forgot  heav'n's  stai-s  for  the  eyes  we  have 

Th'  acacia  waves  her  yellow  hair, 

here. 

Lonely  and  sweet,  nor  loved  the  less 

And,  bless'd  with  the  odor  our  goblet  gives  forth, 

For  flow'ring  in  a  wilderness. 

What  Spirit  the  sweets  of  his  Eden  would  iniss  ? 

For,  oh  !  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth. 

Our  sands  are  bare,  but  down  their  slope 

It  is  this,  it  is  this. 

The  silv'ry-footcd  antelope 

As  gracefully  and  gayly  springs 

The  Georgian's  song  was  scarcely  mute. 

As  o'er  the  marble  coiu-ts  of  kings. 

WTien  the  same  measure,  sound  for  sound. 

Was  caught  up  by  another  lute, 

Then  come — thy  Arab  maid  will  be 

And  so  divinely  breathed  around, 

The  loved  and  lone  acacia-tree. 

Tliat  all  stood  hush'd  and  wondering, 

The  antelope,  whose  feet  shall  bless 

And  turn'd  and  look'd  into  the  air. 

With  their  light  sound  thy  loneliness. 

As  if  they  thought  to  see  the  wing. 

Of  IsRAFfL,^  the  Angel,  there  ; — 

Oh  !  there  are  looks  and  tones  that  dart 

So  pow'rfully  on  ev'ry  soul 

An  instant  sunshine  through  the  heart, — 

That  new,  enchanted  measure  stole. 

As  if  the  soul  that  minute  caught 

While  now  a  voice,  sweet  as  the  note 

Some  treasiure  it  through  life  had  sought ; 

Of  the  charm'd  lute,  was  heard  to  float 

Along  its  chords,  and  so  entwine 

As  if  the  very  lips  and  eyes. 

Its  sounds  with  theirs,  that  none  knew  whether 

Predestined  to  have  all  our  sighs. 

The  voice  or  lute  was  most  divine. 

And  never  be  forgot  again, 

So  wcndi-ous'y  they  went  together : — 

Sjjarkled  and  spoke  before  us  then ! 

There's  a  bliss  beyond  all  that  the  minstrel  has  told. 

So  came  thy  ev'ry^  glance  and  tone 

When  two,  that  are  liuk'd  in  one  heav'nly  tie, 

When  first  on  me  they  breathed  and  shone ; 

With  heart  never  changing,  and  brow  never  cold, 

New,  as  if  brought  from  other  spheres, 

Love  on  through  all  ills,  and  love  on  till  they  die  ! 

Yet  welcome  as  if  loved  for  years. 

One  hour  of  a  passion  so  sacred  is  worth 

Whole  ages  of  heartless  and  wandering  bliss  ; 

Then  fly  with  me, — if  thou  hast  known 

And,  oh  !  if  there  he  an  Elysium  on  earth, 

No  other  flame,  nor  falsely  thrown 

It  is  this,  it  is  this. 

A  gem  away,  that  thou  hadst  sworn 

Should  ever  in  tliy  heart  be  worn. 

'Twas  not  the  air,  'twas  not  the  words, 

But  that  deep  magic  in  the  chords 

Come,  if  tlie  love  thou  hast  for  me, 

And  in  the  lips,  that  gave  such  pow'r 

Is  pure  and  fresh  as  mine  for  thee, — 

As  Music  knew  not  till  that  hour. 

Fresh  as  the  fountain  under  ground, 

At  once  a  hundred  voices  said, 

Wlien  first  'tis  by  the  lapwing  found.' 

"  It  is  tlie  mask'd  Arabian  maid  !" 

Wliile  Seli.m,  who  had  felt  the  strain 

But  if  for  me  thou  dost  forsake 

Deepest  of  any,  and  had  lain 

Some  other  maid,  and  rudely  break 

Some  minutes  rapt,  as  in  a  trance, 

Ker  worshipp'd  image  from  its  base. 

After  the  fairy  sounds  were  o'er, 

To  give  to  me  the  ruin'd  place ; — 

Too  inly  touch'd  for  utterance. 

Now  motiou'd  with  his  hand  for  more : — 

Then,  fare  thee  well — I'd  rather  make 

My  bower  upon  some  icy  lake 

Fly  to  the  desert,  fly  with  me. 

When  thawing  suns  begin  to  shine. 

Our  Arab  tents  are  rude  for  thee  ; 

Than  trust  to  love  so  false  as  tliine  ! 

1  For  an  account  of  the  share  which  wine  had  in  the  fall 

s  The  HudhuJ,  or  Lapwing,  is  supposed  to  have  the  pow- 

of the  angels,  see  Mariti. 

er  of  discovering  \v,iter  under  ground. 

>  The  Angel  of  Music.    See  note  ',  p.  •130. 

452 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


There  was  a  pathos  in  this  lay, 

Tliat,  ev'n  without  enchantment's  art, 
Would  instantly  have  found  its  way 

Deep  into  Selim's  burning  heart ; 
But,  breathing,  as  it  did,  a  tone 
To  earthly  kites  and  hps  unknown  ; 
Witli  every  chord  fresh  from  the  touch 
Of  Music's  Spirit, — 'twas  too  much  ! 
Starting,  he  dash'd  away  the  cup, — 

Which,  all  the  time  of  this  sweet  air, 
His  hand  had  held,  untasted,  up. 

As  if  'twere  fixM  by  magic  there,— 
And  naming  her,  so  long  unnamed, 
So  long  unseen,  wildly  exclaim'd, 

"  Oh  NOURMAIIAL  !    oh  NoUItMAHAL  ! 

"  Hadst  thou  but  sung  this  witching  strain, 
"  I  could  forget — forgive  thee  all, 

"  And  never  leave  those  eyes  again." 

The  mask  is  off — the  charm  is  wrought — 
And  Selih  to  his  heart  has  caught, 
In  blushes,  more  than  ever  bright, 
His  NouRMAHAL,  his  Hiram's  Light ! 
And  well  do  vanish'd  frowns  enhance 
The  charm  of  every  brighten'd  glance  : 
And  dearer  seems  each  dawning  smile 
For  having  lost  its  light  awhile  : 
And,  liappier  now  for  all  her  sighs. 

As  on  his  arm  her  head  reposes, 
She  whispers  him,  with  laughing  eyes, 

**  Remember,  love,  the  Feast  of  Roses  I" 


Fadlaueen,  at  the  conclusion  of  this  liglit  rhap- 
sody, took  occasion  to  sum  up  his  opinion  of  the 
yountr  Cashmerian's  poetry, — of  which,  ho  trusted, 
they  had  that  evening  heard  the  last.  Having 
recapitulated  the  epithets,  "  frivolous" — "  inharmo- 
nious"— "  nonsensical,"  he  proceeded  to  say  that, 
viewing  it  in  the  most  favorable  light,  it  resembled 
one  of  those  Maldivian  boats,  to  which  the  Princess 
had  alluded  in  the  relation  of  her  dream, '^a  slight, 
gilded  thing,  sent  adrift  without  rudder  or  ballast, 
and  with  nothing  but  vapid  sweets  and  faded  flowers 
on  board.  The  profusion,  indeed,  of  flowers  and 
birds,  which  this  poet  had  ready  on  all  occasions, — 
not  to  mention  dews,  gems,  &.c. — was  a  most  op- 
pressive kind  of  opulcu\.e  to   his  hearers  ;  and  had 


1  See  p.  427. 

3  "The  Chinese  had  formerly  Che  art  of  painting  on  the 
sides  of  porcelain  vessels  fish  and  olher  aiiitnals,  which  wcro 
only  perceptible  when  the  vessel  was  full  of  sonic  liquor. 
They  call  tbis  species  Kia-tsin.  that  is,  aiiirc  is  put  in  press, 
on  account  of  the  manner  in  which  the  uzuro  is  Uiid  on." — 


the  unlucky  effect  of  giving  to  his  style  all  the  glitter 
of  the  flower-garden  wltliout  its  method,  and  all  the 
flutter  of  the  aviarj'  without  its  song.  In  addition 
to  this,  he  chose  his  subjects  badly,  and  was  always 
most  inspired  by  the  worst  parts  of  them.  The 
charms  of  paganism,  the  merits  of  rebellion, — lliese 
were  the  themes  honored  with  his  particular  cnthn- 
siasm  ;  and,  in  the  poem  just  recited,  one  of  his 
most  palatable  passages  was  in  praise  of  that  bever- 
age of  the  Unfaithful,  wine  ;— "  being,  perhaps," 
said  he,  relaxhig  into  a  smile,  as  conscious  of  his 
own  character  in  the  Haram  on  this  point,  "one  of 
those  bards  whose  fancy  owes  all  its  illumination  to 
the  grape,  like  that  painted  porcelain,^  so  curious 
and  so  rare,  whose  images  aro  only  visible  when 
liquor  is  poured  into  it."  Upon  the  whole,  it  was 
his  opinion,  from  the  specimens  which  they  had 
heard,  and  whicli,  he  begged  to  say,  were  ilie  most 
tiresome  part  of  the  jouniey,  that — whatever  other 
merits  this  well-dressed  young  gentleman  might  pos- 
sess— poetry  was  by  no  means  his  propel  avocation  : 
"  and  indeed,"  concluded  the  critic,  "  from  his  fond- 
ness for  flowers  and  for  birds,  I  would  venture  to 
suggest  that  a  florist  or  a  bird-catcher  is  a  much 
more  suitable  calling  for  liini  than  a  poet." 

They  had  now  begun  to  ascend  those  barren 
mountains,  which  separate  Cashmere  from  the  rest 
of  India  ;  and,  as  the  heats  were  intolerable,  and 
the  time  of  their  encampments  limited  to  the  few 
hours  necessary  for  refreshmeut  and  repose,  there 
was  an  end  to  all  their  delightful  evenings,  and 
Lalla  RooKn  saw  no  more  of  Feramqkz.  She 
now  felt  that  her  short  dream  of  happiness  was 
over,  and  tliat  she  had  nothing  but  the  recollection 
of  its  few  blissful  hours,  like  the  one  draught  of 
sweet  water  that  oerves  the  camel  across  the  wil- 
derness, to  be  lier  heart's  refreshment  during  the 
dreary  waste  of  life  that  was  before  her.  Tlie 
blight  that  had  fallen  upon  her  spirits  soon  found 
its  way  to  her  cheek,  and  her  ladies  saw  with 
regret — though  not  without  some  suspicion  of  the 
cause — that  the  beauty  of  their  mistress,  of  which 
they  were  almost  as  proud  as  of  tlieir  own,  was 
fast  vanishing  away  at  tlio  very  moment  of  all  when 
she  had  most  need  of  it.  What  must  the  King  of 
Bucharia  feel,  when,  instead  of  tlio  lively  and 
beautiful  Lalla  Rookii,  whom  tho  poets  of  Delhi 
had  described  as  more  perfect  than  the  divinest 
images  in  the  house  of  Azor,'  ho  should  receive  a 


They  are  everj'  now  and  then  trpng  to  recover  the  art  of 
this  magical  painting,  but  to  no  purpose." — Dunn. 

3  An  eminent  carver  of  idols,  said  in  the  Koran  to  bo  falhtr 
to  Abraham.  "  I  have  such  a  lovely  idol  as  is  not  to  be  met 
with  in  the  house  of  Azor."— Haffi. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


453 


palo  and  inanimate  victim,  upon  whose  cheek 
neither  lieaUh  nor  pleasure  bloomed,  and  from 
whoso  eyes  Lcve  had  fled, — to  hide  himself  in  her 
heart  ? 

If  any  thing  could  have  charmed  away  the  mel- 
ancholy of  her  Ppirits,  it  would  have  been  the  fresh 
airs  and  enchanting  scenery  of  that  Valley,  which 
the  Persians  so  justly  called  the  Unequalled.^  But 
neither  the  coolness  of  its  atmosphere,  so  luxurious 
after  toiling  up  those  bare  and  burning  mountains, — 
neither  tlie  splendor  of  the  minarets  and  pagodas, 
that  shone  out  from  the  depth  of  its  woods,  nor  the 
grottoes,  hermitages,  and  miraculous  fountains,'^ 
which  make  every  spot  of  that  region  holy  ground, 
— neither  the  countless  waterfalls,  that  rush  into  the 
Valley  from  all  tliose  liigh  and  romantic  mountains 
that  encircle  it,  nor  the  fair  city  on  the  Lake,  whose 
houses,  roofed  with  flowei-s,^  appeared  at  a  distance 
like  one  vast  and  variegated  parterre  ; — not  all  these 
wonders  and  glories  of  tiie  most  lovely  country  un- 
der the  sun  could  steal  her  heart  for  a  minute  from 
those  sad  thoughts,  which  but  darkened,  and  grew 
bitterer  every  step  she  advanced. 

The  gay  pomps  and  processions  that  met  her 
upon  her  entrance  into  the  Valley,  and  the  magnifi- 
cence with  v/hich  the  roads  all  along  were  decorated, 
did  honor  to  the  taste  and  gallantry  of  the  young 
King.  It  was  night  when  they  approached  tbci 
city,  and,  for  the  last  two  miles,  they  had  passed 
under  arches,  thrown  from  hedge  to  hcd^^c,  festooned 
with  only  those  rarest  roses  from  which  the  Attar 
Gul,  more  precious  than  gold,  is  distilled,  and  illu- 
minated ni  rich  and  fanciful  forms  with  lanterns  of 
the  triple -colored  tortoise-shell  of  Pegu.*  Some- 
times, from  a  dark  wood  by  the  side  of  the  road,  a 
display  of  fireworks  would  break  out,  so  sudden  and 


1  Knchmire  be  Nazeer. — Forster. 

3  "  The  prinlonable  superstition  of  the  seqiieslored  inhahit- 
ants  has  multiplied  the  phices  of  worship  of  Mahadeo,  of 
Beschan,  and  of  Brama.  All  Cashmere  is  holy  land,  and 
niiracninus  fountains  abound." — Jilajor  Rcnnd's  ftlenioirsof 
a  Map  of  Hindustan. 

Jehan-Guire  nientvons  "a  fountain  in  Cashmere  called 
Tirnagh,  which  signifies  a  snake ;  probably  because  some 
Iaq;e  snake  had  formerly  been  seen  there." — "During  the 
lifetime  of  my  fHther,  I  went  twice  to  this  foun'u'in,  which 
is  about  twenty  coss  from  the  city  of  Cashmere.  The  ves- 
tiges of  places  of  worship  and  scanclity  are  to  be  traced 
without  number  amongst  the  ruins  and  the  caves  w  hich  are 
iiiterspersed  in  its  neighborhood." — Toczek  Jehav^eery. — 
Vide  Jisiai.  Misc.,  vol  ii. 

There  is  another  account  of  Cashmere  by  Al)ul-F;izil,  the 
author  of  the  Ayin-AtUarce,  "who,"  says  Major  Itcnnd, 
"appears  to  have  caught  some  of  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
VAltcy,  hy  his  description  of  the  holy  places  in  it." 

3  "On  a  standing  roof  of  wood  is  laid  a  covering  of  fine 


eo  brilliant,  that  a  Brahmin  might  fancy  he  beheld 
that  grove,  in  whose  purple  shade  the  God  of  Battles 
was  born,burciting  into  a  tlame  at  the  moment  of  his 
birth  ; — while,  at  other  times,  a  quick  and  playful 
irradiation  continued  to  brighten  all  the  fields  and 
gardens  by  which  they  passed,  forming  a  line  of 
dancing  lights  along  the  horizon  ;  like  the  meteors 
of  tlie  north  as  they  are  seen  by  those  hunlcrs,^  who 
pursue  the  wliite  and  blue  foxes  on  the  confines  of 
the  Icy  Sea. 

These  arches  and  fireworks  delighted  the  Ladies 
of  the  Princess  exceediu'rly  ;  and  with  their  usual 
good  logic,  they  deduced  f  on  his  taste  for  illumina- 
tions, that  the  King  of  I?ucn*>^'ia  would  make  the 
most  exemplar}'  husband  imaginable.  Nor,  indeed, 
could  Lai.la  RooKii  herr-elf  help  feeling  the  kind- 
ness and  splendor  with  which  the  young  bridegroom 
welcomed  her  ; — but  she  also  felt  how  painful  is  the 
gratitude,  whicli  kindness  from  those  we  cannot  love 
excites ;  and  that  their  best  blandishments  come 
over  the  heart  with  ail  that  chilling  and  deadly 
sweetness,  winch  we  can  fancy  in  the  cold,  odorifer- 
ous whid®  that  is  to  blow  over  this  earth  in  the  last 
days. 

The  marriage  was  fixed  for  the  morning  after  her 
arrival,  when  she  was,  for  the  first  time,  to  be  pre- 
sented to  the  monarcli  in  that  Imperial  Palace  be- 
yotid  the  lake,  called  the  Shalimar.  Though  never 
before  had  a  night  of  more  wakeful  and  anxious 
thought  been  passed  in  the  Happy  Valley,  yet,  when 
she  rose  in  the  morning,  and  her  Ladies  came  around 
her,  to  assist  in  the  adjustment  of  the  bridal  orna- 
ments, they  thought  they  had  never  seen  her  look 
half  so  beautiful.  What  she  had  lost  of  the  bloom 
and  radiancy  of  her  charms  was  more  than  made 
up  by  that  intellectual  expression,  that  soul  beaming 


earth,  which  shelters  the  building  from  the  great  quantity 
of  snow  tliat  falls  in  the  winter  season.  This  fence  com- 
municates an  equal  warmth  in  winter,  as  a  refreshing  cool- 
ness in  the  summer  season,  when  the  tops  of  the  houses, 
which  are  planted  with  a  variety  of  flowers,  exhibit  at  a 
distance  the  spacious  view  of  a  beautifully-checkered  par- 
terre."— Forster. 

*  "Two  hundrcdslavesthereare,  who  have  no  other  office 
than  lo  hunt  the  woods  and  marshes  for  triple-colored  tor- 
toises for  the  King's  Vivary.  Of  the  shells  of  these  also 
lanterns  are  made." — Vincent  Ic  Blanc's  Travels. 

fi  For  a  description  of  the  Aurora  Borealts  as  it  appears  to 
these  hunters,  \•ll^e  EncycloptBilia. 

6  This  wind,  which  is  to  blow  from  Syria  Damascena,  is, 
according  to  the  Mahometans,  one  of  the  signs  of  the  Last 
Day's  approach. 

Another  of  the  signs  is,  *'  Great  disUess  in  the  world,  so 
that  a  man  when  he  p:'.sses  by  another's  grave  shall  say» 
Would  to  God  I  were  in  his  place  I"— Sale's  Preliminary 
Discourse. 


454 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


forth  from  the  eyes,  which  is  worth  all  the  rest  of 
loveliness.  Wlien  they  Jiad  tinged  tier  fingers  v.'ith 
the  Henna  leaf,  and  placed  upon  her  brow  a  sma'l 
coronet  of  jewels,  of  the  sliape  worn  by  the  ancient 
Qneens  of  Bucharia,  they  flung  over  her  head  the 
rosi'.-colored  bridal  veil,  and  she  proceeded  to  the 
hargfe  that  was  to  convc}^  her  across  the  lake  ; — 
first  kissing,  with  a  mournful  look,  the  little  amulet 
of  cornelian  which  her  father  at  parting  had  hung 
about  her  neck. 

The  morning  was  as  fresh  and  fair  as  the  maid 
on  whose  nuptials  it  rose,  and  the  shining  lake  all 
covered  with  boats,  the  minstrels  playing  upon  the 
shores  of  the  islands,  and  the  crowded  summer- 
houses  on  the  green  hills  around,  with  shawls  and 
banners  waving  from  their  roofs,  presented  such  a 
picture  of  animated  rejoicing,  as  only  slie  who  was 
the  object  of  it  all,  did  not  feel  witli  transport  To 
Lalla  Rookh  alone  it  was  a  melancholy  pageant ; 
nor  could  she  have  even  borne  to  look  upon  the 
scene,  were  it  not  for  a  hope  that,  among  the  crowds 
around,  she  might  once  more  perhaps  catch  a  glimpse 
of  Feramorz.  So  much  was  iicr  imagination  haunt- 
ed by  this  thought,  that  tliere  was  scarcely  an  islet 
or  boat  she  passed  on  the  way,  at  which  her  heart 
did  not  flutter  with  the  momentary  fancy  that  he 
was  tiiere.  Happy,  in  her  eyes,  the  humblest  slave 
upon  whom  the  light  of  his  dear  looks  fell  1 — In  the 
barge  immediately  after  the  princess  sat  Fadladee.v, 
with  his  silken  curtains  thrown  widely  apart,  that 
all  might  have  the  benefit  of  his  august  presence, 
and  with  his  head  full  of  the  speech  he  was  to  de- 
liver to  the  King,  "  concerning  Ferahorz,  and  lit- 
erature, and  the  Chabuk,  as  connected  therewith." 

They  now  had  entered  the  canal  which  leads  from 
the  Lake  to  the  splendid  domes  and  saloons  of  the 
Shalimar,  and  went  gliding  on  through  the  gardens 
that  ascended  from  each  bank,  full  of  flowering 
shrubs  that  made  the  air  all  perfume  ;  while  from 
the  midrlle  of  the  canal  rose  jets  of  water,  smooth 
and  inibrokcn,  to  such  a  dazzling  height,  that  they 
stood  like  tall  pillara  of  diamond  in  the  sunshine. 


1  "  On  Mahommed  Shaw's  reUirn  to  Koolbnrga,  (the  capi- 
tal of  Dekknn,)  he  made  a  great  festival,  and  mounted  this 
Ihrniic  with  nuich  pomp  and  magnificence,  calling  it  Firozeh, 
or  Cerulean.  I  have  heard  some  old  persons,  who  saw  the 
throne  Firozch  in  the  reign  of  Sultan  Maniooil  Ilhaincnee, 
describe  it.  They  say  that  it  w.is  in  length  nine  feet,  and 
throe  in  breadth ;  made  of  ebony,  covered  with  plates  of  pure 
gold,  and  set  with  precious  rones  uf  immense  value.  Every 


After  sailing  under  the  arches  of  various  saloons, 
they  at  length  arrived  at  the  last  and  most  magnifi- 
cent, where  the  monarch  awaited  the  coming  of  his 
farido  ;  and  such  was  the  agitation  of  her  heart  and 
frame,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  she  could  walk  up 
the  marble  steps  which  were  covered  with  cloth  of 
gold  for  her  ascent  from  the  barge.  At  tbo  end  of 
the  hall  stood  two  thrones,  as  precious  as  the  Ceru- 
lean Throne  of  Coolburga,'  on  one  of  which  sat 
Aliris,  the  youthful  King  of  Bucharia,  and  on  the 
other  was,  in  a  few  minutes,  to  bo  placed  tho  most 
beautiful  Princess  in  the  world.  Immediately  upon 
tlie  entrance  of  Lalla  Rookii  Into  tho  saloon,  tho 
monarch  descended  from  his  throne  to  meet  her ; 
but  scarcely  had  he  time  to  take  her  hand  in  his, 
when  she  screamed  wjth  surprise,  and  fainted  at  his 
feet.  It  was  Ferajiorz  himself  that  stood  before 
her  I — Feramorz  was,  himself,  the  Sovereign  of 
Bucharia,  who  in  tins  disguise  had  accompanied  his 
young  bride  from  Dellii,  and,  having  won  her  love 
as  an  humble  minstrel,  now  amply  deserved  to  enjoy 
it  as  a  King. 

The  consternation  of  Fadladeex  at  this  discovery 
was,  for  the  moment,  almost  pitiable.  But  change 
of  opinion  is  a  resource  too  convenient  in  courts  for 
this  experienced  courtier  not  to  have  learned  to  avail 
himself  of  it.  His  criticisms  were  all,  of  coiu'se, 
recanted  instantly  :  he  was  seized  with  an  admira- 
tion of  the  King's  verses,  as  unbounded  as,  he  begged 
him  to  believe,  it  was  disinterested  ;  and  the  follow- 
ing week  saw  him  in  possession  of  an  additional 
place,  swearing  by  all  the  Saints  of  Islam  that  never 
had  there  existed  so  great  a  poet  as  the  Monarch 
Aliris,  and,  moreover,  ready  to  prescribe  his  favor- 
ite regimen  of  the  Chabuk  for  every  man,  woman, 
and  cliild  that  dared  to  think  otherwise. 

Of  tho  happiness  of  the  King  and  Queen  of 
Bucharia,  after  sucli  a  beginning,  there  can  be  but 
little  doubt;  and,  uinoug  the  lesser  symptoms,  it  is 
recorded  of  Lalla  Eookii,  that,  to  the  day  of  her 
death,  in  memory  of  then  delightful  journey,  she  never 
called  the  King  by  any  other  name  than  Feramokz. 


prince  of  the  honse  of  Bhamence,  who  possessed  this  Ihnine. 
made  a  point  of  adding  to  it  some  rich  stones  ;  so  that  when, 
in  the  reign  of  Sultan  Mamood,  it  was  taken  to  pieces,  to  re- 
move some  of  the  jewels  to  be  set  in  vases  and  cups,  the 
jewellers  valued  it  at  one  cororcof  oons,  (nearly  f<nir  millions 
sterling.)  I  learned  also  that  it  was  called  Firozeh  from 
being  partly  enamelled  of  a  sky-blue  color,  which  was  in  lime 
totally  concealed  by  tho  number  of  ieweU."—Fcriihta. 


POLITICAL  AND  SATIRICAL  POEMS. 


455 


POLITICAL  AND  SATIPJCAL  POEMS. 


LINES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR. 
P— RC— V— L. 

In   tlio   dirge  we  sung  o'er  liiiu  no  censure  was 
heard, 
Unembittcr'd   aud    free    did    Iho    tear-di'op  de- 
scend ; 
We   forgot,  in   that  hour,  how  the   statesman  had 
err'd, 
And  wept  for  the  husband,  tlio  fatlicr,  and  friead. 

Oil,  proud  was  the  meed  his  integrity  won. 

And  gen'rous  indeed  were  the  tears  tliat  wc  shed. 

When,  in  grief,  we  forgot  all  the  ill  he  had  done, 
And,  though  wroug'd  by  him,  living,  bewail'd 
him,  when  dead. 

Even  now,  if  one  harsher  emotion  intrude, 

'Tis  to  wisli  he  had  chosen  some  lowlier  state. 

Had  known  what  he  was — and,  content  to  be  good, 
Had  ne'er,  for  our  ruin,  aspired  to  be  great. 

So,  left  through  their  own  little  orbit  to  move, 

His  years  might  have  roll'd  inofTensive  away  ; 
His  children  might  still  have  been  bless'd  with  liis 
love, 
And  England  would  ne'er  have  been  cursed  with 
his  sway. 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Morning  Chronicle. 

Sir, 
In  order  to  explain  the  following  Fragment,  it  is 
necessary  to  refer  your  readers  to  a  late  florid  de- 
scription of  the  Pavilion  at  Brighton,  in  the  apart- 
ments of  which,  we  are  told,  "  Fum,  The  Chinese 
Bird  of  Royalty,"  is  a  principal  ornament. 

I  am,  Sir,  yours,  &c. 

Mum. 

FUM   AND   HUM,   THE   TWO   BIRDS  OF 
ROYALTY 

One  day  the  Chinese  Bird  of  Royalty,  Fum, 
Thus  accosted  our  own  Bird  of  Royalty,  Hum, 


In  that  Palace  or  China-shop  (Brighton,  ivhich  is 

it?) 
Where   Fu-m  had  just  come  to  pay  Hum  a  short 

visit. — 
Near  akin  are  these  Birds,  though  they  differ  in 

nation, 
(The  breed  of  the  Hums  ^-  is  old  as  creation  ;) 
Both,  full-craw'd  Legitime  ,ies — both,  birds  of  prey. 
Both,  cackling  and  ravenous  creatures,  half  way 
'Twi.\t    the    goose    and    the    vulture,    like    Lord 

C STL GH. 

While  Fum  deals  in  Mandarins,  Bonzes,  Bohea, 
Peers,  Bishops,  and   Punch,   Hum,    are   sacred   to 

thee  ! 
So  congenial  their  tastes,  that,  when  Fum  first  did 

light  on 
The    floor    of   that    grand    China-warehouse     at 

Brighton, 
The  lanterns,  aud  dragons,  and  things  round  the 

dome 
Were  so  like  what  he  left,  "  Gad,"  says  Fum,  "  I'm 

at  home." — 
And   when,   turning,  be   saw    Bishop  L ge, 

"  Zooks,  it  is," 
Quoth  tlie  Bird,  "  Yes — I  know  him — a  Bonze,  by 

his  phiz — 
"  And  that  jolly  old  idol  he  kneels  to  so  low 
"  Can  be  none  but  our  round-about  godhead,  fat 

Fo!" 
It  chanced  at  this  moment,  th'  Episcopal  Prig 
Was  imploring  the   P E   to    dispense   with   his 

wig," 
Which  the   Bird,  overhearing,  flew  liigh    o'er    his 

head, 
And  some  ToBiT-like  marks  of  his  patronage  shed. 
Which  so  dimm'd  the  poor  Dandy's  idolatrous  eye, 
That,  while  Fum  cried  "  Oh  Fo !"  all  the  court 

cried  "  Oh  fie  1" 

But,  a  truce  to  digression ; — these  Birds  of  a 
feather 

Thus  talk'd,  t'other  night,  on  State  matters  to- 
gether ; 


I  In  consequence  of  an  old  promise,  that  he  should  !» 
allowed  to  wear  his  own  hair,  whenever  he  might  be  ele- 
vated to  a  Bishopric  by  his  R 1  H ss 


456 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


(The  P E  just  in  bed,  or  about  to  depart  for't, 

His    legs    full    of    gout,    and    his    arms    full    of 

li — RTF — D,) 
"  I  say,  Hum,"  says  FuM — Fum,  of  course,  spoke 

Cliinese, 
But,  bless  you,   that's    nothing — at    Brighton    one 

sees 
Foreign  lingoes  and  Bishops  translated  with  ease — 
"  I  say.  Hum,  how  fares  it  with  Royalty  now  ? 
"  Is  it  up  ?  is  it  prime  ?  is  it  spooney — or  how  ?" 
(The  Bird  had  just  taken  a  flash-man's  degree 
Under    B — rr — m — re,   Y th,    and    young 

Master  L e,) 

"  As  for  us  in  Pekin" here,  a  devil  of  a  din 

From    the    bedchamber    came,   where   that    long 

Mandarin, 
C — stl gh   (whom  Fum  calls  the  Confucius  of 

Prose,) 
Was  rehearsing  a  speech  upon  Europe's  repose 
To  the  deep,  double  bass  of  the  fat  Idol's  nose. 

{Nota  bene — his  Lordship  and  L — v — rp — l  come, 
In  collateral  lines,  from  the  old  Mother  Hum, 

C STL GH    a    HuM-bug Li V RP — L  a  HuM- 

drum.) 
The  Speech  being  finisli'd,  out  rush'd  C — stl — gh. 
Saddled  Hum  in  a  hurry,  and,  whip,  spur,  away. 
Through   the   regions   of  air,  like   a  Snip  on  his 

hobby. 
Ne'er  paused,  till  he  lighted  in  St.  Stephen's  lobby. 


LINES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SK— R— D— N. 

■Principibus  placuisse  viris  ! — Horat. 

Yes,  grief  will  have  way — but  the  fast  falling  tear 
Shall  be  mingled  with  deep  execrations  on  those. 

Who  could  bask  in  that  Spirit's  meridian  career, 
And   yet   leave  it  thus  lonely  and  dark  at  its 
close : — 

Whose  vanity  flew  round  him   only  while  fed 
By    the    odor    his    fame    in    its    summer-time 
gave  ;— 
Whose  vanity  now,  with  quick  scent  for  the  dead, 
Like  the  Gholo  of  the  East,  comes  to  feed  at  his 
grave. 

Oh  !  it  sickens  the  heart  to  see  bosoms  so  hollow, 
And  spirits  so  mean  in  the  great  and  high-born  ; 


To  think  what  a  long  line  of  titles  may  follow 
The  relics  of  him  who  died — friendless  and  lorn  ! 

How  proud  they  can  press  to  the  fun'ral  array 
Of  one,  whom  they  shunn'd  in  his  sickness  and 
sorrow : — 
How  balifl's  may  seize  his  last  blanket,  to-d#y, 
Whose  pall  shall  be  held  up  by  nobles  to-mor- 
row ! 

And  Thou,  too,  whose  life,  a  sick  epicure's  dream, 

Incoherent  and  gross,  even  grosser  had  pass'd, 
'^ere    it    not    for    that    cordial    and    soul-giving 
beam. 
Which  his  friendship  and  wit  o'er  thy  nothingness 
cast : — 

No,  not  for  the   wealth  of  the  land,  that  supplies 
theo 
With  millions  to  heap  upon  Foppery's  shrine  ; — 
No,  not  for  the  riches  of  all  who  despise  thee. 
Though  this  would  make  Europe's  whole  opulence 
mine  ; — 

Would  I  suff"er  what — ev'u  in  the  heart  that  thou 
hast — 
All     mean    as    it    is — must     have     consciously 
burn'd, 
When  the  pittance,  which  shame  had  wrung  from 
thee  at  last. 
And  which  found    all   his  wants  at  an  end,  was 
return'd  ;' 

"  Was  this  then  the  fate," — future  ages  will  say, 
When  some  names  shall  live  but  in  history's  curse  ; 

When  Truth  will  be  heard,  and  these  Lords  of  a 
day 
Be  forgotten  as  fools,  or  remember'd  as  worse  ; — 

"  Was  this  then  the  fate  of  that  high-gifted  man, 
"  The  pride  of  the  palace,  the  bow'r  and  the  hall, 

*•  The  orator, — dramatist, — minstrel, — who  ran 
"  Through  each  mode  of  the  lyre,  and  was  master 
of  all  ;— 

"  Whose  mind  was  an  essence,  compoimded  with 
art 
"  From   the  finest  and  best  of  all  other  men's 
pow'rs : — 
"  Who  ruled,  like  a  wizard,  the  world  of  the  heart, 
"  And  could  call  up  its  sunshine,  or  bring  down 
its  show'rs  : — 


'  The  sum  was  two  hundred  fo\iT\ds— offered  when 
Sh— r— d— n  could  no  longer  take  any  sustenance,  and  de- 
clined, for  him,  by  his  friends. 


POLITICAL  AND  SATIRICAL  POEMS. 


457 


"  Wliose  humor,  as  gay  as  the  fire-fly's  light, 

"  Play'd  round    every  subject,  and  slione  as  it 
play'd  ;— 

"  Whose  wit,  in  tlic  combat,  as  gentle  as  briglit, 
"  Ne'er  carried  a  licart-stain  away  on  its  blade  ; — 

"  Whoso  eloquence — briglit'ning  whatever  it  tried, 
"  Whether    reason    or    fancy,    tho    gay    or    the 
grave, — 

"  Was  as  rapid,  as  deep,  and  as  brilliant  a  tide, 
"  As  ever  bore  Freedom  aloft  on  its  wave  !" 

Yes — such  was  the  man,  and  so  wretched  his  fate  ; — 
And  thus,  sooner  or  later,  shall  all  have  to  grieve. 

Who  waste  their  mom's  dew  in  the  beams  of  the 
Great, 
And  expect  'twill  retm'n  to  refresh  them  at  eve. 

In  the  woods  of  the  North  there  are  insects  that 
prey 
On  the  brain  of  the  elk  till  his  very  last  sigh  ;' 
Oh,  Genius  !  thy  patrons,  more  cruel  than  they. 
First  feed  on  thy  brains,  and  then  leave  thee  to 
die! 


EPISTLE 

FROM 

TOM  CRIB  TO  BIG  BEN.a 

CONCERKTNQ  SOME  FOUL  PLAY  IN  A  LATE  TRANSACTI0N.3 

"  Ahi,  mio  Ben  I" — Metastasio.* 

What  !  Ben,  my  old  hero,  is  tliis  your  renown  ? 
Is  this  the  new  go  ? — kick  a  man  when  he's  down  I 
A\nieu  the  foe  has  kuock'd  under,  to  tread  on  him 

then — 
By  the  fist  of  my  father,  I  hhish  for  thee,  Ben  I 
"  Foul  !  foul  I"  all  the  lads  of  the  Fancy  exclaim — 
Charley     Shock     is     electiified — Belcher     epits 

flame — 
And  IMoLYNEUx — ay,  even  Black^-^  cries  *'  shame  !" 

1  Naturalists  have  observed  that,  upon  dissecting  an  elk, 
there  were  found  in  its  head  some  ^dr^e  flics,  with  its  brain 
ahnost  eaten  away  by  Iheni. — History  of  Poland. 

2  A  nickname  given,  at  this  time,  to  the  Pr — ce  R — g — t. 

3  Written  soon  at'ter  Bonaparte's  transpcrtation  to  St. 
Helena. 

^  Tom  I  suppose,  was  "assisted"  to  this   Nutio  by  Mr. 


Time  was,  when  John  Bull  little  difference  spied 
'Twixt  the  foo  at  his  feet,  and  the  friend  at  his  side : 
When   he   found   (such  his  humor  in  fighting  and 

eating) 
His  foe,  like  his  beef-steak,  the  sweeter  for  beating. 
But  tins  comes.  Master  Ben,  of  your  cursed  foreign 

notions. 
Your  trinkets,   wigs,  thingumbobs,  gold  lace    and 

lotions ; 
Yom*   NoyeauSj  Curaroas,  and    the    Devil    knows 

what — 
(One  swig  of  Blue  Riiin'^  is  worth  the  whole  lot  I) 
Your  great  and  small   crosses — (my  eyes,  what  a 

brood ! 
A  cross-buttock  from  ?ne  would  do  some  of  them 

good !) 
Which  have  spoil'd  you,  till  hardly  a  drop,  my  old 

porpoise, 
Of  pure  English  claret  is  left  in  your  corpus  ; 
And  (as  Jim  says)  the  only  one  trick,  good  or  bad, 
Of  the  Fancy  you're  np  to,  isjihhing,  my  lad. 
Hence  it  comes, — Boxiana,  disgrace  to  thy  page  ! — 
Having  floor'd,  b}'  good  luck,  tiie  tif^  siccll  of  the 

ago, 
Having  conquer'd  the  prime  one,  that  m'LiCd  us  all 

round, 
You    kick'd    him,  old    Ben,  as    he    gasp'd    on  the 

ground  ! 
Ay — ^just  at  the  tune  to  show  spimk,  if  youM  got 

any — 
Kick'd    him,  and  jaw'd  him,  and    logged'  him  to 

Botany  I 
Oh,  shade  of  the  Cheesemonger  .'^  you,  who,  alas, 
Doubled  up,  by  tlie  dozen,  those  jVIounseers  in  brass, 
On  that  great  day  of  milling,  when  blood  lay  in  lakes, 
When  Kings  held  the  bottle,  and  Europe  the  stakes, 
Look  down  upon  Ben — see  him,  dunghill  all  o'er. 
Insult  the  faU'n  foe,  that  can  hann  him  no  more  I 
Out,  cowardly  spooney  ! — again  and  again, 
By  the  fist  of  my  father,  I  blush  for  thee,  Ben. 
To  show  the  xohite  feather  is  many  men's  doom, 
But,  what  of  one  feather? — Ben  shows  a  whole 

Plume. 

Jackson,  who,  it  is  well  known,  keeps  the  most  learned 
company  going. 

6  Names  and  nicknames  of  celebrated  pugilists  at  that 
time. 

6  Gin.  '  Transported. 

8  A  Life  Guardsman,  one  of  the  Fancy,  who  distlncnishcd 
himself,  and  was  killed  in  the  memorable  set  to  at  Waterloo. 


458 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


Le  Leggi  della  Maschera  richiedono  che  una  peivma  mascherata  non  sia  salulata  per  nome  da  uno  che  la  conosce 
malgrado  il  suo  travestimento. — Castiolionk. 


PREFACE. 

In  what  manner  tiie  following  Epistles  came  into 
my  hands,  it  is  not  necessary  for  the  public  to  know. 
It  will  be  seen  by  Mr.  Fudge's  Second  Letter,  tliat 
he  is  one  of  those  gentlemen  wiiose  Secret  Services 
in  Ireland,  under  the  mild  ministry  of  my  Lord 
C GH,  have  been  so  amply  and  gratefully  re- 
munerated. Like  his  friend  and  associate,  Thomas 
Reynolds,  Esq.,  he  had  retired  upon  the  reward  of 
his  honest  industry  ;  but  has  lately  been  induced  to  ap- 
pear again  in  active  life,  and  superintend  the  training 
of  tliat  Delatorian  Cohort,  which  Lord  S — dm — Tii, 
in  his  wisdom  and  benevolence,  has  organized. 

Wliether  Jlr.  Fudge,  himself,  has  yet  made  any 
discoveries,  does  not  appear  from  the  following 
pages.  But  much  may  be  expected  from  a  person 
of  his  zeal  and  sagacity,  and,  indeed,  to  him.  Lord 
S — D.M — TH,  and  the  Greenland-bound  sliips,  the 
eyes  of  all  lovers  of  discoverie  are  now  most 
anxiously  directed. 

I  regret  much  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit 
Mr.  Bob  Fudge's  Third  Letter,  concluding  the  ad- 
vcntiu-es  of  his  Day  with  the  Dinner,  Opera,  &,c., 
&c. ; — but,  in  consequence  of  some  remarks  upon 
Marinette's  thin  drapery,  which,  it  was  tliouglit, 
migiit  give  offence  to  certain  well-meaning  persons, 
the  manuscript  was  sent  back  to  Paris  for  liis  revi- 
sion, and  had  not  returned  wlieii  the  last  sheet  was 
put  to  press. 

It  will  not,  I  hope,  bo  thought  presumptuous,  if 
I  take  this  opportunity  of  complaining  of  a  very 
serious  injustice  I  have  suffered  from  the  pubhc. 
Dr.  King  wrote  a  treatise  to  prove  that  Bextley 
"  was  not  tlie  author  of  his  own  hook,"  and  a  similar 
absurility  has  been  asserted  of  /»e,  in  almost  all  the 
best-informed  literary  circles.  With  tlio  name  of 
the  real  author  staring  tliem  in  the  face,  tliey  have 
yet  persisted  in  attributing  my  works  to  other  peo- 
ple ;  and  the  fame  of  the  Twopenny  Post-Bag — 
such  as  it  is — having  hovered  doubtfully  over  various 


pei-sons,  has  at  last  settled  upon  the  head  of  a  cer- 
tain little  gentleman,  who  W'ears  it,  I  understand,  as 
complacently  as  if  it  actually  belonged  to  him  ; 
without  even  the  honesty  of  avowing,  with  liis  own 
favorite  author,  (be  will  excuse  the  pun,) 
E)  u  6'  'O  JiaPOS  apas 

I  can  only  add,  tliat  if  any  lady  or  gentleman, 
curious  in  such  matters,  will  take  the  trouble  of  call- 
ing at  my  lodgings,  945  Piccadilly,  I  shall  have  the 
honor  of  assurmg  them,  in  propria  persona,  that  I 
am — his,  or  her, 

Very  obedient 

And  very  humble  Servant, 
THOMAS  BROWN,  THE  YOUNGER. 

Jlpril  17, 1818. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


LETTER  1. 

rUOM    MISS    BIDDY    FUDGE    TO    MISS  DOKOTIfl'  ,  OF 

CLONKILTY,  I.N  IIIELAND. 

Amiens. 
Dear  Doll,  while  the  tails  of  oiu"  hoi*ses  are  plait- 
ing. 
The  trunks  tying  on,  and  Papa,  at  the  door, 
Into  very  bad  French  is,  as  usual,  translating 
His  English  resolve  not  to  give  a  son  more, 
I  sit  down  to  write  you  a  line — only  think  ! — 
A  letter  from  France,  with  French  pens  and  French 

ink. 
How  delightful  I  though,  would  you  beheve  it,  my 

dear? 
I  have  seen  nothing  yet  very  wouderfiU  here  ; 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


459 


No  adventure,  no  seutiment,  far  as  we've  come, 
Bill  tlio  corn-fields  and  trees  quite  as  dull  as  at  home  ; 
And  but  for  tlie  post-boy,  his  boots  and  his  queue, 
I  miglit^Uifi  as  well  be  at  Clonkilty  with  you  I 
In  vain,  at  Dessein's,  did  I  take  from  my  trunk 
That  divine  fellow,  Sterne,  and  fall  reading  "  The 

Monk  ;" 
In  vain  did  I  think  of  his  charming  Dead  -\ss. 
And  remember  the  crust  and  the  wallet — alas  I 
No  monks  can  bo  had  now  for  love  or  for  money, 
(All  owing,  Pa  says,  to  that  infidel  Boney  ;) 
And,  though  oite  little  Neddy  we  saw  in  our  drive 
Out  of  classical  Numpont,  the  beast  was  alive  ! 

By  the  by,  though,  at  Calais,  Papa  had  a  touch 
Of  romance  on  the  pier,  which  alTected  me  much. 
At  the  sight  of  that  spot,  where  our  darling  Dix- 

HUIT 

Set  the  first  of  his  own  dear  legitimate  feet,^ 
(Modell'd  out  so  exactly,  and — God  bless  the  mark ! 
Tis  a  foot,  Dolly,  worthy  so  Grand  a  Monarquc,) 
Ho   exclaim'd,  "  Oh,   mon   Roi !"  and,   with  tear- 
dropping  eye, 
Stood  to  gaze  on  the  spot — while  some  Jacobin, 

nigh, 
IMutter'd  out  with  a  shrug,  (what  an  insolent  thing !) 
"  Ma  foi,  he  be  right — 'tis  do  Englishman's  King ; 
And  dat  gros  pied  de  cochon — begar,  me  vil  say 
Dat  de  foot  look  mosh  better,  if  tuni'd  toder  way." 
There's  the  pillar,  too — Lord  I  I  had  nearly  forgot — 
What  a  charming  idea  ! — raised  close  to  the  spot ; 
The  mode  being  now,  (as  you've  heard,  I  suppose,) 
To  build  tombs  over  legs,''  and  raise  pillars  to  toes. 

This  is  all  that's  occurr'd  sentimental  as  yet ; 
Except,  indeed,  some  little  flow'r-nymphs  we've  met. 
Who  disturb  one's  romance  with  pecuniaiy  views, 
Flinging  flow'rs  in  your  path,   and  then — bawling 

for  sous ! 
And  some  .picturesque  beggars,  whose   multitudes 

seem 
To  recall  the  good  days  of  the  ancitn  regime. 
All  as  ragged  and  brisk,  you'll  be  happy  to  learn. 
And   as   tliin   as  they  were  in  the  time  of  dear 

Sterne. 

Our  party  consists  (in  a  neat  Calais  job) 

Of  Papa  and  myself,  Mr.  Connor  and  Bob. 

You  remember  how  sheepish  Bob  look'd  at  Kil- 

randy, 
But,  Lord  I  he's  quite  alter'd — they've  made  him  a 

Dandy ; 


I    Engl! 
I 


'  To  coinnieniorato  the  laiTlinfr  of  Louis  le  Dfisir^  from 
ingland,  the  iotpression  of  his  foot  is  marked  out  on  the  pier 


A  thing,  you  know,  whiskor'd,  great-coated,  and 

laced, 
Like  an  hour-glass,  exceedingly  small  in  the  waist : 
Quito    a   new  sort  of  creatures,  unknown  yet  to 

scholars. 
With  heads,  so  immoveably  stuck  in  shirt-collars, 
That  seats,  like  our  music-stools,  soon  must  be  found 

them. 
To  twirl,  when  the  creatures  may  wish  to  look  round 

them. 
In  short,  dear,  "  a  Dandy"  describes  what  I  mean. 
And  Bob's  far  the  best  of  the  genus  I've  seen: 
An  improving  young  man,  fond  of  learning,  ambi- 
tious. 
And  goes  now  to  Paris  to  study  French  dishes. 
Whose    names — think,   how    quick !     ho    already 

knows  pat, 
V4  la  braise,  pctits  pates,  and — -what  d'ye  call  that 
They  inflict  on  potatoes  ? — oh  !  maitre  d^hoicl — 
I  assure  you,  dear  Dolly,  he  knows  them  as  well 
As  if  nothing  else  all  his  life  he  had  eat. 
Though  a  bit  of  them  Bobby  has  never  touch'd  yet ; 
But  just  knows  the  names  of  French  dishes  and 

cooks. 
As  dear  Pa  knows  the  titles  of  authors  and  books. 

As  to  Pa,  what  d'ye  think? — mind,  it's  all  cntre  nous, 
But  you  know,  love,  I  never  keep  secrets  from  you — 
Why,  he's  writing  a  book — what !  a  tale  ?  a  ro- 
mance ? 
No,  ye  Gods,  would  it  were  ! — but  his  Travels  in 

France  ; 
At  the  special  desire  (he  let  out  t'other  day) 
Of  his  great  friend  and  patron,  my  Lord  C-stl-r-gu, 

Who  said,  "  My  dear  Fudge'' 1  forget  the  exact 

words. 
And,  it's  strange,  no  one  ever  remembers  my  Lord's ; 
But  'twas  something  to  say  that,  as  all  must  allow 
A  good  orthodox  work  is  much  wanting  just  now. 
To  expound  to  the  world  the  new — thingummie — 

science, 
Found   out    by   the — what's-its-uame — Holy   Alli- 
ance, 
And  prove  to  mankind  that  their  rig'nts  are  but  folly, 
Their  freedom   a  joke,   (which   it  is,  you  know, 

Doiiv,) 
"  There's  none,"  said  his  Lordsliip,  "  if  /  may  be 

judge, 
Half  so  fit  for  this  great  undertaking  as  Fudge  .'" 

The  matter's  soon  settled — Pa  flies  to  the  Row 
{The  Jirst  stage  your  toiurists  now  usually  go,) 


at  Calais,  and  a  pillar  with  an  inscription  raist'd  opposite  to 
the  spot.  "CX  git  la  janibe  de,  &c.,  &c. 


^ 


460 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


Settles  all  for  his  quarto — advertisements,  praises — 
Starts  post  from  tlie  door,  with  liis  tablets — French 

phrases — 
'  Scctt's  Visit,"  of  course — iji  short,  ev'ry  tiling  he 

has 
An  author  can  want,  except  words  and  ideas : — 
And,  lo !  the  first  thing,  in  the  spring  of  the  year. 
Is  Pnii»  Fudge  at  the  front  of  a  Quarto,  my  dear  ! 

But,  bless  me,  my  paper's  near  out,  so  I'd  better 
Draw  fast  to  a  close  : — this  exceeding  long  letter 
You  owe  to  a  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette, 
Which  BoBBv  would  have,  and  is  hard  at  it  yet. — 
What's  next  ?  oh,  the  tutor,  the  last  of  the  party. 
Young  CoN.NOR : — they  say  he's  so  like  Bonap.\rte, 
His     nose     and     his     chin — which     Papa     rather 

dreads, 
As  the  Bourbons,  you  know,  are  suppressing  all 

heads 
That   resemble   old   Nap's,   and   who    knows   but 

their  honors 
May  think,  in  their  fright,  of  suppressii.-g  poor  Con- 
nor's ? 
Au  reste,  (as  we  say,)  the  young  lad's  well  enough, 
Only  talks    much    of  Athens,   Rome,   virtue,    and 

stuff; 
A  third  cousin  of  ours,  by  the  way — poor  as  Job 

(Though  of  royal  descent  by  the  side  of  Mamma,) 
And  for  charity  made  private  tutor  to  Bob  ; — 
Entre  nous,  too,  a  Papist — how  lib'ral  of  Pa  ! 

This  is  all,  dear, — forgive  mo  for  breaking  off  thus. 
But  Bob's  dijeuner's  done,  and  Papa's  in  a  fuss. 

B.  F. 

P.  S. 
IIow  provoking  of  Pa  .'  he  will  not  let  mo  slop 
Just  to  run  in  and  rummage  some  milliner's  sliop  ; 
And  my  ddiut  iu  Paris,  I  blush  to  think  on  it. 
Must  now,  Doll,  be  made  iu  a  hideous  low  bonnet. 
But  Paris,  dear  Paris  I—  oh,  there  will  be  joy. 
And  romance,  and  high  bonnets,  and  Madame  Le 

Uoi  :■ 


^  A  celebrated  mantua-maker  in  Paris, 

3  This  excpllf  nt  itiiitalion  of  the  nolile  Lord's  style  shows 
how  deeply  Mr.  Fudce  must  have  studied  his  fireat  original. 
Irish  oratory,  indeed,  abounds  with  such  startling  pecu- 
li;trilies.  Tlius  the  eloquent  Counsellor  B ,  in  de- 
scribing sonic  hypocritical  prclcnder  to  charity,  said,  "  He 
put  his  hand  in  his  breeches-pocliet,  liive  a  crocodile,  and," 
&c.,  &c. 


LETTER  II. 

FROM     riML.    FUDGE,     ESQ.,     TO     THE     LORD     VISCOUNT 
C ST R GH. 

Paris. 
At  length,  my  Lord,  I  have  the  bliss 
To  date  to  you  a  line  from  this 
"  Demoralized"  metropolis  ; 
Where,  by  plebeians  low  and  scurvy, 
The  throne  was  turn'd  quite  topsy-turvy. 
And  Kingship,  tumbled  from  its  seat, 
"  Stood  prostrate"  at  the  people's  feet ; 
Where  (still  to  use  your  Lordship's  tropes) 
The  level  of  obedience  slopes 
Upward  and  downward,  .as  the  stream 
Of  hydra  faction  kicks  the  beam  !'' 
Where  the  poor  Palace  changes  masters 

Quicker  than  a  snake  its  skin. 
And  Louis  is  roH'd  out  on  castors. 

While  Boney's  borne  on  shoulders  in  : — 
But  where,  in  every  change,  no  doubt. 

One  special  good  your  Lordship  traces, — 
That  'tis  the  Kings  aloue  turn  out, 

The  Ministers  still  keep  then-  places. 

How  oft,  dear  Viscount  C- 


-GII, 

I've  thought  of  thee  upon  the  way. 
As  in  my  Job  (what  place  could  be 
More  apt  to  wake  a  thought  of  thee  ?) — 
Or,  oftener  far,  when  gravely  sitting 
Upon  my  dicky,  (as  is  fitting 
For  him  who  writes  a  Tour,  tliat  he 
May  more  of  men  and  manners  see,) 
I've  thought  of  thee  and  of  thy  glories. 
Thou  guest  of  Kings,  and  King  of  Tories  ! 
Reflecting  how  thy  fame  has  grown 

And  spread,  beyond  man's  usual  share. 
At  home,  abroad,  till  thou  art  known. 

Like  Major  Semtle,  everywhere  ! 
And  marv'ling  with  what  powers  of  breath 
Your  Lordship,  having  speech'd  to  death 
Some  hundreds  of  your  fellow-men, 
Next  speech'd  to  Sov'reigns"  ears, — and  when 
AU  Sov'reigns  else  were  dozed,  at  last 
Speech'd  down  the  Sov'reign'  of  Belfast. 
Oh  !  mid  the  praises  and  the  trophies 
Thou  gaiii'st  from  Morosophs  and  Sophis  ; 


3  The  title  of  the  chief  niagjrtrate  of  Belfast,  before  whom 
his  Lordship  (with  tlie  "studiuni  iniinane  loquendi"  at- 
tributed by  Ovid  to  that  chattering  and  rapacious  class  of 
birds,  the  pies)  delivered  sunilry  long  and  self-gratulalory 
orations,  on  his  return  from  the  Continent.  It  was  at  one 
of  these  Irish  dinners  that  his  gallant  brotb'^'.  Lord  S.,  pro- 
posed the  health  of  "The  best  cavalry  o'?-.er  in  Europe — 
the  Regent  I" 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 

461 

Mid  all  the  tributes  to  thy  fame, 

So  time  is  left  to  Emperor  Sandy 

There's  one  thou  shouldst  bo  chiefly  pleased  at — 

To  be  half  Ca;sar  and  half  Dandy  ; 

Tliat  Ireland  gives  her  snuff  tliy  name, 

And  G GE  the  R — g — t  (who'd  forget 

And  C Gil's  the  thing  now  sneezed  at ! 

That  doughtiest  chieftain  of  the  set  ?) 
Hath  wherewithal  for  trinkets  new. 

But  hold,  my  pen  I — a  truce  to  praising — 

For  dragons,  after  Chinese  models. 

Thougti  ev'u  your  Lordship  will  allow 

And  chambers  where  Duke  Ho  and  Soo, 

The  theme's  temptations  are  amazing  ; 

Might     come      and     nine     times     knock 

their 

But  time  and  ink  run  short,  and  now, 

noddles  ! — 

(As  ihou  wouldst  say,  my  guide  and  teacher 

All  this  my  Qiiarto'll  prove — much  more 

In  these  gay  metaphoric  fringes, 

Than  Quarto  ever  proved  before  : 

I  must  embark  into  the  feature 

In  reas'ning  with  the  Post  I'll  vie. 

On  which  this  letter  chiefly  hinges ;)' — 

My  facts  the  Courier  shall  supply. 

My  Book,  the  Book  that  is  to  prove — 

My  jokes  V — ns — t,  P — le  m)  -»ense, 

And  will,  (so  help  ye  Sprites  above, 

And  thou,  sweet  Lord,  my  eloquence  1 

That  sii  ;«  clouds,  as  grave  as  judges. 

Watching  the  labors  of  the  Fl'Dges  I) 

I\Iy  Journal,  penn'd  by  fits  and  starts. 

Will  prove  that  all  the  world,  at  present. 

On  Biddy's  hack  or  Bobby's  shoulder. 

Is  m  a  state  extremely  pleasant ; 

(My  son,  my  Lord,  a  youth  of  parts, 

That  Europe — thanks  to  royal  swords 

Who  longs  to  be  a  small  place-holder,) 

And  bay'nets,  and  the  Duke  commanding — 

Is — though  /  say't,  that  shouldn't  say — 

Enjoys  a  peace  wliich,  like  the  Lord's, 

Extremely  good  ;  and,  by  the  way, 

Passeth  all  human  understanding : 

One  extract  from  it — onli/  one — 

That  France  prefere  her  go-cart  King 

To  show  its  spirit,  and  I've  done. 

To  such  a  coward  scamp  as  Boney  ; 

"Jul.  thirty-first. — -Went,  after  snack, 

Though  round,  with  each  a  leading-string, 

"  To  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Denny  ; 

There  standetli  many  a  Royal  crony. 

"  Sigh'd  o'er  the  Kings  of  ages  back. 

^or  fear  the  chubby,  tott'ring  tiling 

"  And — gave  the  old  Concierge  a  penny. 

Should  fall,  if  left  there  loney-poney  — 

"  (Mem. — Must  see  Rheims,  much  famed,  'tis 

•did. 

That  England,  too,  the  more  her  debt". 

"  For  making  Kings  and  gingerbread.) 

The  more  she  spends,  the  richer  gets  ; 

"  Was  shown  tiie  tomb  where  lay,  so  stately, 

And  that  the  Irish,  grateful  nation  .' 

"  A  little  Bourbon,  buried  lately. 

Remember  when  by  thee  reiga'd  over, 

"  Thrice  high  and  puissant,  we  were  told. 

And  bless  thee  for  their  tlagellatiou 

"  Though  only  twenty-four  hours  old  !' 

As  Heloisa  did  her  lover  1" — 

"  Hear  this,  thought  I,  ye  Jacobins : 

That  Poland,  left  for  Russia's  lunch 

"  Ye  Biirdctts,  tremble  in  your  skins ! 

Ueon  the  ^;.•'?board,  snug  reposes: 

"  If  Royalty,  but  aged  a  day. 

While  Saxony's  as  pleased  as  Punch, 

"  Can  boast  such  high  and  puissant  sway. 

And  Norway  "  on  a  bed  of  roses  !" 

"  What  impious  hand  its  pow'r  would  fix. 

That,  as  for  some  few  million  souls, 

"  Full  fledged  and  wigg'd'  at  fifty-six  !" 

Transfen'd  by  contract,  bless  the  clods  ! 

If  half  were  strangled — Spaniards,  Poles, 

The  argument's  quite  new,  you  see. 

And  Frenchmen — 'twouldn't  make  much  odds. 

And  proves  exactly  Q.  E.  D. 

So  Europe's  goodly  Royal  ones, 

So  now,  with  duty  to  the  R — G — T, 

Sit  easy  on  their  sacred  thrones  ; 

I  am,  dear  Lord, 

So  Ferdinand  embroiders  gayly,' 

Your  most  obedient, 

And  Louis  eats  his  salmi,'  daily  ; 

P.  F 

1  Verbatim  from  one  of  the  noble  Viscount's  Speeches— 

<             Otpa  rf,  o'la  eiovci  £iuTpt<ptt^  0tttTi\<jcs. 

"And  now.  Sir,  I  must  enibLirk  into  the  feature  on  which 

IIo.MUt,  OdT/SS. 

3. 

this  question  chiefly  hinges." 

3  See  her  Letters. 

6  So  described  on  the  cothn :   "  tres-haule  et  puissante    | 

3  It  woulti  be  an  edifying  thing  to  write  a  history  of  the 

Prinresse,  agee  d'nn  jour." 

private  annisements  of  sovereigns,  tracing  them  down  from 

6  There  is  a  fulness  and  breadth  in  this  portrait  of  r.nyal-    1 

the  fly-sticking  of  Domitian,  the  inole-calching  of  Artabanus, 

ly,  which  reminds  us  of  what  Pliny  says,  in   speak 

ng  of 

the    hog-mimicliing  of  Parmenidcs,  the  horse-currying  of 

Tmjan's  great  qualities  : — "  nonne  longu  tatequc  Principem    j 

Aretas,  to  the  petticoat-embroidering  of  Ferdinand,  and  the 

oslcnumtr' 

patient-playing  of  the  P e  R 1 

■163 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Jliild  Breieuil,  Rue  Rivo'i. 

Neiit  Iodo;ings — rather  dear  for  me  ; 
But  Biddy  said  she  thought  'twould  look 
Geutecler  thus  to  date  my  Book  ; 
And  Biddy's  right — besides,  it  curries 
Some  favor  with  our  friends  at  Murkay's, 
Who  scorn  what  any  man  can  say, 
That  dates  from  Rue  St-Honord  !' 


LETTER  III. 


FKOM  MR.  BOB  FfDGE  TO  RICIUKD  • 


-,  ESQ. 


On  Dick  !  you  may  talk  of  your  writing  and  read- 
ing. 
Your  Logic  and  Greek,  but  there's  uotliing  like 

feeding ; 
And  this  is  the  place  for  it,  Dicky,  you  dog, 
Of  all  places  on  earth' — the  head-quarters  of  Prog  1 
Talk   of    England — her  famed    Magna    Charta,   I 

swear,  is 
A  humbug,  a  flam,  to  the  Carte"  at  old  Very's  ; 
And  as  for  your  Juries — wJio  woul.  not  set  o'er 

'em 
A  Juiy  of  Tasters,^  with  wooacocks  before  'em  ? 
Give  CARTWRiairr   his    Parliaments,    fresh    eveiy 

year ; 
But  those  friends  of  sliort  Commons  would  never  do 

here  ; 
-A-ud,  let  Romilly  speak  as  he  will  on  the  question, 
No  Digest  of  Law's  like  the  laws  of  digestion  1 

By  tlie  by,  Dick,  /  fatten — but  n'importc  for  that, 
'Tis  tlie  mode — your  Legitimates  always  get  fat. 
There's  tlie  R— a — t,   there's  Louis — and  Boney 

tried  too, 
But,     though     somewhat     imperial     in     paunch, 

'twouldu't  do  :— 


1  See  the  Quarterly  Review  for  May,  1810,  where  Mr. 
Ilnbhouse  is  accused  of  having  written  his  book  *'  hi  a  bacit 
street  of  the  French  capital." 

3  The  liill  of  Fare. — Very,  a  well-known  Uestaiirateur. 

3  Mr.  Bnb  alludes  particularly,  I  presume,  to  the  famous 
Jury  Deguslatenr,  which  used  to  assemble  at  the  Hotel  of 
M.  Gi-imiitl  dc  la  Reyniere,  and  ef  which  this  modern  Ar- 
chcstr.itus  has  jiiven  an  account  in  his  .-Mmanachdes  Gour- 
mands, cinquieme  annee,  p.  73. 

*  The  fairy-land  of  cookery  and  /roitrmandisc  :  "  Pays,  ou 
le  cii'l  DtlVe  Ics  viandes  tnutes  cuites,  etoii,  coniine  on  parle, 
les  aloncttes  tombent  lontes  rotics.  Du  Latin,  coqnere." — 
Duthat. 

^  The  process  by  which  the  liver  of  the  unfortunate  goose 
is  enlarged,  in  order  to  produce  that  richest  of  all  dainties, 


He  improved,  indeed,  much  in  tliis  point,  when  he 

wed, 
But  he  ne'er  grew  right  royally  fat  in  the  head. 

Dick,   Dick,   what    a   place    is    this    Paris  I — hut 

stay — 
As  my  raptures  may  bore  you,  I'll  just  sketch  a 

day. 
As  we  pass  it,  myself  and  some  comrades  I've  got, 
All   thorough-bred   Qnostics,  who   know  what   is 

what. 

After  dreaming  some  hours  of  the   land   of  Co- 

caigne,'. 
That  Elysium  of  all  that  is  friand  and  nice, 
Where  for  hail  they  have  bon-bons,  and  claret  for 

rain, 
And  the  skaiters  in  winter  show  off  on  cream- 

ico; 
Where  so  ready  all  nature  its  cckery  yields, 
Mncaroni  au  parmesan  grows  in  the  fields ; 
Little  birds  fly  about  with  the  true  pheasant  taint. 
And  the  geese  ai'e  all  born  with  a  liver  complaint ;° 
I  rise — put  ou  neckcloth — stiff',  tight,  as  can  be — 
For  a  lad  who  goes  into  the  icorld,  Dick,  like  me, 
Should  have  his  neck  tied  up,  you  know — there's  no 

doubt  of  it — 
Almost  as  tight  as  some  lads  who  go  out  of  it. 
With  whiskers  well  oil'd,  and  with  boots  that  "  held 

up 
"  The  mirror  lO  nature" — so  bright  you  could  sup 
Off'  the  leather  like  china  ;    with  coat,  too,  that 

draws 
On  the  tailor,  who  sufFere,  a  martyr's  apiilause  1 
Witli  head  bridled  up,  like  a  four-iu-hanii  leader. 
And    stays — devil's    in     tiiem — too    tight    for    a 

feeder, 
I  stmt  to  tlie  old  Cafe  Hardy,  which  yet 
Beats  the  field  at  a  dejeuner  u  la  fourcliettc. 
There,  DicK,  what  a  breakfast !  oh,  not  like  your 

gliost 
Of  a  breakfast  in  England,  your  cursed  tea  and 

toast  ■? 


the  foic  gras,  of  which  such  renowned  pStis  are  made  at 
Strasbourg  and  Toulouse,  is  thus  described  in  the  Cours 
Gastrvvomiquc: — "On  dL-plume  Pestoiuac  des  oics  ;  on  at- 
tache ensnite  ces  aniniaux  aux  chenels  d'uno  cheminee,  ct 
on  les  nourril  dcvant  le  feu;  La  captivit6  et  la  chalenr 
donncnt  a  ces  volaliics  line  maladie  hepatique,  qui  fait 
goiitler  leur  foie,"  &c.,  p.  20G. 

«  Is  Mr.  Bob  aware  that  his  contempt  for  tea  renders  him 
liable  to  a  charge  oi  atheism?  Such,  at  least,  is  theoitinion 
cited  in  Christian.  Faister.  JimtLnilat.  Ptiitoj. — "  .'Vtlieum 
intcrprctabatur  hominem  ad  U":!  a  T'-n  aversuni."  He  would 
not.  I  ihink,  have  been  so  irreverent  to  this  beverage  of 
scholars,  if  he  had  read'Pftcr  Prtic's  I'oem  in  [iraise  of  'I'ea, 
addressed  to  the  learned  Huet— or  tie;  Epigraphe  which 
PccWinifff  wrote  foran  altar  he meanllo  dedicate  to  this  herb 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


463 


But  a  sideboard,  you  dog,  where  one's  eye  roves 

about, 
Like  a  Turk's  in  tlie  Haram,  and  tlience  ainjleg  out 
One  pate  of  larks,  just  to  tune  up  tlie  tliroat, 
One's  small  limbs  of  chickens,  done  en  papillotc, 
One's  erudite  cutlets,  dress'd  all  ways  but  plain, 
Or    one's   -kidneys — imagine,     Dick — done     with 

cliampagne  ! 
Then,  some  glasses  of  Beaujic,  to  dilute — or,  may- 
hap, 
Chamljertin,^  which  you  know's  the  pet  tipple  of 

Nap, 
And  which  Dad,  by  the  by,  that  legitimate  stickler. 
Much  scruples  to  taste,  but  /'m  uot  so  partic'lar. — 
Your  coffee  comes  next,  by  prescription:  and  tlien, 

Dick,  's 
The  colVee's  ne'er-failing  aud  glorious  appendix, 
(If  books  had  but  such,  my  old  Grecian,  depend  on't, 
I'd  swallow  ev'n  W — tk — xs',  for  sake  of  the  end 

on't,) 
A  neat  glass  oi  parfait-amonr,  which  one  sips 
Just  as  if  bottled  velvet'  tipp'd  over  one's  lips. 
This  repast  being  ended,  aud  paid  for — (how  odd  ! 
Till  a  man's  used  to  paying,  there's  something  so 
queer  hi't  I) — 
The  sun  now  well  out,  and  the  girls  all  abroad. 
And  the  world  enough  air'd  for  us.  Nobs,  to  ap- 
pear iu't. 
We  lounge  up  the  Boulevards,  where— oh,  Dice, 

the  phyzzes, 
The  turn-outs,  we  meet — what  a  nation  of  quizzes  ! 
Here  toddles  along  some  old  figure  of  fun, 
With  a  coat  you  might  date  Anno  Domini  1. ; 
A  laced  hat,  worsted  stockings,  aud — noble  old  soul  I 
A  fine  riband  and  cross  in  his  best  button-holo  ; 

Just  such  as  our  Pk CE,  who  nor  reason  nor  fun 

dreads. 
Inflicts,  wifnout  ev'n  a  court-martial,  on  hundreds.' 
Hero  trips  a  griscttc,  with  a  fond,  roguish  eye, 
(Rather  eatable  things  these  grisettes  by  the  by ;) 
And  there  an  old  demoiselle,  almost  as  fond, 
In  a  silk  that  has  stood  sine?  the  time  of  the  Fronde. 


— or  the  Anacreontics  of  Fetcr  FranctuSj  m  which  he  calls 
Tea 

Qcaf,  ^E/jfj  ^caivav 

The  following  passage  from  one  of  these  Anacreontics 
will,  I  have  no  doubt,  be  gralifying  to  all  true  TUeists. 

0£oi5,  ^Ecov  TC  Trarpi, 

AtSoi  TO  vlKrap  'Hjffjj 
£r  /ioi  SiaKOvoivro 

S«V0OIJ  EC  jiVpfliVOlCl, 

Tt-y  KaWci  TpcTovaiit 
KaXa($  x^P^^*^^  KOvpat 

Which  may  be  thus  translated  :- 


There   goes  a   French  Dandj — ah,  Dick  !   unlike 

some  ones 
We've  seen  about  White's — the  .Mounsecrs  are  but 

rum  ones  ; 
Such  hats  ! — fit  for  monkeys — I'd  back  IMrs  Dra- 

TER 

To  cut  neater  weather-boards  out  of  brown  paper : 
And  coats — how  I  wish,  if  it  wouldn't  distress  'em, 
They'd  club  for  old  Br — .mm — l,  from  Calais,  to 

dress  'cm ! 
The  collar  sticks  out  from  the  neck  such  a  space. 
That  you'd   swear  'twas  the  plan  of  this  head- 
lopping  nation. 
To  leave  there  behind  them  a  snug  little  place 

For  the  head  to  drop  into,  on  decapitation. 
In  short,  what  with  mountebanks,  counts,  and  fri- 

seurs. 
Some  mummers  by  trade,  and  the  rest  amateurs — 
What  with  captau'is  in  new  jockey-bools  and  silk 
breeches. 
Old  dustmen  with  swinging  great  opera-hats. 
And  shoeblaclvs  reclining  by  statues  in  niches. 
There   never   was   seen   such   a   race   of   Jack 
Sprats  ! 

From  the  Boulevards — but  hearken ! — j  -i — as  I'm 

a  sinner, 
The  clock  is  just  striking  the  half-hour  to  dmner : 
So  no  more  at  present — short  tune  for  adorning — 
My  Day  must  be  finish'd  some  other  fine  morn- 
ing. 
Now,  hey  for  old  Beauvilliers'*  larder,  my  boy  ! 
And,  once  there,  if  the  Goddess  of  Beauty  and  Joy 
Were  to  write  "  Come  and  kiss  me,  dear  Bob  !"  I'd 

not  budge — 
Not  a  step,  Dick,  as  sure  as  my  name  is 

K.  Fudge. 


Yes,  let  Ilebe  ever  young, 

High  in  heav'n  her  nectar  hold, 
And  to  Jove's  immortal  throng 

Pour  the  tide  in  cups  of  gold — 
J'U  not  envy  heaven's  Princes, 

While,  with  snowy  hands,  for  me, 
Kate  tlie  china  tea-cup  rinses, 

And  jiours  out  her  best  Bohea  ! 

1  The  favorite  wine  of  Napoleon 

^  Velours  en  tiQuteille. 

3  It  was  said  by  Wicquefort,  more  than  a  hundred  years 
ago,  "Le  Hoi  d'Angleterre  fait  soul  jilus  de  chevaliers  que 
tous  les  autres  Rots  de  la  Chr6tient6  enseinljle.*' — What 
would  he  say  now  ? 

^  A  celebrated  restaurateur. 


464 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


LETTER  IV. 


FKOM  PUELIM  COXNOR  TO  . 


"  Return  !" — no,  never,  while  tlie  witirring  liand 
Of  bigot  power  is  on  that  hapless  land  ; 
Wliile,  for  tlio  faith  my  fathers  held  to  God, 
Ev'n  in  the  fields  where  free  those  fathers  trod, 
I  am  proscribed,  and — like  the  spot  left  hare 
In  Israel's  halls,  to  tell  the  proud  and  fair 
Amidst  their  mirth,  that  Slav'ry  had  been  there' — 
On  all  I  love,  home,  parents,  friends,  I  trace 
The  mournful  mark  of  bondage  and  disgrace  ! 
No  ! — let  them  stay,  who  in  their  countr)'"s  pangs 
See  naught  but  food  for  factions  and  harangues  ; 
Who  yearly  kneel  before  their  masters'  doors, 
And  liawk  their  wrongs,  as  beggars  do  their  sores  : 
Still  let  your-       »  »  »  *  » 

******* 

Still  hope  and  suffer,  all  who  can  1 — but  I, 
Who  durst  not  hope,  and  cannot  bear,  must  fly. 

But  whither  ?— every  where  the  scourge  pursues — 
Turn  where  he  will,  the  wretched  wand'rer  views, 
In  the  bright,  broken  hopes  of  all  his  race, 
Countless  reflections  of  th'  Oppressor's  face. 
Everywhere  gallant  hearts,  and  spirits  true. 
Are  served  up  victims  to  the  vile  and  few  ; 
While  E — gl — d,  everywhere — the  general  foe 
Of  Truth  and  Freedom,  wheresoe'er  they  glow- 
Is  firet,  when  tyrants  strike,  to  aid  the  blow. 

Oh,  E — gl — d  !  coidd  such  poor  revenge  atone 
For  wrongs,  that  %vell  might  claim  the  deadliest  one; 
Were  it  a  vengeance,  sweet  enough  to  sate 
The  wretch  who  flies  from  thy  intolerant  hate. 
To  hear  his  curses  on  such  barb'rous  sway 
Echoed,  where'er  he  bends  his  cheerless  way  ; — 
Could  this  content  him,  every  lip  he  meets 
Trcms    for    his   vengeance   witli    such    poisonpus 

sweets  ; 
Were  this  his  lux'ry,  never  is  thy  name 
Pronounced,  but  he  dotli  banquet  on  thy  sliaino  ; 
Hears  maledictions  ring  from  every  side 
Upon  that  grasping  power,  that  selfish  pride, 
Wliich  vaunts  its  own,  and  scorns  all  rights  beside  ; 
That  low  and  desp'rate  env}',  which  to  blast 
A  nci"libor's  blessings,  risks  the  few  thou  hast ; — 


1  "They  used  to  leave  a  yard  square  of  the  wall  of  the 
liouse  unpla.slcrcil,  on  which  they  wrote,  in  larire  ictlers, 
either  the  fore-mcntionetl  verse  of  the  rsalniist  ('  If  I  forget 
thee,  O  Jerusalem,*  &c.)  or  the  words—'  The  memory  of 
the  desolation.'  "— /,co  of  JModcna. 

*  T  have  tln)ught  it  jirndunt  to  omit  some  parts  of  Mr. 
rhclini  Connor's  letter.    He  is  evidently  an  intemperate 


That  monster,  Self,  too  gross  to  be  conceal'd. 

Which  ever  lurks  behind  thy  prolTer'd  shield  ; — 

That  faithless  craft,  which,  in  tliy  hour  of  need. 

Can  court  the  slave,  can  swear  he  shall  be  freed. 

Yet  basely  spurns  him,  when  thy  point  is  gain'd, 

Back  to  his  masters,  ready  gagg'd  and  chain'd 

Worthy  associate  of  that  band  of  Kings, 

Tliat  royal,  rav'ning  flock,  whose  vampire  wings 

O'er  sleeping  Europe  treacherously  brood, 

And  fan  her  into  dreams  of  promised  good. 

Of  hope,  of  freedom — but  to  drain  her  blood  ! 

If  thus  to  hear  thee  branded  bo  a  blLss 

That  Vengeance  loves,  there's  yet  more  sweet  than 

this, 
That  'twas  an  Irish  head,  an  Irish  heart, 
Made  thee  the  fall'n  and  tarnish'd  thing  thou  art ; 
That,  as  the  centaur^  gave  th'  infected  vest 
In  which  he  died,  to  rack  his  conqu'ror's  breast, 

We  sent  thee  C gii  : — as  heaps  of  dead 

Have  slain  their  slayers  by  the  pest  they  spread, 
So  hath  our  land  breathed  out,  thy  fame  to  dim. 
Thy  strength  to  waste,  and  rot  thee,  sou!  and  limb, 
Her  worst  infections  all  condensed  in  him  1 

****** 
When  will  the  world  shake   off  such   yokes  ?   oh, 

when 
Will  that  redeeming  day  shine  out  on  men, 
That  shall  behold  them  rise,  erect  and  free 
As  Heav'n  and  Nature  meant  mankind  should  be  I 
When  Reason  shall  no  longer  blindly  bow 
To  the  vile  pagod  thmgs,  that  o'er  her  brow. 
Like  him  of  Jaghernaut,  drive  trampling  now  ; 
Nor  Conquest  dare  to  desolate  God's  earth  ; 
Nor  drunken  Vict'ry,  with  a  Nero's  mirth, 
Strike  her  lewd  harp  amidst  a  people's  groans  : — 
But,  built  on  love,  the  world's  exalted  thrones 
Shall  to  the  virtuous  and  the  wise  be  given — 
Those  bright,  those  sole  Legitimates  of  Heaven  ! 

When  will  this  be  ? — or,  oh  !  is  it,  in  truth, 

But  one  of  those  sweet,  day-break  dreams  of  youth, 

In  which  the  Soul,  as  round  iier  morning  springs, 

'Twixt  sleep  and  waking,  sees  such  dazzlirg  things! 

And  must  tlie  hope,  as  vain  as  it  is  bright, 

Be  all  resign'd  ? — and  are  they  only  right, 

Who  say  this  world  of  thinking  souls  was  made 

To  be  by  Kings  partition'd,  truck'd,  and  weigh'd 

In  scales  that,  ever  since  the  world  begun 

Have  counted  millions  but  as  dust  to  one  ? 


young  man,  and  has  associated  with  his  cousins,  the  Fudges, 
10  very  Utile  purpose. 

3  Membra  el  Herculeos  loros 

Uril  lues  Nessea 

Ule,  ille  victor  vincimr. 

SiNSC.  Hercu!.  (El. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


465 


Are  they  the  only  wise,  who  laugh  to  scorn 
The  riglits,  the  freedom  to  wliich  man  was  born  ? 

Who  *  *  »  *  *       ■ 

Who.  proud  to  kiss  each  scp'rate  rod  of  pow'r, 
Bless,  while  he  reigns,  the  minion  of  the  hour  ; 
Worship  each  would-be  God,  that  o'er  them  moves, 
And  take  the  thund'ring  of  his  brass  for  Jove's  1 
If  this  be  wisdom,  then  farewell,  my  books. 
Farewell,  ye  shrines  of  old,  ye  classic  brooks. 
Which  fed  my  soul  with  currents,  pure  and  fair. 
Of  living  Truth,  that  now  must  stagnate  there  ! — 
Instead  of  themes  that  touch  the  lyre  with  light. 
Instead  of  Greece,  and  her  immortal  fight 
For  Liberty,  which  once  awaked  my  strings. 
Welcome  the  Grand  Conspiracy  of  Kings, 
The  High  Legitimates,  the  Holy  Band,  • 
Who,  bolder  ev'n  than  He  of  Sparta's  land, 
Against  whole  millions,  panting  to  be  free, 
Would  guard  the  pass  of  right-line  tyranny. 
Instead  of  him,  th'  Athenian  bard,  whose  blade 
Had  stood  the  onset  which  his  pen  portray'd, 
Welcome      ***** 
****** 

And,  'stead  of  Aristides — wo  the  day 

Such  names  shoiUd  mingle  ! — welcome  C gh  1 


Here  break  we  off,  at  this  unhallow'd  name,' 
Like  priests  of  old,  when  words  ill-omen'd  came. 
My  next  shall  tell  thee,  bitterly  shall  tell, 
Thoughts  that  »  »  •  * 

»»»**« 
Thoughts  that — could  patience  hold — 'twere  wiser 

far 
To  leave  still  hid  and  burning  where  they  are. 


LETTER  V. 

FROM    Miss  BIDDY  FUDGE  TO  MISS  DOROTHY  . 

What  a  time  since  I  wrote ! — I'm  a  sad,  naughty 

girl— 
For,  though,  like  a  tee-totum,  I'm  all  in  a  twirl ; — 
Yet  ev'n  (as  you  wittily  say)  a  tee-totum 
Between  all  its  twhis  gives  a  letter  to  note  'era. 

1  Tlie  late  Lord  C.  of  Ireland  had  a  curious  theory  about 
names , — he  held  that  every  man  with  three  names  was  a 
jacobin.  His  instances  in  Ireland  were  numerous ; — viz. 
Archibald  ilainiltoa  Rowan,  Theobald  Wolfe  Tone,  James 
Napper  Tandy,  John  Phil  pot  Curran,  &c.,  &c. ;  and  in  Eng- 
land he  produced  as  e.xamples  Charles  James  Fo.x,  Richard 
Brinsley  Sheridan,  John  Home  Tooke,  Francis  Burdett 
Jones,  &c.,  &c. 

The  Romans  called  a  thief"  homo  trium  literaruni.' 


30 


But,  Lord,  such  a  place  !    and  then,  Dolly,  my 

dresses, 
My  gowns,  so   divine  ! — there's   no   language   ex- 
presses, 
Except  just  the  tico  words  "superbe,"  "  magnifique," 
The  trimmings  of  that  which  I  had  homo  last  week  ! 
It     is    call'd — I    forget — a    /a— something    which 

sounded 
Like  alicampanc — but,  in  truth,  I'm  confounded 
And    bother'd,    my    dear,  'twixt   that    troublesome 

boy's 
(Bob's)  cookery  language,  and  Madame  le  Roi's  : 
What  with  fillets  of  roses,  and  fillets  of  veal, 
Things  garni  with  lace,  and  things  garni  with  eel. 
One's  hair  and  one's  cutlets  both  en  papillote^ 
And  a  thousand  more  things  I  shall  ne'er  have  by 

rote, 
I  can  scarce  tell  the  diff'rence,  at  least  as  to  phrase, 
Between  beef  d  la  Psyche  and  curls  a  la  braise. — 
But,    in    short,    dear,    I'm    trick'd    out   quite    a.   la 

Fran^aise, 
With  my  bonnet — so  beautiful ! — high  up  and  po- 
king, 
Like   things  that  are  put    to  keep  chimneys  from 
smoking. 

Where  shall  I  begin  with  the  endless  delights 
Of  this  Eden  of  milliners,  monkeys,  and  sights — 
Tills  dear  bu.sy  place,  where  there's  notliing  trans- 
acting" 
But  dressing  and  dinnering,  dancing  and  acting  ? 
Imprimis,  the  Opera — mercy,  my  ears  ! 

Brother  Bobby's  remark,   t'other   night,   was   a 

true  one ; — 

"  This  viust  be  the  music,"  said  he,  "  of  the  spears, 

"  For  I'm  cursed  if  each  note  of  it  doesn't  run 

through  one  I" 

Pa  says  (and  you  know,  love,  his  Book's  to  make 

out 
'Twas  the  Jacobins  brought  ev'ry  mischief  about) 
That  this  passion  for  roaring  has  come  in  of  late. 
Since  the  rabble  all  tried  for  a  voice  in  the  State. — 
What  a  frightful  idea,  one's  mind  to  o'erwhehn  ! 
What  a  chorus,  dear  Dolly,  would  soon  be  let 
loose  of  it, 
If,  when  of  age,  every  man  in  the  realm 

Had  a  voice  like  old  Lais,"  and  chose  to  make 
use  of  it ! 


Turn'  trium  literaruni  homo 
Me  vituperas  1    Fur." 

FLAVTV3,  ~^ulular.    Act.  ii.  Scene  4. 

'  The  oldest,  most  celebrated,  and  most  noisy  of  the  sing- 
ers at  the  French  Opera. 

■  Dissaldeue  supposes  (hia  word  to  be  a  glossema  .-—that  is,  he  Uiuilia 
"  Fur"  has  oiaile  bis  escape  from  llie  mar^io  iolQ  d.«  icxl. 


466 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


No — never  was  known  in  this  riotous  sphere 

Such  a  breach  of  the  peace  as  their  singing,  my  dear 

So  bad,  too,  you'd  swear  that  the  God  of  both  arts, 

Of  Music  and  Physic,  had  taken  a  frolic 
For  setting  a  loud  fit  of  asthma  in  parts, 

And  composing  a  fine  rumbling  bass  to  a  cholic ! 

But,  tlie  dancing— flA  .'  parlcz-moi^  Dolly,  de  fa — 
There,  indeed,  is  a  treat  that  charms  ali  but  Papa. 
Such    beauty — such   grace — oh    ye   sylphs   of  ro- 
mance ! 
Fly,  fly  to  TiTANiA,  and  ask  her  if  sAc  has 
One  light-footed  nympli  in  her  train,  that  can  dance 

Like  divine  Bigottini  and  sweet  Fanny  Bias  ! 
Fanny    Bias    in     Flora — dear     creature  ! — you'd 
swear, 
When  her  delicate    feet    in    the   dance   twinkle 
round, 
That  iier  steps  are  of  light,  that  her  homo  is  the  air, 
And    she    only  par  complaisance    touches    the 
ground. 
And  when  Bigottini  in  Psyciik  dishevels 

Her  black  flowing  hair,  and  by  dremons  is  driven, 
•Oh  !  who  does  not  envy  those  rude  little  devils, 
That  hold  her  and  hug  her,  and  keep  her  from 
heaven  ? 
Then,  the  music — so  softly  its  cadences  die, 
So  divinely — oh,  Dolly  !  between  you  and  I, 
It's  as  well  for  my  peace  that  there's  nobody  nigh 
To  make  love  to  me  then — you've  a  soul,  and  can 

judge 
What   a  crisis  'twould  be    for  your   friend   Biddy 
Fudge  I 

The   next   place    (which  Bobby  has  naar  lost  his 

heart  in) 
They  call  it  Hie  Play-house— I  think— of  St.  Mar- 
tin ;' 
Quito  charming — and  very  religious — what  foliy 
To  say  that  the  French  are  not  pious,  dear  Dolly, 
When  here  one  beholds,  so  correctly  and  rightly, 
The  Testament  turn'd  into  mcio-drames  nightly  ;* 
And,  doubtless,  so  fond  they're  of  scriptural  facts, 
Tlicy  will  soon  get  the  Pentateuch  up  in  five  acts. 

1  Tim  Theatre  de  la  Torte  St.-Martin,  which  was  built 
when  the  Open  Houso  in  the  Paluis  Royal  was  burnt  down, 
in  1781. — A  few  diiys  alier  this  dreadlul  fire,  which  la^^ted 
more  than  a  week,  and  in  which  sevrral  persons  perished,  the 
rarisiat)  ilegnntcs  displayed  tlnnic-cnlorcd  dresses,  "couleur 
de  fi.'ti  d'Optra  '." — Dutaure,  Curiosit^s  dc  Paris. 

2  "The  old  Testament,"  says  the  theatrical  Critic  in  the 
Gazette  dc  France,"  is  a  mine  of  gold  fur  the  niana<rers  of  our 
small  play-houses.  A  multiiudc  crowd  round  the  The.itrede 
la  Giiiet6  every  cveninp  to  see  the  Passage  of  the  Red  8ca." 

In  the  play-hill  of  one  of  thc5c  sacred  nielo-drames  at 
Vienna,  we  find  "'i'lie  Voice  of  G— d,  by  M.  Schwartz." 

3  A  piece  very  popular  last  year,  called  "  Dimicl,  ou  La 
Foese  anx  Lions."  Tlie  following  scene  will  {livc  an  idea  of 


Here  Daniel,  in  pantomime,^  bids  bold  defiance 
To  Nebuchadnezzar  and  all  his  stuiTd  lions, 
AVhile    pretty    young    Israelites   dance    round    the 

Prophet, 
In  very  thin  clothing,  and  hut  little  of  it ; — 
Here  Bkgrand,''  who  shines  in  this  scriptural  path, 

As  the  lovely  Suzanna,  without  cv'n  a  relic 
Of  drapery  round  her,  comes  out  of  the  bath 

In  a  manner  that,  Bod  says,  is  quite  Etc-angclic  t 
But  in  short,  dear,  'twould  take  me  a  month  to  recite 
Ali  the  exquisite  places  we're  at,  day  and  night ; 
And,  besides,  ere  I  finish,  I  think  you'll  be  glad 
Just  to  hear  one  delightful  adventure  I've  had. 

Last   night,    at    the    Beaujou,^    a   place    where — I 

doubt 
If  its  charms  I  can  paint — there  are  cars,  that  set  out 
From  a  lighted  pavilion,  high  up  in  the  air, 
And  rattle   you  down,  Dolx. — you    hardly   know 

where. 
These  vehicles,  mind  me,  in  which  you  go  through 
This  delightfully  dangerous  journey,  hold  two. 
Some  cavalier  asks,  with  humility,  whether 

You'H  venture  down  with  him — you  smile — 'tis  a 

matcli ; 

In  an  instant  you're  seated,  and  down  both  together 

Go  thund'ring,  as  if  you  went  post  to  old  scratch  !® 

Well,  it  was  but  last  night,  as  I  stood  and  remark'd 

On  the  looks  and  odd  ways  of  the  girls  who  em- 

barkM, 
The  impatience  of  some  for  the  perilous  flight. 
The    forced  giggle  of  othere,  'twixt    pleasure   and 

fright,— 
That  there  canio  up — imagine,  dear  Doll,  if  you 

can 
A  fine  sallow,  sublime,  sort  of  Werter-faced  man. 
With  mustachios  that  gave  (what  we  read  of  so  oft) 
The   dear   Corsair    expression,    half    savage,     half 

soft. 
As  hyaiuas  in  love  may  be  fancied  to  look,  or 
A  something  between  Abelard  and  old  Blucher  ! 
Up    he    came,  Doll,   to  me,   and,  uncov'ring   his 

head, 
(Rather  bald,  but  so  warhke  !)  in  bad  English  said, 

the  dariiiEsublimityof  these  Scriptural  pantomimes.  ^^  Seem 
20. — La  fiiurnaise  devient  nii  berccau  de  nuages  nzurLS,  au 
fond  duquel  est  an  groupc  de  nuages  plus  lumineux.  et  au 
milieu  'Jehovah'  au  centre  d'un  ccrcle  dc  rayons  brillans, 
qui  annonce  la  presence  de  rE'ternel."  ^ 

«  Madame  nt^rand,  a  finely-formed  woman,  who  nets  ia 
"Susanna  and  the  Elders,"— "L'Amour  el  la  Folie."  &c., 
&c. 

6  The  Promenades  A6riennes,  or  French  Mountains  — 
See  a  descrijitlon  of  this  singular  and  fantastic  j)laco  of 
aniuseincnt  in  a  pamphlet,  truly  worthy  of  it,  by  "  F.  F. 
Cotierel,  M6decin.  Docteur  de  la  Faculu-  de  Paris,'  &,r.,  &c. 

8  AccordinR  to  Dr.  Cotierel  the  cars  go  at  the  rate  of  forty- 
ei^ht  miles  uu  hour. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


467 


"  Ah !     my   dear — if    Ma'mselle   vil    be    so   very- 
good — 
Jusf  for  von  lltj.el  course" — lliongH  I  scarce  luider- 

stood 
What  he  wlsh'd  me  tf»  do,  T  said,  thank  him,  I  would. 
Off"  we  set — and,  though  faith,  dear,  I  hardly  knew 
whether 
I\Iy  head  or  my  heels  were  the  uppermost  then. 
For  'twas  like  heav'n  and  earth,  Dolly,  coming 
together, — 
Yet,  spite  of  the  danger,  we  dared  it  again. 
And  oh  !  as  I  gazed  on  the  features  and  air 

Of  the  man,  who  for  me  all  this  peril  defied, 
I  could  fancy  almost  he  and  I  were  a  pair 

Of  unhappy  young  lovers,  who  thus,  side  by  side, 
Were  taking,  instead  of  rope,  pistol,  or  dagger,  a 
Desperate  dash  down  the  falls  of  Niagara  ! 

This  ach!oved,  through  the   gardens*  we  i  saunter'd 
about. 
Saw  the  fireworks,  exclaim'd  "  magnifique  !"  at 
each  cracker, 
And,  when  Hwas  all  c'ei,  tne  dear  man  saw  us  out 
With    the    air    I   will  say,  of   a   Prince,  to  our 
Jiacre. 

Now,    hear    me — this    stranger — it   may   be    mere 

folly— 
But  tolio  do  you  think  we  all  think  it  is,  Dolly? 
Why,  bless   you,  no  less  than  the  gi-eat   King  of 

Trussia, 
Who's   here   now  incog.^ — he,  who    made  such   a 

fuss,  you 
Remember,  in  London,  with    Blucher    and  Pla- 

TOFF, 

When  Sal  was  near  kissing  old   Bluciier's  cra- 
vat off! 
Pa  says  he's  come  here  to  look  after  his  money, 
(Not  taking  things  now  as  he  used  under  Boney,) 
Which  suits  with  our  friend,  for  Boa  saw  him,  he 

swore. 
Looking  sharp  to  the  silver  received  at  the  door. 
Besides,  too,  they  say  that  his  grief  for  his  Queen 
(Which  was  plain  in   this  sweet  fellow's  face  to  be 

seen) 
Requires  such  a  stimulant  dose  as  this  car  is, 
Used    three    times   a    day    with    young   ladies   in 

Paris. 
Some  Doctor,  indeed,  has  declared  that  such  grief 
Should — unless  'twould  to  utter  despairnig  its  folly 
push — 

^  In  the  Caf6  attached  to  these  gardens  there  are  to  be  (as 
Dorlor  Cotterel  infitrrns  us)  "douze  ncgrus,  tres-alertes,  qui 
contra^'teront  par  I'C'liene  de  letir  peau  avec  le  teinl  de  lU  el 
de  roses  de  nos  belles.    Les  glaces  et  les  sorbets,  servis  par 


Fly  to  the  Beaujon,  and  there  seek  relief 

By  rattling,  as   Bob  says,  "  like  shot  through  a 
holly-bush." 

I  must  now  bid  adieu ; — only  think,  Dolly,  tliink 
If  this  should  he  the  King — I  have  scarce  slept  a 

wink 
With  imagining  how  it  will  sound  in  the  papers 

And  how  all  the  Misses  my  good  luck  will  grudge, 
When  they  read  that  Count  Rurpix,  to  drive  away 
vapors. 
Has  gone   down  the  Beaujon  with   Miss  Biddy 
Fudge. 

Nota  Bene. — Papa's  almost  certain  'tis  he — 
For  he  knows  the  Legiti-iate  cut,  and  could  see. 
In  the  way  he  went  poising  and  managed  to  tower 
So  erect  in  the  car,  the  true  Balance  of  Power. 


LETTER  VL 

FROM  PHIL.  FUDGE,  ESQ.  TO  HJS  BROTHER  T;:I  JUDGE, 
ESQ.,  BARRISTER  AT  LAW. 

Yours  of  the  12th  received  just  now — 

Thanks  for  the  hint,  my  trusty  brother  ! 
'Tis  truly  pleasing  to  see  how 

We,  Fudges,  stand  by  one  another. 
But  never  fear — I  know  my  chap. 
And  he  knows  me  too — verhum  sap. 
My  Lord  and  I  are  kindred  spirits, 
Like  ill  our  ways  as  two  young  ferrets ; 
Both  fashion'd,  as  that  supple  race  is, 
To  twist  into  all  sorts  of  places  ; — 
Creatures  lengthy,  lean,  and  hungering. 
Fond  of  blood  and  iurrowj-mongering. 

As  to  my  Book  in  91, 

CaU'd    "  Down  with   Kings,   or.  Who'd    have 
thought  it?" 
Bless  you,  the  Book's  long  dead  and  gone, — 

Not  ev'n  th'  Attorney-General  bought  it. 
And,  thougli  some  few  seditious  tricks 
I  piay'd  in  95  and  6, 
As  you  remind  me  in  your  letter, 
His  Lordship  likes  me  all  the  better  ; — 
We  proselytes,  that  come  with  news  full. 
Are,  as  he  says,  so  vastly  useful ! 

;iiie  miiin  bien  noire,  fera  davantige  ressortir  ralli.ltre  des 
bras  arrondis  de  celles-ci." — p.  22. 

2  His  Majesty,  who  was  at  Paris  under  the  travelling  name 
of  Count  Ruppin,  is  known  to  have  gone  down  the  Beau- 
jon very  frequently. 


468 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Reynolds  and  I — (you  know  Tom  Reynolds — 

Drinks  his  claret,  keeps  his  chaise — 
Lucky  the  dog  that  fii-st  unkennels 

Traitora  and  Luddites  now-a-days  ; 
Or  who  can  help  to  hag  a  few, 

When  S — d th  wants  a  death  or  two  :) 

Reynolds  and  I,  and  some  few  more, 

All  men,  like  us,  of  infurmation, 
Friends,  wlioni  his  Lordship  keeps  in  store, 

As  MTif/er-savionrs  of  the  nation' — 
Have  form'd  a  Club  this  season,  where 
His  Lordship  sometimes  takes  the  chair, 
And  gives  us  many  a  bright  oration 
In  praise  of  our  sublime  vocation  ; 
Tracing  it  up  to  great  King  Midas, 
Who,  though  In  fable  typified  as 
A  royal  Ass,  by  grace  divine 
And  right  of  ears,  most  asinine, 
Was  yet  no  more,  in  fact  iiistorica!, 

Tlian  an  exceeding  well-bred  tyrant ; 
And  these,  his  cars,  but  allegorical, 

Meaning  Informers,  kept  at  high  rent'' — 
Gem'men,  who  toucii'd  the  Treasury'  glist'ners, 
Like  us,  for  being  trusty  list'ners  ; 
And  picking  up  each  tale  and  fragment, 
For  royal  Midas's  Green  Bag  meant. 
*'  And  wherefore,"  said  this  best  of  Peers, 
"  Should  not  the  R — g — t  too  have  ears,^ 
"  To  reach  as  far,  as  long  and  wide  as 
"Those  of  his  model,  good  King  Midas?" 
This  speech  was  thought  extremely  good, 
And  (rare  for  him)  was  understood — 
Instant  we  drank  **  The  R — c — t's  Ears," 
With  three  times  three  illustrious  cheers, 

Which  made  the  room  resound  like  thunder — 
"  The  R — G — t's  Ears,  and  may  ho  ne'er 
'*  From  foolish  shame,  like  Midas,  wear 

"  Old  paltrj'  wigs  to  keep  them  under  I"* 
This  touch  at  our  old  friends,  the  Whigs, 
Made  us  as  merry  all  as  grigs. 
In  short,  (I'll  thank  you  not  to  mention 

These  things  again.)  we  get  on  gayly  ; 
And,  thanks  to  pension  and  Suspension, 

Our  little  Club  increases  daily. 

1  Lord  C/s  tribute  to  the  character  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Rey- 
uolds,  will  li)ng  be  reiiiembcrcd  with  equal  credit  to  both. 

3  This  intcrpreiation  of  the  fulile  of  Midas's  ears  seems  the 
most  probable  of  any,  and  is  ilius  staled  in  Hoffmann: — 
"  Kac  allegoriii  signilicatuiii,  Mid:ini,  utpote  tyrannum,  sub- 
ttuscultatores  diniiltere  solituin,  per  quos,  quaecunque  per 
oniiicm  regioneni  vel  ficrL-nt,  vol  dicerentur,  cognosccret, 
niniirum  illis  ulcus  auriuin  vice." 

3  Brossette,  in  a  note  on  this  line  of  Boileau, 

"  Midas,  le  Roi  Midas,  a  des  ore  lies  d'Ane," 
fells  us,  that  "  M.  Perniult  le  M6dccin  /oulut  faire  a  notre 
I    iiuleur  un  crime  d'titat  de  ce  vers,  couune  d'une  malignc  al- 
lusion au  Hoi."    I  trust,  however,  ihat  no  one  will  suspect 
the  line  in  the  text  of  nny  such  indecorous  allusion. 


Castles,  and  OnrvER,  and  such. 

Who  don't  as  yet  full  salary  touch, 

Nor  keep  tlieir  chaise  and  pair,  nor  buy 

Houses  and  lands,  like  Tom  and  I, 

Of  course  don't  rank  with  us,  salvators,^ 

But  merely  servo  the  Club  as  waiters. 

Like  Knights,  too,  we've  our  collar  days, 

(For  us,  I  own,  an  awkward  phrase,) 

When,  in  our  new  costume  adorn'd, — 

The  R — G — -t's  buff-and-blue  coats  turned — 

We  have  the  honor  to  give  dinners 

To  the  chief  Rats  in  upper  stations  ;* 
Your     W Ys,     V Ns, — half-fledged    sin- 
ners, 

Who  shame  us  by  their  imitations  ; 
Who  turn,  'tis  true — but  what  of  that? 
Give  me  the  useful  peaching  Rut ; 
Not  things  as  mute  as  Punch,  when  t.wght, 
Whose  wooden  heads  are  all  they've  brought ; 
Who,  false  enougli  to  sliirk  their  friends, 

But  too  faint-hearted  to  betray. 
Are,  after  all  their  twists  and  bends, 

But  souls  in  Limbo,  darnn'd  half  way. 
No,  no,  wo  nobler  venniu  are 
A  genus  useful  as  we're  rare  ; 
'Midst  all  tlie  things  miraculous 

Of  which  your  natural  histories  brag, 
The  rarest  must  be  Rats  like  us, 

Who  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag. 
Yet  still  these  Tyros  in  the  cause 
Deserve,  I  own,  no  small  applause  ; 
And  they're  by  us  received  and  treated 
With  all  due  honors — only  seated 
In  th*  inverse  scale  of  their  reward, 
The  merely  promised  next  my  Lord  ; 
Small  pensions  then,  and  so  on,  down. 

Rat  after  rat,  they  graduate 
Through  job,  red  ribbon,  and  silk  gown, 

To  Chanc'llorship  and  Marquisate. 
This  ser\^es  to  nurse  the  ratting  spirit ; 
The  less  the  bribe  the  more  the  merit. 

Our  music's  good,  you  may  be  sure  ; 
My  Lord,  you  know,  's  an  amateur' — 

*  It  was  not  under  wigs,  but  tiaras,  that  King  Midas  en- 
deavored to  conceal  these  appendages  : 

Tempora  pnrpureis  tentat  velare  tiaris.— ChaD. 

The  Noble  Giver  of  the  toast,  however,  had  evidently,  with 
his  usual  clearness,  confounded  King  MJdas,  Mr.  Lislon,  and 
the  P e  R— g— t  together. 

6  Mr.  Fudge  and  his  friends  ought  U  go  by  this  name — 
as  the  man,  who,  some  years  since,  saved  the  late  Right 
Hon. George  Rose  from  drowning,  was  ever  after  called  Sal- 
vator  Rosa. 

6  This  intimacy  between  the  Rats  and  Informers  is  just  as 
it  should  be — "vere  dulce  sodalitinm." 

'  His  Lordship,  during  one  of  the  busiest  periods  of  his 


I 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS.                              469 

Takes  every  part  with  perfect  ease, 

There's  Jack,  the  Doctor — night  and  day 

Tliough  to  the  Base  by  nature  suited ; 

Hundreds  of  patients  bo  besiege  him. 

Aud,  Ibrm'd  for  all,  as  best  may  please, 

You'd  swear  tiiat  all  the  rich  and  gay 

For  whips  and  bolts,  or  ciiords  and  keys, 

Fell  sick  on  purpose  to  oblige  him. 

Turns  from  liis  viotims  to  his  glees, 

Aud  while  they  think,  the  precious  ninnies, 

Aud  has  them  both  well  executed} 

He's  counting  o'er  their  pulse  so  steady, 

H T D,  who,  though  no  Rat  himself, 

The  rogue  but  counts  how  many  guineas 

Deligiits  in  all  such  liberal  ails, 

He's  fobb'd,  for  th^t  day's  work,  already. 

Drinks  largely  to  the  House  of  Guelph, 

I'll  ne'er  forget  th'  old  maid's  alarm, 

And  superintends  the  Corni  parts. 

When,  feeling  thus  Miss  Sukey  Flirt,  he 

While  C — NN— G,"  who'd  be  Jirst  by  choice, 

Said,  as  lie  dropp'd  h;     shrivell'd  arm, 

Consents  to  take  an  under  voice  ; 

"  Damn  d  bad  this  morning — only  thirty !" 

Aud  Gr— V— s,^  who  well  that  signal  knows, 

Watches  the  Volti  stibitos.^ 

Your  dowagei-s,  too,  eArj-  one, 

So  geu'rous  are,  whoa  they  call  him  in, 

In  short,  as  I've  already  hinted, 

Tiiat  ho  might  now  retire  upon 

We  take,  of  late,  prodigiously  ; 

The  rheiunatisms  oi'  three  old  women. 

But  as  our  Club  is  somewhat  stinted 

Then,  whatsoe'er  your  ailments  are, 

For  Gentlemen,  like  Tom  and  me. 

He  can  so  learnedly  explain  ye  'em — 

We'll  take  it  kind  if  you'll  provide 

Your  cold,  of  course,  is  a  catarrh. 

A  few  Squireen^  from  t'other  side  ; — 

Your  headache  is  a  henii-craniuin  : 

Some  of  those  loyal,  cunning  elves. 

His  skill,  too,  in  youii;^  ladies'  lungs, 

(We  often  tell  the  tale  with  laughter,) 

Tlie  grace  with  which,  most  mild  of  men, 

Who  used  to  hide  tlie  pikes  themselves. 

He  begs  them  to  put  out  their  tongues, 

Then  hang  the  fools  who  found  them  after 

Then  bids  them — put  them  in  again: 

I  doubt  not  you  could  find  us,  too. 

In  short,  there*s  nothing  now  like  Jack  ! — 

Some  Orange  Parsons  that  might  do  ; 

Take  all  your  doctors  great  and  small. 

Among  tiie  rest,  we've  heard  of  cne, 

Of  present  times  and  ages  back. 

The  Reverend — something — Hamilton, 

Dear  Doctor  Fl-uge  is  worth  them  all. 

Who  stuii"d  a  figm-e  of  himself 

(Delicious  thought !)  and  had  it  shot  at, 

So  much  for  physic — then,  in  law  too. 

To  bring  some  Papists  to  the  shelf, 

Counsellor  Tim,  to  thee  we  bow  ; 

That  couldn't  otherwise  be  got  at — 

Not  one  of  us  gives  more  eclat  to 

If  he*\\  but  join  th'  Association, 

Th'  immortal  name  of  Fudge  than  thou. 

We'll  vote  him  in  by  acclamation. 

Not  to  expatiate  on  the  art 

With  which  you  play'd  tlie  patriot's  part, 

And  now,  my  brother,  guide,  and  friend, 

Till  sometliiug  good  and  snug  shoidd  offer ; — 

This  somewhat  tedious  scrawl  must  end. 

Like  one,  who,  by  the  way  he  acts 

I've  gone  into  this  long  detail, 

Th'  enlighCning  part  of  candle-snuffer, 

Because  I  saw  your  nerves  were  shaken 

The  manager's  keen  eye  attracts, 

With  anxious  fears  lest  I  should  fail 

And  is  promoted  tlience  by  him 

In  tliis  new,  loyal,  coui-se  I've  taken. 

To  strut  in  robes,  like  thee,  my  Tim  I — 

But,  bless  yoiu:  heart !  you  need  not  doubt — 

Who  shall  describe  thy  pow'i-s  of  face, 

AVe,  Fudges,  know  what  we're  about. 

Thy  well-feed  zeal  in  ev'ry  case. 

Look  round,  and  say  if  you  can  see 

Or  wrong  or  right — but  ten  times  warmer 

A  much  more  thriving  family. 

(As  suits  thy  calling)  in  the  former — 

j    Ministerial  career,  toufc  lessons  three  times  a  wcjk  from  a 

Says  Clarinda,  '•  though  tears  it  may  cost, 

celebrated  music-master,  in  glee-singing. 

It  is  time  we  should  part,  my  dear  Sue  ; 

1        1  How  anii»Iy  these  two  propensities  of  the  Noiile  Lord 

For  your  character's  totally  lost. 

1    would  h;ive  been  gratified  among  that  ancient  people  of 

And  /  have  not  sufficient  for  (wo/" 

!     Etruriri,  who,  as  Aristotle  tells  us,  used  to  whip  their  slaves 

once  a  year  to  the  sound  of  flutes  ! 

3  The  rapidity  of  this  Noble  Lord's  transformation,  at  the 

1       2  This  Right^Ion.  Gentleman  ought  to  give  up  his  present 

same  instant,  into  a  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber  and  an  oppo- 

alliance with  Lord  C,  if  upon  no  other  principle  than  that 

nent  of  the  Catholic  Claims,  was  truly  miraculous. 

which  is  inculcated  in  the  following  arrangement  between 

■•  Turn  instnnthj~:\  frequent  direction  in  music-books 

iwc  Toadies  of  Fashion  :— 

&  The  Irish  dioiinulive  of  Squire. 

470 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Tliy  ^lorioua,  lawycT-Iiko  deliglit 

In  piizzlinj^  all  that's  clt^ar  and  right, 

Which,  thongh  conspicuons  in  thy  youtli, 

Improves  so  witli  a  wig  and  band  on, 
Tliat  all  thy  pride's  to  waylay  Truth, 

And  leave  her  not  a  leg  to  stand  on. 
Thy  patent,  prime,  morality, — 

Thy  cases,  cited  from  the  Bible — 
Thy  candor,  when  it  falls  to  theo 

To  help  in  trouncing  for  a  libel  ; — 
"  God  knows,  I,  from  my  soul,  profess 

"  To  hate  all  bigots  and  henightej"S  ! 
"  God  knows,  I  love,  to  ov'n  excess, 
"  The  sacred  Freedom  (#  the  Press, 

"  My  only  aim's  to — crush  the  writers." 
These  are  the  virtues,  Ti.M,  that  draw 

The  briefs  into  thy  bag  so  fast ; 
And  these,  oh  Ti.m — if  Law  be  Law — 

Will  raise  thee  to  the  Bench  at  last. 

I  blush  to  see  this  letter's  length — 

But  'twas  my  wish  to  prove  to  theo 
How  full  of  hope,  and  wealth,  and  strength, 

Are  all  our  precious  family. 
And,  should  affairs  go  on  as  pleasant 
As,  thank  the  Fates,  they  do  at  present — 
Should  wo  but  still  enjoy  the  sway 

Of  .S — DM — II  and  of  C gii, 

I  hope,  ero  long,  to  see  the  day 

When  England's  wisest  statesmen,  judges, 

Lawyei-s,  peers,  will  all  be — Fudges  ! 

Good-by — my  paper's  out  so  nearly, 

I've  only  room  for  Yours  smccrely. 


LETTER  VII. 


FROM  PlIELIM  CONNOR  TO  . 

Beiore  we  sketch  the  Present — let  us  cast 
A  few,  short,  rapid  glances  to  the  Past. 

When  he,  who  had  defied  all  Europe's  strength, 
Beneath  his  own  weak  raslincss  sunk  at  length  ; — 
When,  loosed,  as  if  by  magic,  from  a  chain 
That  seom'd  like  Fate's,  the  world  was  free  again, 
And  Europe  saw,  rejoicing  in  the  sight. 
The  cause  of  Kings, /or  once,  the  cause  of  Right ; — 

>  While  the  Congress  w.is  reconstructing  Euroiie— not 
iiL-ccriling  to  rights,  natural  affiances,  language,  habits,  or 
lnws  ,  bntby  tables  of  finance,  which  divided  and  subdivided 
her  population  into  souls,  demi-souts,  and  even  fractions. 


Then  was,  indeed,  an  hour  of  joy  to  tliose 
Who  sigli'd  for  justice — liberty — repose. 
And  hoped  the  fall  of  one  great  vulture's  nest 
Would  ring  its  warning  round,  and  scare  the  rest. 
All  then  was  bright  with  promise  ; — Kings  began 
To  own  a  sympathy  with  suff'ring  Man, 
And  Man  was  grateful  I  Patriots  of  the  South 
Caught  wisdom  from  a  Co.'^.sack  Emperor's  mouth, 
And  heard,  like  accents  tliaw'd  in  Northern  air. 
Unwonted  words  of  freedom  burst  forth  there  ! 

Who  did  not  hope,  in  that  triumpliant  time. 
When  monarchs,  after  years  of  spoil  and  crime. 
Met  round  the  shrino  of  Peace,  and  Ileav'n  look'd 

on, — 
Who  did  not  hope  the  lust  of  spoil  was  gone  ; 
That  that  rapacious  spirit,  which  had  play'd 
The  game  of  Pilnitz  o'er  so  oft,  was  laid  ; 
And  Europe's  Rulcrss,  conscious  of  the  past, 
Would  blush,  and  deviate  into  right  at  last? 
But  no — the  hearts,  that  nursed  a  hojic  so  fair. 
Had  yet  to  learn  what  men  ou  thrones  can  dare ; 
Had  yet  to  know,  of  all  earth's  rav'ning  things, 
The  only  quite  untaraeable  are  Kings  I 
Scarce  had  they  met,  when,  to  its  nature  true, 
The  instinct  of  their  race  broke  out  anew  ; 
Promises,  treaties,  charters,  all  were  vain, 
And  "  Rapine  !  rapine  1"  was  the  crj-  again. 
How  quick  they  car\'ed  their  victims,  and  how  well. 
Let  Sa.\ony,  let  injured  Genoa  tell ; — 
Let  all  tJic  human  stock  that,  day  by  day, 
Was,  at  that  Royal  slave-mart,  truck'd  away, — 
The  million  souls  that,  in  the  face  of  heaven. 
Were  split  to  fractions,^  bartcr'd,  sold,  or  given 
To  swell  some  despot  Power,  too  huge  before, 
And  weigh  down  Europe  with  one  Mammoth  more. 
How  safe  the  faith  of  Kings  let  Franco  decide  ; — 
Her  charter  broken,  ere  its  ink  had  dried  ; — 
Her  Press  euthrali'd — lier  Reason  mock'd  again 
With  all  the  monkery  it  bad  spurn'd  in  vain  ; 
Her  crown  disgraced  by  one,  who  dared  to  own 
Ho  thank'd  not  France  but  England  for  his  throne  ; 
Her  triumphs  cast  into  the  shade  by  those, 
Who  had  grown  old  among  her  bitterest  foes. 
And  now  retuni'd,  beneath  her  eonqu'rors'  shields. 
Unblushing  slaves  1  to  claim  her  heroes'  lields ; 
To  tread  down  every  trophy  of  her  fame. 
And  cnrse  that  glory  wliich  to  them  was  shame ! — 
Let  these — let  all  the  damning  deeds,  that  then 
Were  dared  through  Europe,  ciy  aloud  to  men. 
With  voice  like  tliat  of  crashing  ice  that  rings 
Round  Alpine  huts,  tlio  perfidy  of  Kings  ; 

according  to  a  scale  of  the  direct  duties  or  ta:fes  which  could 
be  levied  by  llie  acquiring  stale,"  &c.— Stctc/i  of  the  Mili- 
tary and  Political  Power  of  Kussia.  The  words  on  llio  pro- 
tocol are  dines,  detni-dmcs,  &.C. 


■ 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


471 


And  tell  the  worJd,  when  hawks  shall  harmless  bear 
Tiio  slirinkhicj  dove,  wiien  wolves  shall  loam  to  spare 
The  helpless  victim  for  whose  hlood  they  lusted, 
Tlicn,  and  then  only,  mouarchs  may  be  trusted. 

It  could  not  last — these  horrors  could  not  last — • 
Frau(;e  would  hei-self  have  ris'n,  in  might,  to  cast 
Th*  insuiters  off— and  oh  I  that  then,  as  now, 
Chain'd  to  some  distant  islet's  rocky  brow, 
NAroLF.oN  ne'er  had  como  to  force,  to  blight. 
Ere  half  matured,  a  cause  so  proudly  bright  ; — 
To  pal^y  jialriot  hearts  with  doubt  and  shame, 
And  write  on  Freedom's  flag  a  despot's  name  ; — 
To  rush  into  the  lists,  unask'd,  alone, 
And  make  t'le  stake  of  all  the  game  of  one  ! 
Tiien  would  the  world  have  seen  again  what  pow'r 
A  people  can  put  forth  in  Freedom's  hour; 
Then  would    the    fire  of   France  once  more  have 

blazed  ; — 
For  every  single  sword,  reluctant  raised 
In  the  stale  cause  of  an  oppressive  throne. 
Millions  would  then  have  leap'd  forth  in  her  own  ; 
And  never,  never  had  th'  unholy  stain 
Of  Bourbon  feet  disgraced  her  shores  again. 

But  fate  decreed  not  so — th'  Imperial  Bird, 
That,  in  his  neighboring  cage,  unfear'd,  unstirr'd, 
Had  secm'd  to  sleep  with  head  beneath  his  wing. 
Yet  watch'd  the  moment  for  a  daring  spring  ; — 
Well  might  he  watch,  when  deeds  were  done,  that 

made 
His  own  transgressions  whiten  in  their  shade  ; 
Well  might  he  hope  a  world,  thus  trampled  o'er 
By  clumsy  tyrants,  would  be  his  once  more  : — - 
Forth  from  his  cage  the  eagle  burst  to  light, 
From  steeple  on  to  steeple^  wing'd  his  flight, 
With  calm  and  easy  grandeur,  to  that  throne 
From  which  a  Royal  craven  just  had  flown  ; 
And  resting  there,  as  in  his  eyry,  furl'd 
Those  wings,  whose  verj--  ruslhng  shook  the  world  ! 

What  was  your  furj'  then,  ye  crown'd  array, 
Whose  feast  of  spoil,  whose  plund'ring  holiday 
AVas  thus  broke  up,  in  all  its  greedy  mirth. 
By  one  bold  chieftain's  stamp  on  Gallic  earth  I 
Fierce  was  the  cry,  and  fulminant  the  ban, — 
"  Assassinate,  who  will — enchain,  who  can, 
*'  The  vile,  the  faithless,  outlaw'd,  low-born  man  !'' 
"  Faithless  !" — and   this  from  you — from  you,  for- 
sooth, 
Ye  pious  Kings,  pure  paragons  of  truth, 

1  "L'aisle  volera  de  clocher  en  clocher,  jusqu'aux  tours 
de  Notre-Dame." — Napoleon's  Proclamation  on  landing  from 
Elba. 

2  Singulis  annis  in  quodam  Atlicae  fonte  lota  virginitatem 
rccaperasse  fingitur. 


Whose  honesty  all  knew,  for  all  had  tried ; 
Whoso  true  Swiss  zeal  had  served  on  evciy  side  ; 
Whose  fame  for  breaking  faith  so  long  was  known, 
Well  might  ye  claim  the  craft  as  all  your  own. 
And  lash  your  lordly  tails,  and  fume  to  see 
Such  low-born  apes  of  Royal  perfidy  ! 
Yes — yes— to  you  alone  did  it  belong 
To  sin  forever,  and  yet  ne'er  do  wrong. — 
The  frauds,  the  lies  of  Lords  legitimate 
Are  but  fine  policy,  deep  strokes  of  state; 
But  let  some  upstart  dare  to  soar  so  high 
In  Kingly  craft,  and  *'  outlaw''  is  the  cry  ! 
What,  though  long  years  of  mutual  treachery 
Had  peopled  full  your  diplomatic  shelves 
With    gliosis    of   treaties,    murder'd    "moug    your- 
selves ; 
Though  each  by  turns  was  knave  and  dupe — what 

then  ? 
A  Holy  League  would  set  all  straiglit  again ; 
Like  Juxo's  virtue,  which  a  dip  or  two 
In  some  bless'd  fountain  made  as  gcc  as  new  I' 
I\Iost  faithful  Russia — faithful  to  whoe'er 
Could  plunder  best,  and  give  him  amplest  share ; 
Who,  e'en  when  vanquish'd,  sure  to  gain  his  ends, 
For  want  oi  foes  to  rob,  made  free  witii  friends^ 
And,  deepening  still  by  amiable  gradations. 
When  foes  were  strlpp'd  of  all,  then  fleeced  relations  !* 
Most  mild  and  saintly  Prussia — stcep'd  to  th'  ears 
In  persecuted  Poland's  blood  and  tears. 
And  now,  with  all  her  harpy  wings  outspread 
O'er  sevcr'd  Saxony's  devoted  head  ! 
Pure  Austria  too — whose  hist'rj'  naught  repeats 
But  broken  leagues  and  subsidized  defeats  ; 
Whose  faith,  as  Prince,  cxtinguish'd  Venice  shows. 
Whose  faith,  as  man,  a  widow'd  daughter  knows ! 
And    thou,    oh    England — who,    tliough    once    as 

shy 
As  cloister'd  maids,  of  shame  or  perfidy, 

Art  now  broke  in,  and,  thanks  to  C gh, 

In  all  that's  worst  and  falsest  lead'st  the  way  ! 

Such  was  the  pure  divan,  whose  pens  and  wits 

Th'  escape  from  Elba  frigliten'd  into  fits  ; — 

Such    were   the    saints,    who    doom'd    Napoleon's 

life. 
In  virtuous  phrensy  to  th'  assassin's  knife. 
Disgusting  crew  ! — who  would  not  gladly  fly 
To  open,  downright,  bold-faced  tyranny. 
To  honest  guilt,  that  dares  do  all  but  lie, 
From  the  false,  juggling  craft  of  men  like  these. 
Their  canting  crimes  and  varnish'd  villauies; 


3  At  the  peace  of  Tilsit,  where  he  aliandoned  his  ally 
Prussia,  to  France,  and  received  a  portion  of  her  territory 
*  The  seizure  of  Finland  from  his  relative  of  Sweden. 


r' 


472 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


These  Holy  Leaguers,  who  then  loudest  boast 

Of   faitli  and   honor,  wlieu   they've   stain'd   them 

most ; 
From  wlioso  affection  men  should  shrink  as  loatli 
As  from  tlieir  hate,  for  they'll  be  fleeced  by  both  ; 
Wlio,  cv'n  while  plund'ring,  forge  Religion's  name 
To  frank  their  spoil,  and,  without  fear  or  shame 
Call  down  the  Holy  Trinity'  to  bless 
Partition  leagues,  and  deeds  of  devilishness ! 
But  hold — enough — soon  would  this  swell  of  rage 
O'erflow  the  boundaries  of  my  scanty  page  ; — 
So,  here  I  pause — farewell— another  day, 
Return  we  to  those  Lords  of  pray'r  and  prey. 
Whose  loathsome  cant,  whose  frauds  by  right  divine, 
Deserve  a  lash — oh  !  weightier  far  than  mine  I 


LETTER  VIII. 


FROM  MR.  BOB  FUDGE  TO  RICHARD  - 


-,  ESQ. 


Dear  Dick,  while  old  Donaldson's^  mending  my 
stays, —  [days. 

Which  I  knew  would  go  smash  with  me  one  of  these 
And,  at  yesterday's  dinner,  when,  full  to  the  throttle. 
We  lads  had  begun  our  desert  with  a  bottle 
Of  neat  old  Constautia,  on  viy  loaning  back 
Just  to  order  another,  by  Jove,  I  went  crack  ! — 
Or,  as  honest  Tom  said,  in  his  nautical  phrase, 
"  D — n  my  eyes.  Bob,  iu  doubling  the  Cape  you've 

miss'd  stays''^ 
So,  of  course,  as  no  gentleman's  seen  out  without 

them, 
They're  now  at  the  Schneider's' — and,  wliile  he's 

about  them, 
Here  goes  for  a  letter,  post-haste,  neck  and  crop. 
Let  us  see — in  my  last  I  was — where  did  I  stop? 
Oh,  I  know — at  the  Boulevards,  as  motley  a  road  as 

Man  ever  would  wish  a  day's  lounging  upon  ; 
With  its  cafes  and  gardens,  hotels  and  pagodas. 

Its  founts,  and  old  Counts  sijiping  beer  in  the  sun : 
With  its  houses  of  all  arcliitcctures  you  please, 
From  the  Grecian  and  Gothic,  Dick,  down  by  de- 
grees 
To  the  pure  Hottentot,  or  the  Brighton  Chinese  ; 

1  The  usual  preamble  of  these  flagitious  compacts.  In  (he 
same  spirit,  Catherine,  after  the  dreadful  massacre  of  War- 
saw, ordered  a  solemn  "  thanksgiving  to  God  in  all  the 
churches,  for  the  blessings  conlerred  upon  the  Poles  ;'•  and 
commanded  that  each  of  tlictii  shoiiUl  "swear  Iidelity  and 
loyalty  to  her,  and  to  shed  in  her  defence  the  last  drop  of 
their  blood,  as  they  should  answer  for  it  to  God.and  his  terrible 
jiidgment,  kissing  the  holy  word  and  cross  of  their  Saviour  !" 

a  An  English  tailor  at  Paris. 

3  A  ship  is  said  to  miss  stays,  when  she  does  not  obey  the 
hejn  in  tacking. 


Where  in  temples  antique  you  may  breakfast  or 

dinner  it. 
Lunch  at  a  mosque,  and  see  Punch  from  a  minaret. 
Then,  Dick,  the  mixture  of  bonnets  and  bow'rs. 
Of  foliage  and  fripp'ry,  fiacres  and  flow'rs. 
Green-grocers,  green   gardens — one   hardly  knons 

whether 
'Tis  country  or  town,  they're  so  mess'd  up  together ! 
And  there,  if  one  loves  the  romantic,  one  sees 
Jew   ?lothes-men,  like    shepherds,    reclined    under 

jees; 
Or   Quidnuncs,   on    Sunday,  just   fresh    from    the 

barber's, 
Enjoying  their  news  and  groscillc^  in  those  arbors  ; 
While  gayly  their  wigs,  like  the  tendrils,  are  curling, 
And  founts  of  red  currant-juice"  round  them  are 

purling. 

Here,  Dice,  arm  in  arm  as  wo  chattering  stray, 
And  receive  a  few  civil  "  God-dems"  by  the  way, — 
For,    'tis    odd,    these    raounseers, — though    we've 

wasted  our  wealth 
And  our  strength,  til    — e'vo  thrown  ourselves  into 

a  phthisic. 
To  cram  down  their  throats  an  eld  King  for  their 

health, 
As  we  whip  little  children  to  make  them  talie 

physic  ; — 
Yet,  spite  of  our  good-natured  money  and  slaughter, 
Tiiey  hate  us  as  Beelzebub  hates  holy  water  I 
But  who  the  deuce  cares,  Dick,  as  long  as  they 

nourish  us 
Neatly  as  now,  and  good  cookery  flourishes — 
Long  as,  by  bay 'nets  protected,  we,  Natties, 
May  have  our  full  fling  at  their  salmis  and  pMes  ? 
And,  truly,  I  always  declared  'twould  be  pity 
To  bum  to  tlie  ground  such  a  choice-feeding  city. 
Had  Dad  but  his  way,  he'd  have  long  ago  blown 
The  whole  batch  to  old  Nick — and  the  people,  I 

OWJl, 

If  for  no  other  cause  than  their  cursed  monkey  looks, 
Well  deseiTO   a  blow-up — but  then,  damn  it,  their 

Cooks ! 
As  to  Marehals,  and  Statesmen,  and  all  their  whole 

lineage. 
For  aught  tliat  /  care,  you  may  knock  them  to 

spinago  ; 

4  The  dandy  term  for  a  tailor. 

6  "Lemonade  and  eau-de-ffroscillc  are  measured  ont  at 
every  corner  of  every  street,  from  fantastic  vessels,  jingling 
with  bells,  to  thirsty  tradesmen  or  wearied  messengers." — 
Pee  Lady  Morgan's  lively  description  of  the  streets  of  Paris, 
in  her  very  amusing  work  upon  France,  book  vi. 

8  These  gay,  portable  fountains,  from  which  the  groseille 
water  is  administereil,  are  among  the  most  characteristic  or- 
naments of  the  streets  of  Paris. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARfS. 


473 


But  think,  Dick,  their  Cooks — what  a  loss  to  man- 
kind ! 

Wiiat  a  void  in  the  world  w:uld  their  art  leave  be- 
hind ; 

Tli^ir    chronometer    spits — their    intense    salaman- 
ders— 

Their  ovens — their  pots,  that  can  soften  old  gandei-s, 

All  vanish'd  forever — tlieir  miracles  o'er, 

And  the  Marmitc  PerpetueUc^  bnbbling  no  more  ! 

Forbid  it,  forbid  it,  yo  Holy  Allies  I 

Take   whatever   ye   fancy — take    statues,   take 
money — 

But  leave  them,  oh  leave  them,  their  Peri^eux  pies, 
Their    glorious    goose-livers,    and    high    pickled 
tunny  !^ 

Though  many,  I  own,  are  the  evils  they've  brought 
us, 
Though  Royalty's  here  on  her  very  last  legs. 

Yet,  wiio  can  help  loving  the  land  that  has  taught  us 
Six  hundred  and  eighty-five  ways  to  dress  eggs  ?^ 

You  see,  Dick,  in  spite  of  their  cries  of  "  God-dam," 
"  Coquin  Anglais,"  et  caet'ra— how  gen'rous  I  am  1 
And  now,  (to  return,  once  again,  to  my  "  Day," 
Which  wil!  take  us  all  night  to  get  through  in  this 

way,) 
From  tlie  Boulevards  we  saunter  through  many  a 

street. 
Crack  jokes  on  the  natives — mine,  all  very  neat — 
Leave  the  Signs  of  the  Times  to  political  fops. 
And  find    twice   as  much  fun  in  the  Signs  of  the 

Sliops  ; — 
HerCf  a  Louis  Dix-huit — there,  a  Martinmas  goose, 
(Much  in  vogue  since  your  eagles  are  gone  out  of 

use) — 
Henri  Quatres  in  shoals,  and  of  Gods  a  great  many. 
But  Saints  are  the  most  on  hard  duty  of  any : — 
St.  Tony,  who  used  all  temptations  to  spurn. 
Here  hangs  o'er  a  beer-shop,  and  tempts  in  his  turn  ; 
While  there  St.  Venecia^  sits  hemming  and  frilling 

her 
Holy  mouchoir  o'er  the  door  of  some  milliner  ; — 

*  "Cette  merveilleuse  Marmite  Perp6tnelle,  sur  le  feu 
depnis  priis  d'un  siecle  ;  qui  a  (ionn6  le  jour  a  plus  de  300.000 
chapnns." — Alman.  de  Gourmands,  Quatricme  Ann6e,  p.  153. 

*  Le  then  marine,  one  of  the  most  favorite  and  indi- 
gestible hors-d'auvres.  This  fish  is  taken  chiefly  in  the 
Golfe  de  Lyon.  "  La  tete  et  Ic  dessous  du  ventre  sont  les 
parlies  les  plus  recherchees  des  gourmets." — Cours  Gastro- 
nomiguet  p.  252. 

3  The  exact  number  mentioned  by  M.  de  la  Reyniere — 
"On  connoit  en  France  085  nianieres  dilferenles  d'accom- 
mnder  lesfEufs;  sans  compter  celles  qce  nos  savans  ima- 
ginent  chaque  jour.*' 

■•  Veronica,  the  Saint  of  the  Holy  Handkerchief,  is  also. 
under  the  name  of  Venisse,  or  Venecia,  the  tutelary  saint  of 
milliners. 

5  St.  Denys  walked  three  miles  after  his  head  was  cutoff. 
The  mot  of  a  woman  of  wit  upon  this  legend  is  well  known: 


Saint  Austin's  the  "outward  and  visible  sign 

"  Of  an   inward"  cheap  dinner,  and  pint  of  small 

wine  ; 
While    St.  Denys    hangs   out    o*er   some  hatter  of 

ton. 
And  possessing,  good  bishop,  no  liead  of  his  own,^ 
Takes  an  int'rest  in  Dandies,  who've  got — ne.vt  to 

none  I 
Then  we  stare  into  shops — read  the  evening's  af- 

Jjches — 
Or,   if  some,    who'ro    Lotharios  in  feeding,  should 

wish 
Just  to  flirt  with  a  luncheon,  (a  devilish  bad  trick. 
As  it  takes  off  the  bloom  of  one's  appetite,  Dick.) 
To  the  Passage  des — what  d'ye  call't — des  Pano- 
ramas^ 
We  quicken  our  pace,  and  there  heartily  cram  as 
Seducing  young  pates,  as  ever  could  cozeu 
One  out  of  one's  appetite,  down  by  the  dozen. 
We  var)',  of  course — pctitspates  do  one  day, 
The  next  we've  our  lunch  with  the  Gaufrier  Hol- 
land a  is,'' 
That  popular  artist,  who  brings  out,  like  Sc — tt, 
His  delightful  productions  so  quick,  hot  and  hot ; 
Not  the  worse  for  the  exquisite  comment  that  fol- 
lows,— 
Divine  maresquino,  which — Lord,  how   one  swal- 
lows ! 

Once  more,  then,  we  saunter  forth  after  our  snack,  or 
Subscribe  a  few  francs  for  the  price  of  ^fiacre. 
And  drive  far  away  to  the  old  Montagues  Russes, 
Where  we  find  a  few  twirls  in  the  car  of  much  use 
To  regen'rate  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  us  sinners. 
Who've  lapsed  into  snacks — the  perdition  of  dinners. 
And  here,  Dick — in  answer  to  one  of  your  queries, 
About  which  we^  Gourmands,  have    had    much 

discussion — 
I've  tried  all  these  mountains,  Swiss,  French,  and 

Ruggieri's, 
And  think,  for  digestion,^  there's  none  like  the 

Russian ; 

— "  Je  le  crois  bien ;  en  parcjl  cas,  il  n'y  a  que  le  premier 
pas  qui  coute." 

6  Off  the  Boulevards  Itjiliens. 

'  In  the  Palais  Royal ;  successor,  I  believe,  to  the  Flamand, 
so  long  celebrated  for  the  moillcuz  of  his  Gaufres. 

8  Doctor  Cotterel  recommends,  for  this  purpose,  the  Beau- 
jon  or  French  Mountains,  and  calls  them  "  une  miiilecine 
a^rienne,  couleur  de  rose  ;"  but  I  own  1  prefer  the  authority 
of  Mr.  Bob,  who  seems,  from  the  following  note  found  in  his 
cwn  handwriting,  to  have  studied  all  these  inouniains  very 
carefully : — 

Jilemorajida — The  Swiss  Utile  notice  deserves, 

While  the  fall  at  Ruggieri's  is  death  to  weak  nerves ; 

And  (vvhate'er  Doctor  Cott'rel  may  write  on  tlie  question) 

The  turn  at  the  Beaujon's  loo  sharp  for  digestion. 
I  doubt  whether  Mr.  Bob  is  quite  correct  in  accenting  the 
second  syllable  of  Ruggieri. 


474 


MOORE^S  WORKS. 


So  equal  the  motion — so  geutle,  though  fleet — 

It,  ill  ahort,  such  a  hglit  and  salubrious  scamper  is, 
That  take  whom  you  please — take  old  L — s  D — x- 

II — T, 

And  stuff  him — ay,  up  to  the  neck — with  stew'd 

lampreys,* 
So  ivholesome  these   Mounts,  sucli  a  solvent  I've 

found  them, 
Tiiat,  let  me  but  rattle  the  Monarch  well  down  them, 
Tiie  fiend.  Indigestion,  would  tly  far  away, 
And  the  regicide  lampreys"  be  foil'd  of  their  prey  I 

Such,  Dick,  are  the  classical  sports  that  content  us. 
Till  five  o'clock  brings  on  that  hour  so  moment- 
ous,^ 

Tiiat  epoch but  woa  ! — my  lad — here  comes  the 

Schneider, 
And,  cui*se   him,  has  made  tlie  stays  three  niches 

wider — 
Too  wide  by  an  inch  and  a  half — wl>at  a  Guy  I 
But,  no  matter — 'twill  all  be  set  right  by-and-by. 
As  we've  Massinot's*  eloquent  carte  to  eat  still  up, 
An  inch  and  a  half's  but  a  trifle  to  fill  up. 
So — not  to  lose  time,  Dick, — here  goes  for  the  task  ; 
All  rcvoir,  my  old  boy — of  the  Gods  I  but  ask. 
That  my  life,   like   "  tlic   Leap  of  the  Gennan,"^ 

may  be, 
"  Du  lit  k  la  table,  de  la  table  au  lit  !*' 

R.  F. 


LETTER  IX. 

FROM     PHIL.    FUDGE,    ESQ,,    TO     THE     LORD     VISCOUNT 
C — ST GII. 

My  Lord,  th*  Instructions,  brought  to-day, 
"  I  shall  in  all  my  best  obey." 
Your  Lordship  talks  and  writes  so  sensibly ! 
And — whatsoe'er  some  wags  may  say — 
Oh  !  not  at  all  incomprehensibly. 

1  A  dish  so  indigestible,  that  n  late  novelist,  at  the  end  of 
Iiis  book,  could  iiiiaeine  no  more  summary  mode  of  getting 
rid  of  all  his  heroes  and  heroines  than  by  a  hearty  supper 
of  stewed  lampreys 

s  They  JiiHtd  Henrj-  I.  of  Encland:— "a  food  (says 
Hume,  gravely)  which  always  agreed  better  with  his  palate 
than  his  constitution." 

Lampreys,  indeed,  seem  to  have  been  always  a  favorite 
dish  with  kings— whether  from  some  congeniality  between 
them  and  thai  fish,  I  know  not;  but  Diu  Cassius  tells  us 
that  Pollio  fattened  his  lampreys  with  human  blood.  St. 
Louis  of  France  was  particularly  fond  of  them. — See  the 
anecdote  of  Thomas  Aquinas  eating  up  hiti  majesty's  la:ji- 
prey,  in  a  note  upon  Rabelais,  Hv.  iii..  chap.  2. 

"  Had  Mr.  Bolt's  Dinner  Epislle  been  inserted,  I  was  pre- 
wired with  an  abundance  of  learned  matter  to  illustrate  it,  for 
which,  as,  indeed,  for  all  my  "  scientia  popini,"*  I  am  in- 


I  feel  th'  inquiries  in  your  letter 

About  my  health  and  French  most  flattering ; 
Thank  ye,  my  French,  though  somewhat  better, 

Is,  on  the  whole,  but  weak  and  smatteriug : — 
Nothing,  of  course,  that  can  compare 
With  his  who  made  the  Congress  stare, 
(A  certain  Lord  we  need  not  name,) 

Who  ev'n  in  Frencli,  would  have  his  trope, 
And  talk  of  **  hatir  un  systeme 

"  Sur  VequiUhre  de  TEurope  !" 
Sweet  mctaplior  ! — and  then  th'  Epistle; 
Which  bid  the  Saxon  King  go  wliistle, — 
That  tender  letter  to  "  Mou  Prince,'"^ 
Which  show'd  alike  thy  French  and  sense  ; — 
Oh  no,  my  Lord — there's  none  can  do 
Or  say  2in-English  things  like  you  ; 
And,  if  the  schemes  that  fill  thy  breast 

Could  but  a  vent  congenial  seek, 
And  use  the  tongue  that  suits  them  best. 

What  charming  Turkish  wouldst  thou  speak! 
But  as  for  mc,  a  Frcnchlcss  grub, 

At  Congress  never  born  to  stammer, 
Nor  learn  like  thee,  my  Lord,  to  snub 

FaU'n  Monarchs,  out  of  Ciiamb.^cu's  grammar — 
Bless  you,  you  do  not,  cannot  know 
How  far  a  little  French  will  go  ; 
For  all  one's  stock,  one  need  but  draw 

On  some  half  dozen  words  like  these — 
Comine  fa— -^;fl7--Z« — Id-bas — ah  ha  ! 

They'll  take  you  all  througli  France  with  ease. 

Your  Lordship's  praises  of  the  scraps 

I  sent  you  from  my  Jomnial  lately, 
(Enveloping  a  few  laced  caps 

For  Lady  C.)  delight  mo  greatly. 
Her  fliitt'ring  speech — "  what  pretty  tilings 

"  One  finds  in  Mr.  Fudge's  pages  !'' 
Is  praise  which  (as  some  poet  sings) 

Would  pay  one  for  the  toils  of  ages. 

Thus  flatter'd,  I  presume  to  send 
A  few  more  extracts  by  a  friend  : 

dcbted  to  a  friend  in  the  Dublin  University, — whose  reading 
formerly  lay  in  the  via<Tic  line  ;  but,  in  consequence  of  the 
Provost's  enlightened  alarm  at  such  studies,  he  has  taken  to 
the  authors,  "rfc  re  Cii»ar/<i"  instead  ;  and  has  left  Bodin, 
Remigius,  Jiffrippa  and  his  little  dog  Filiolus,foT  j^pifius, 
JVbHiU5,  and  that  most  learned  and  savory  Jesuit,  Bulcn- 
gerus. 

*  A  famous  Restaurateur— now  Dnpont. 

s  An  old  French  saying; — "Faire  le  saut  de  TAIlemand, 
du  lit  a  la  table  et  de  la  table  au  lit," 

6  The  celebrated  letter  to  Prince  Ilardenburgh,  (written, 
however,  I  believe,  originally  in  English.)  in  which  his 
Lordship,  professing  to  see  "  no  moral  or  political  objection" 
to  the  dismemberment  of  Saxony,  denounced  the  unfortu- 
nate King  as  "  not  only  the  most  devoted,  but  the  most  fa- 
vored of  Bonaparte's  vassals." 

K  Seneca* 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS 


475 


And  I  sliould  hope  tliey'll  be  no  less 
Approved  of  than  my  last  MS. — 
The  former  ones,  I  fear,  were  creased, 

As  Biddy  round  the  caps  would  pin  them .' 
But  these  will  come  to  hand,  at  least 

Unrumpled,  for  there's  nothing  in  them. 

Extracts  from  Mr.  Fudges  Journal,  addressed  to 
Lord  a 

Aug.  10. 
Went  to  the  Mad-house — saw  the  man,^ 

Wiio  thiults,  poor  wretch,  that,  while  the  Fiend 
Of  Ditscord  here  full  riot  ran, 

/7e,  like  the  rest,  was  gudlotined  ; — 
But  tliat  when,  inider  Boney's  reign, 

(A  more  discreet,  though  quite  as  strong  one,) 
The  heads  were  all  restored  again, 

He,  in  the  scramble,  got  a  wrong  one. 
Accordingly,  he  still  cries  out 

Tliis  strange  head  fits  him  most  unpleasantly  ; 
And  always  runs,  poor  devil,  about 

Inquiring  for  his  own  incessantly  ! 

While  to  his  case  a  tear  I  dropp'd, 

And  saunter'd  home,  thought  I — ye  Gods! 
How  many  heads  might  thus  be  swopp'd, 

And,  after  all,  not  make  mucli  odds ! 
For  instance,  there's  V' — s — tt — t's  head — 
("  Tarn  carum'^  it  may  well  be  said) 
If  by  some  curious  chance  it  came 

To  settle  on  Bill  Soames's^  shoulders, 
Th'  efiect  would  turn  out  much  the  same 

On  all  respectable  cash-holders : 
Except  that  while,  in  its  new  socket, 

The  head  was  planning  schemes  to  win 
A  zig-zag  way  into  one's  pocket, 

The  hands  would  plunge  directly  in. 

Good  Viscount  S — dm — ii,  too,  instead 
Of  his  own  grave,  respected  head, 
Might  wear  (for  aught  I  see  that  bars) 

Old  lady  Wilmelmina  Frump's — 
So  while  the  hand  sign'd  Circulars, 

The  head  might  lisp  out,  "  What  is  trumps?" — 
The  R — g-=-t's  brains  could  we  transfer 
To  some  robust  man-milliner, 

1  This  exlniordinary  madninn  is,  I  believe,  in  the  Bicttre. 
Ue  iiTi.it.'iiies,  exactly  as  Mr.  Fudge  stales  it.  that,  when  the 
heads  ofthoiewhohad  beenguillntined  were  resttned,  he  by 
mistike  got  some  other  person's  insteud  of  his  own. 

3Tatii  cari  capitis. — Horat. 

3  A  celebrated  pickpocket. 

**The  only  chanpe,  if  I  recollect  right,  is  the  substitution 
of  lilies  for  bees.  This  war  upon  the  bees  is,  of  course,  uni- 
versal ;  "exitium  mis&re  apibus,"  like  the  angry  nymphs  in 
Yirgii: — but  may  not  new  sicamis  arise  out  of  the  victims 
of  Legitimacy  yctl 


The  sliop,  the  shears,  the  lace,  and  riband 
Would  go,  I  doubt  not,  quite  as  glib  on  ; 
And,  vice  rersj,  take  tlie  pains 
To  give  the  P — ce  the  shopman's  brains, 
One  only  change  from  thence  would  flow, 
Rihunds  would  not  be  wasted  so. 

'Twas  thus  I  pondcr'd  on,  my  Lord  ; 

And,  ev'n  at  night,  when  laid  in  bod, 
I  found  myself,  before  I  snored, 

Thus  chopping,  swopping  head  for  head. 
At  lengtli  I  thouglit,  fantastic  elf! 
How  such  a  change  would  suit  myself. 
'Twixt  sleep  and  waking,  one  by  one, 

With  various  pericraniums  saddled, 
At  last  I  tried  your  Lordship's  on, 

And  then  I  grew  completely  addled — 
Forgot  all  other  heads,  od  rot  'em  I 
And  slept,  and  dreamt  that  I  was — B-jttom. 

Ang.  21. 

Walk'd  out  with  daughter  Bid — was  shown 
The  house  of  Commons,  and  the  Throne, 
Whose  velvet  cushion's  just  the  same' 
Napoleon  sat  on — what  a  shame  ! 
Oh,  can  wo  wonder,  best  of  speechers. 

When  Louis  seated  thus  wo  see. 
That  France's  "  fundamental  features" 

Are  much  the  same  tiiey  used  to  be  ? 
However, — God  preserve  the  Throne, 

And  cushion  too — -and  keep  them  free 
From  accidents,  which  have  been  known 

To  happen  ev'n  to  Royalty  1^ 

Aug.  28. 
Read,  at  a  stall  (for  oft  one  pops 
On  something  at  these  stalls  and  shops. 
That  does  to  quote,  and  gives  one's  Book 
A  classical  and  knowing  look. — • 
Indeed  I've  found,  i»  Latin,  lately, 
A  course  of  stalls  improves  me  greatly) — 
'Twas  thus  I  read,  that,  in  the  East, 

A  monarch's /a/'s  a  serious  inattcr  ; 
And  once  in  cv'ry  year,  at  least, 

He's  weigli'd — to  see  if  he  gets  fatter  :^ 
Then,  if  a  pound  or  two  he  he 
Increased,  there's  quite  a  jubilee  I' 

5  I  am  afraid  that  Mr.  Fudge  alludes  here  to  u  very  awk- 
ward Hccidont,  which  is  well  known  to  have  happened  to  poor 
L— s  lu  ij— s— 6,  some  years  siuce,  at  one  of  the  R— g— t's 
Ftiles.  He  was  sitting  next  our  gracious  Queen  at  the 
time. 

c  "The  third  day  of  the  Feast  the  Kin?  causcth  himself 
to  be  weighed  with  great  care." — F.  Hernier's  Voyage  to 
Sural,  &c. 

7  "  I  remember,"  says  Bernier,  "  thiit  all  the  Omrahs  ei- 
pressed  great  joy  that  the  King  weighed  two  pounds  inoiw 
now  than  the  year  prucedlng." — Another  author  tells  as  that 


476 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Suppose,  my  Lord — and  far  from  me 
To  treat  such  things  witli  levity — 
But  just  suppose  the  R — g — t"s  weight 
Were  made  tims  an  aifair  of  state  ; 
And,  ev'ry  sessions,  at  tlie  close, — 

'Stead  of  a  speecli,  which,  all  can  see,  is 
Heavy  and  dull  enough,  God  knows — 

Wo  were  to  try  liow  heavy  he  is. 
Much  would  it  glad  all  hearts  to  hear 

That,  while  the  Nation's  Revenue 
Loses  so  many  pounds  a  year. 

Tile  P e,  God  bless  him !  gains  a  few. 

With  bales  of  muslin,  chintzes,  spices, 

I  see  the  Easterns  weigh  their  Kings  ; — 
But,  for  the  R — g — t,  my  advice  is, 

We  sliould  throw  in  much  heavier  things: 
For  instance 's  quarto  volumes. 

Which,  tliough  not  spices,  sen'e  to  wrap  them  ; 
Dominic  St — dd — ^t's  Daily  columns, 

'■  Prodigious !" — in,  of  course,  we'd  clap  them — 
Lettert    .liat  C — rtw t's'  pen  indites. 

In  which,  with  logical  confusion. 
The  Major  like  a  Minor  writes. 

And  never  comes  to  a  Conclusion  : — 
Lord  S — .M — Rs'  pamphlet — or  his  head — 
(Ah,  that  were  worth  its  weight  in  lead  1) 
Along  witli  which  wo  in  may  wliip,  sly, 
The  Speeclies  of  Sir  Jonx  C^x  H — pp — sly  ; 
That  Baronet  of  many  words. 
Who  loves  so,  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
To  whisper  Bishops — and  so  uigh 

Unto  their  wigs  in  whisp'riug  goes, 
That  you  may  always  know  him  by 

A  patch  of  powder  on  his  nose  ! — 
If  tliis  won't  do,  we  in  must  cram 
The  "  Reasons"  of  Lord  B— CK — on — m  ; 
(A  Book  his  Lordship  means  to  write. 

Entitled  -'Reasons  for  my  Ratting:") 
Or,  should  these  prove  too  small  and  light, 

His  r p's  a  host — we'll  bundle  that  in ! 

And,  slill  should  all  these  masses  fail 
To  turn  the  R— g — t's  ponderous  scale, 


"  Fatness,  as  well  as  a  very  large  he.id,  Is  considere  J.  through- 
out India,  as  one  of  the  most  precious  gifts  of  heaven.  An 
enormous  skull  Is  absolutely  revered,  and  the  happy  owner  is 
looked  up  to  as  a  superior  being.  To  a  Prince  a  jouUer  head 
is  Invaluable." — Oriental  Field  Sports. 

1  Major  Cartwright. 

3  The  name  of  the  first  worthy  who  set  up  the  trade  of 
informer  at  Home  (to  whom  our  Olivers  and  Castleses  ought 
to  erect  a  statue)  was  Romanus  Ilispo; — "qui  Ibrmnm  vitic 
inlit,  quam  postea  celebreui  mlsoritc  teuiporum  et  audaclie 
hominuju  fecerunt."— Tacit.  .'Innal.  i.  74. 

3  ThcyccrUiinly  possessed  the  same  art  of  in«IiVai;jn^  their 
victims,  which  the  Report  of  the  Secret  Committee  Jittributcs 
to  Lord  Slduiuuth's  agents  :—"siiiru^  (says  Tacitus  of  one 


Why  then,  my  Lord,  in  Heaven's  name. 

Pitch  in,  without  reserve  or  stint. 
The  whole  of  R — gl — y's  beauteous  Dame — 

If  that  won't  raise  him,  devil's  in  it ! 

Aug.  31. 
Consulted  Murphy's  Tacitus 

About  those  famous  spies  at  Rome,^ 
Whom  certain  Whigs — to  make  a  fuss — 
Describe  as  much  resembling  us,^ 

Informiug  gentlemen,  at  home. 
But,  bless  the  fools,  they  cant  be  serious. 
To  say  Lord  S — d.m — th's  like  Tioerius  ! 
What  1  he,  the  Peer,  that  injures  uo  man, 
Like  that  severe,  blood-tliirsty  Roman  I — 
'Tis  true,  the  Tj-rant  lent  an  ear  to 
All  sorts  of  spies — so  doth  the  Peer,  too 
'Tis  true  my  Lord's  Elect  tell  fibs, 
And  deal  in  perjiu-j' — ditto  Tin's. 
'Tis  true,  the  Tyrant  screen'd  and  hid    . 
His  rogues  from  justice^ — ditto  Sid. 
'Tis  true  the  Peer  is  grave  and  glib 
At  moral  speeches — ditto  Tin.' 
'Tis  true,  the  feats  the  Tyrant  did 
Were  in  his  dotage — ditto  SiD. 

So  far,  I  own,  the  parallel 
'Twixt  Tib  and  Sid  goes  vastly  well ; 
But  there  are  points  in  Tib  that  strike 
My  humble  mind  as  much  more  like 
Yourself,  my  dearest  Lord,  or  him. 
Of  til'  India  Board — that  soul  of  whim  ! 
Like  him,  Tiberius  loved  his  joke,° 

On  matters,  too,  where  few  can  bear  one ; 
E.  g.  a  man,  cut  up,  or  broke 

Upon  tlie  wheel — a  devilish  fair  one  ! 

Your  common  fractures,  wounds,  and  fits, 

« 
Are  nothing  to  such  wholesale  wits ; 

But,  let  the  sutT'rer  gasp  for  life. 
The  joke  is  then  worth  any  money  ; 

And,  if  he  writhe  beneath  a  knife, — 

Oh  dear,  that's  something  quite  too  funny. 

In  this  re.xpcct,  my  Lord,  you  see 

The  Roma:i  wag  and  ours  agree : 


of  them)  libidhiiun  et  nccessltatnm,  quo pluribus  indiciis  iiiti- 
garrt.^^ 

4"Neque  tamen  Id  Sereno  noxa;  fult,  quem  odium  puh- 
ticum  tutiorcmfacichot.  Nam  lU  quls  distrlctior  accusatnr 
velat  sacrosanctiis  erat"~Jlnnal.  lib.  iv.  3G. — Or,  as  it  Is 
translated  by  Mr.  Fudge's  friend.  Murphy  :— "  This  daring 
accuser  had  the  curses  ol'  the peojtte,  and  Ihe  protection  of  the 
Emperor.  Informers,  In  proportion  as  they  rose  in  guilt, 
tiecnmc  satred  cfcarcctcrs.*^ 

6  Murphy  even  confers  upon  one  of  his  speeches  the  epithet 
"  constitutional." 'Mr.  Fudge  might  have  added  to  his  parallel, 
that  Tiberius  was  a  ffood  private  character:  -"egregiiun 
vili  faniaque  quoad  privatus." 

«  ^'J.udibria  scriis  pernilscere  solitlis." 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


477 


Now  as  tc  your  resemblance — mum — 

This  parallel  we  need  not  follow  ; ' 
Though  'tis,  in  Ireland,  said  by  some 

Your  Lordship  beats  Tiberius  hollow  ; 
Whips,  chains — but  these  are  things  too  serious 

For  me  to  mention  or  discuss ; 
Whene'er  your  Lordship  acts  Tiberids, 

PiiiL.  Fudge's  part  Is  Tacitus  .' 

Sept.  2. 
Was  thinking,  had  Lord  S — dm — th  got 
Any  good  decent  sort  of  Plot 
Against  the  winter-time — if  not, 
Alas,  alas,  our  ruin's  fated  ; 
All  done  up,  and  spiflicalcd .' 
Ministers  and  all  their  vassals, 

Down  from  C — tl gh  to  Castles. — 

Unless  we  can  kick  up  a  riot, 
Ne'er  can  hope  for  peace  or  quiet ! 
What's  to  be  done  ? — Spa-Fields  was  clever  : 
But  even  that  brought  gibes  and  mockings 
Upon  ou"-  heads — so,  mciit. — must  never 

Kt-..v>  a.;  munition  iu  old  stockings ; 
For  fear  some  wag  should  iu  his  cursed  head 
Take  it  to  say  our  force  was  tcorsted. 
Mem.  too — when  Sid  an  army  raises, 
It  must  not  be  "incog."  like  Bayes's: 
Nor  must  the  General  be  a  hobbling 
Professor  of  the  art  of  cobbling  ; 
Lest  men,  who  perpetrate  such  puns, 

Should  say,  with  Jacobinic  grin, 
He  felt,  from  soleing  Wellingtons' 

A  Wellington's  great  soul  within ! 
Nor  must  an  old  apothecary 

Go  take  the  Tower,  for  lack  of  pence, 
With  (what  these  wags  would  call,  so  merry) 

Physical  force  and  vial-enco  ! 
No — no — our  Plot,  my  Lord,  must  be 
Next  time  contrived  more  skilfully. 
John  Bull,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  growing 
So  troublcsomely  sharp  and  knowing, 
So  wise — in  short,  so  Jacobin — 
'Tis  monstrous  hard  to  take  him  in. 

Sept.  6. 
Heard  of  the  fate  of  our  Ambassador 

In  China,  and  was  sorely  nettled ; 
But  think,  my  Lord,  we  should  not  pass  it  o'er 

Till  all  this  matter's  fairly  settled  ; 


1  There  is  one  point  of  resemblance  between  Tiberias 
find  Lortl  C.  which  Mr.  Fudge  mif^ht  have  mentioned — 
**  auspensa  semper  ct  obscura  verba." 

3  Short  boots,  so  called. 

8  The  open  countenance^  recommended  by  Lord  Chester- 
field. 

*  Mr.  Fudge  is  a  little  mistaken  here.    It  was  not  Gri- 


And  here's  the  mode  occurs  to  me : — 

As  none  of  our  Nobility, 

Tiiough  for  their  oicn  most  gracious  King, 

(They  would  kiss  hands,  or — any  thing,) 

Can  be  persuaded  to  go  through 

This  farce-like  trick  of  the  Ko-tou ; 

And  *as  these  Mandarins  wont  bend. 

Without  some  mumming  exhibition, 
Suppose,  my  Lord,  you  were  to  send 

Grimaldi  to  them  on  a  mission : 
As  Legate,  Joe  could  play  his  part, 
And  if,  in  diplomatic  art, 
The  "  volto  sciolto"'  's  meritorious, 
Let  Joe  but  grin,  he  has  it,  glorious  '. 
A  title  for  liim's  easily  made  ; 

And,  by-the-by,  one  Christaias  time, 
If  I  remember  right,  ho  play'd 

Lord  MoRLEV  in  some  pantomime  ;* — 
As  Earl  of  JI — rl — Y  then  gazette  him, 
If  t'other  Earl  of  M — rl — y'll  let  him. 
(And  why  should  not  the  world  be  blest 
With  (100  such  stars,  for  East  and  West?) 
Then,  when  before  the  Yellow  Screen 

He's  brought — and,  sure,  the  very  essence 
Of  etiquette  would  be  that  scene 

Of  Joe  in  the  Celestial  Presence  1 — 
He  thus  should  say ; — '*  Duke  Ho  and  Soo, 
"  I'll  play  what  tricks  you  please  for  you, 
"  If  you'll,  in  turn,  but  do  for  me 
"  A  few  small  tricks  you  now  shall  see. 
*'  If  I  consult  your  Emperor's  liking, 
"  At  least  you'll  do  the  same  for  tny  King." 
He  then  should  give  them  nine  such  grins, 
As  would  astound  ev'n  Mandarins  ; 
And  throw  such  somersets  before 

The  picture  of  King  George  (God  bless  him  .') 
As,  should  Duke  Ho  but  try  them  o'er, 

Would,  by  Confucius,  much  distress  him ! 

I  start  this  merely  as  a  huit, 

But  think  you'll  find  some  wisdom  in't ; 

And,  should  you  follow  up  the  job, 

My  son,  my  Lord,  (you  know  poor  Bob,) 

Would  in  the  suite  be  glad  to  go 

And  help  his  Excellency,  Joe'  ; — 

At  least,  like  noble  Asm — rst's  sou. 

The  lad  will  do  to  practise  on.' 


maldi,  bat  some  very  inferior  performer,  who  played  this 
part  of  "  Lord  Morley"  in  the  pantomime, — so  much  to  the 
horror  of  the  distinguished  Earl  of  that  name.  The  e.tpos- 
tulary  letters  of  the  Noble  Earl  to  Mr.  H— rr— s,  upon  this 
vulgar  profanation  of  his  spick-and-span  new  title,  will,  I 
trust,  some  time  or  other,  be  given  to  the  world. 
'  Fee  Mr.  Ellis's  account  of  the  Embassy. 


478 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


LETTER  X. 

FROM  miss  BIDDY  FUDGE  TO  MISS  DOROTHY  . 

Well,  it  isnU  the   King,  after  all,  my  dear  crea- 
ture I 
But  don't  you  go  laugh,  now — tlicre's  nothing  to 

quiz  in't — 
For  grandeur  of  air  and  for  grinmess  of  feature, 
Ho  might  be  a  King,  Doll,  though,  hang  him, 

ho  isn't. 
At  first,  I  felt  hurt,  for  I  wish'd  it,  I  own, 
If  for  no  other  cause  but  to  vex  Miss  Malone, — 
(The    great   heiress,    you   know,    of  Shandangan, 

who's  here, 
Showing  off  with  such  airs,  and  a  real  Cashmere,' 
While  mine's  but  a  paltry  old  rabbit-skin,  dear !) 
But  Pa  says,  on  deeply  consid'ring  the  thing, 
'•  I  am  just  as  well  pleased  it  should  not  be  the 

King ; 
"  As  I  think  for  my  Biddy,  so  gentille  andjolict 
"Whose  charms  may  their  price   in  an  honest 

way  fetch, 
"  Tliat  a  Brandenburgli " — (what  is   a   Branden- 

burgh,  Dolly?) — • 
"  Would  be,  after  all.  no  such  very  great  catch. 
"  If    the    R— G — T    indeed," — added    ho,    looking 

sly — 
(Yon  remember  that  comical  squint  of  his  eye,) — 
But  I  stopp'd  him  with  "  La,  Fa,  how  can  you  say  so, 
'■  When  the  R — g — t  loves  none  but  old  women, 

you  know !" 
Wliicli  is  fact,  my  dear  Dolly — we,  girls  of  eigh- 
teen, 
And   so    slim — Lord,    he'd    think    us  not  fit  to  be 

seen ; 
And  would  like  us  much  better  as  old— ay,  as  old 
As  that  Countess  of  Desmond,  of  wliom  I've  been 

told 
That  she  lived  to  much  more  than  a  hundred  and 

ten, 
And  was  kill'd  by  a  fall  from  a  cherry-tree  then  ! 

1  See  L:i(ly  Morgan's  "France"  for  Ihe  anecdote,  told  her 
by  Mad  lino  de  Genlis,  of  the  young  fc'cntleinan  whose  love 
was  cured  by  liTuling  that  his  mistress  wcire  a  shawl  "pcaii 
do  lapin." 

3  Tlie  cars,  on  the  return,  are  dragged  up  slowly  hy  a 
chain. 

3  Mr.  Bob  need  not  beashanicdof  his  cookery  jokes,  when 
he  is  kept  in  counlennucc  by  such  men  as  Cicero,  St.  .^ii^us- 
title,  and  that  juvial  bishop,  Venantias  Fortimntus.  The  pun 
of  the  {■real  o^atll^  upon  the  "jus  Verrinum."  which  lie  calls 
bad  h-i^-broth,  from  a  play  upon  botli  ihe  words,  is  well 
known  :  and  the  Saint's  puns  upon  the  conversion  of  Lot's 
%\  iff  inii>  salt,  are  equally  ingenious  : — ■•  In  salrm  coiiversa 
honiinUUH  (idc-libus  quoddiini  prxstilit  condimrntnm,  quo  sa- 
piant  aliquid,undc  illud  cavealur  cxeinplum."— /Jc  Civitat. 


What  a  frisky  old  girl !  but — to  come  to  my  lover, 

Who,  though  not  a  King,  is  a  hero  I'll  swear, — 
You  shall  hear  all  that's  happen'd,  just  briefly  run 

over. 
Since  that  happy  niglit,  when  we  whisk'd  through 

the  air ! 

Let    mo    see — 'twas    on    Saturday — yes,    Dolly. 

yes— 
From  that  evening  I  date  the  first  dawn  of  my  bliss. 
When  we  both  rattled  off  in  that  dear  little  car- 
riage, 
Wliose  journey,  Bob  says,  is  so  like  Ix)ve  and  Mar- 
riage, 
"  Beginning  gay,  desperate,  dashing,  down-hilly, 
*'  And  ending  as  dull  as  a  six-inside  Dilly  !*"* 
Well,    scarcely    a    wink    did    I    sleep    the    :.ght 

through ; 
And,  next  day,  having  scribbled  my  letter  to  you, 
With  a  heart   full  of  hope    this   sweet   fellow   to 

meet, 
I  set  out  with  Papa,  to  see  Louis  Dix-huit 
Make  his  bow  to  some  half  dozen  women  and  boys, 
\Vho  get  up  a  small  concert  of  shrill  Vive  le  Rois — 
And  how  vastly  genteeler,  my  dear,  even  this  is, 
Than  vulgar  PaU-Mall's  oratorio  of  hisses ! 
Tlie  gardens  scem'd  full — so,  of  course,  we  walk'd 

o'er  'em, 
'Mong    orange-trees,   clipp'd    into  town  6red  deco- 
rum. 
And  daphnes,  and  vases,  and  many  a  statue. 
There  starmg,  witli  not  cv'n  a  stitch  on  them,  at 

you! 
Tlio  ponds,    too,  we  view'd — stood    awliile  on  the 
brink 
To  contemplate   the  play  of   those  pretty  gold 
fishes — 
"Live  bullion"  says  merciless  Bod,  "  which,  I  think, 
**  Would,  if  coined,  witli  a  little  mint  sauce,  be 
dchcious  !"^ 

But  what,  Dolly,  what,  is  the  gay  orange-grove, 
Or  gold  fislies,  to  her  that's  in  search  of  her  love? 

Dei,  lib.  xvi.,  cop.  ^0. — The  jokes  of  the  pious  favorite  of 
Ciuecn  Radagundn,  the  convivial  Bishop  Vctiantins,  may  1)0 
found  ainonc;  his  poems,  in  some  Hoes  against  a  cook  wlmhad 
robbed  him.    The  following  is  similar  to  Cicero's  pun  : — 
V\\\%jusccUa  Coci  qunm  mea  jura  valent. 

Sec  his  poems,  Corpus  Poelar.  Latin,  torn,  ih,  p.  17:i2.— 
Of  the  same  kind  was  Monttnaur^s  jolte,  when  a  dish  wa;> 
spilt  over  him—"  sumiuum  ju^,  sunniia  injuria  ;"  and  the 
same  ceiebraled  parasite,  in  ordering  a  sole  to  be  placed  be- 
fore him,  said, — 

Eligi  cui  dicas,  tu  miiii  soiu  places. 

The  readermay  likewke  see,  among  a  good  doal  of  kitchen 
erudition,  the  learned  J.ipsius's  jokes  ori  cutung  up  a  ca- 
pon in  his  Saturnal.  Semion.  lib.  ii.,  cap.  '2. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


479 


III  vain  did  I  wildly  explore  eveiy  cliair 

Wiiere  a  thiilg  like  a  man  was— no  lover  sat  there ! 

In  vain  my  fond  eyes  did  I  eagerly  cast 

At  the  whiskei"s,  mustachios,  and  wigs  that  went 

past, 
To  obtain,  if  I  could,  but  a  glance  at  that  curl, — 
A  glimpse  of  those  whiskei's,  as  sacred,  my  girl, 
As  the  lock  that.  Pa  says,^  is  to  Mussulmcn  giv'n, 
For  the  an^jel  to  hold  by  that  '*  lugs  them  to  hcav'u  I" 
Alas,  tliere  went  by  me  full  many  a  quiz, 
And  mustachios  in  plenty,  but  notiiing  like  his  ! 
Disappointed,  I  found  myself  sighing  out  *'  well-a- 

day," 
Thought   of    the   words   of    T — m    Mare's    Irish 

"  Melody, 
Something  about  the  "  green  spot  of  delight,'*^ 
(Which,  you  know,  Captain   Mackintosh  sung 
to  us  one  day  :) 
Ah  Dolly,  ?nij  "  spot"  was  that  Saturday  night, 
And  its  verdure,   how  fleeting,  had  wither'd  by 
Sunday  ! 
We  dined  at  a  tavern — La,  what  do  I  say  ? 

If  Bob  was  to  know  I — a  Restaurateur^ s,  dear  ; 
Where  your  properrst  ladies  go  dine  every  day. 
And  drink  Burgundy  out  of  large  tumblei-s,  liko 
beer. 
Fine  Bob  (for  he's  really  gi'own  super-fine) 

Condescended,  for  once,  to  make  one  of  the  party  ; 
Of  coui"se,  though  but  three,  we  had  dinner  for  nine. 
And  in  spite  of  my  grief,  love,  I  own  I  ate  hearty. 
Indeed,  Doll,  I  know  not  how  'tis,  but,  in  grief, 
I  have  alwaj's  found  eating  a  wondrous  relief; 
And   Bon,   who's  in   love,   said  he   felt    tho  same, 
quite — 
"  My  sighs,"  said  he,  *'  ceased  with  the  first  glass 
I  drank  you ; 
"  The  lamb  made  me  tranquil,  the  puffs  made  me 
hght, 
"And — now  that    all's  o'er — why,   I'm — pretty 
well,  thank  you  I" 

To  7ni/  great  annoyance,  we  sat  rather  late ; 
For  Bobby  and  Pa  had  a  furious  debate 


*  For  this  scrap  of  knowledge  "Pa*'  was,  I  suspect,  in- 
debted to  a  note  upon  Volney's  ruins  ;  u  bonk  which  usu:illy 
forms  part  of  a  Jncobin*s  library-,  and  witti  which  Mr.  Fuilge 
nuist  have  been  well  acnuainled  at  the  time  when  he  wrote 
his  *'Down  with  Kings,"  &c.  The  note  in  Volney  is  as  fol- 
lows :— ■•  It  is  by  this  tuti  of  hair,  (on  the  crown  of  the  head,) 
worn  by  the  majority  of  Mussulmans,  that  the  Angel  of  the 
Toml)  is  tn  lake  the  elect  and  carry  them  to  Paradise." 

2  The  young  lady,  whose  memory  is  not  very  correct, 
nnist  allude,  I  think,  to  the  following  lines: — 

Oh  thai  fairy  form  is  ne'er  forgot, 

Which  First  Love  traced  ; 
Still  il  ling'ring  haunts  the  greenest  spot 

On  Memory's  waste ! 


About  singing  and  cookery — Bobby,  of  course, 
Standing  up  for  the  latter  Fine  Art  in  full  force  f 
And  Pa  saying,  "  God  only  knows  which  is  worst, 

"  The  French  Singers  or  Cooks,  but  I  wish  us 
well  over  it — 
"  What  with  old  LaTs  and  Very,  I'm  cursed 

"  If  7111/  head  or  my  stomach  will  over  recover  it !" 

'Twas  dark,  wiien  we  got  to  tho  Boulevards  to  stroll. 

And  in  vain  did  I  look  'mong  the  street  Macaronis, 

When,  sudden  it  struck  me — last  hope  of  my  soul — 

That  some  angel   might  take  tho  dear  man  to 

ToKTONi's  I* 
We  cnter'd — and,  scarcely  had  Bob,  with  an  air, 

For  a  grappe  a  la  jardiniere  call'd  to  the  waitei-s. 
When,  oh  Doll!  I  saw  him — my  hero  was  there, 
(For  I  knew  his  white  small-clothes  and  brown 

leather  gaiters,) 
A   group  of  fair  statues  from  Greece  smiling  o'ei 

him,^ 
And  lots  of  red  cun-ant-juice  sparkling^  before  him  I 
Oh  Dolly,  these  heroes — what  creatuies  they  are ; 
In   the    boudoir   the    same    as   in   fields   full  of 

slaugliter  I 
As  cool  in  the  Beaiijon's  precipitous  car. 

As  when  safe   at   Tortoni's,   o'er  iced    currant 

water ! 
He  join'd  us — imagine,  dear  creature,  my  ecstasy — 
Join'd  by  the  man  I'd  have  broken  ten  necks  to  see  ! 
Bob  wish'd  to  treat  him  with  Punch  a  la  glace. 
But  the   sweet   fellow  swore  that  my  beanie,  my 

grace, 
And    my    je-ne-sais-quoi    (then    his   whiskers    he 

twirl'd) 
Were,    to    him,    "  on    do    top    of  all   Ponch   in   de 

vorld." — 
How  pretty  ! — though  oft  (as  of  course,  it  must  be) 
Both  his  French  and  his  English  are  Greek,  Doll, 

to  me. 
But,  iu  short,  I  felt  happy  as  ever  fond  heart  did  ; 
And  happier  still,  wheu  'twas  fix'dj,  ere  we  parted, 
That,  if  the  next  day  should  be  pastoral  weather, 
We  all  would  set  off,  iu  French  buggies,  togethei'. 


3  Cookcrj'^  has  been  dignified  by  the  researches  of  a  Ba- 
con, (see  his  .Yatural  History,  Receipts,  &c.,)  anil  takes  its 
stition  as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts  in  the  following  passage  of 
Mr.  Dttgald  Stewart : — "  Agreeably  to  tliis  view  of  the  sub- 
ject, ^zoccf  may  be  said  to  he  in(rinsica//7/ pleasing,  and  bitter 
to  be  relatively  pleasing;  while  both  are,  in  many  cases, 
equally  essential  to  those  effects,  which,  in  the  art  of  cook- 
ery, correspond  lo  that  composite  beauty,  wliidi  it  is  the  ob- 
ject of  the  painter  and  of  the  poet  to  create." — Philosophical 
Essays. 

*  A  fashionable  cafe  glacier  on  the  Italian  Boulevards. 

6  "  You  eat  your  ice  at  Tortoni's,"  says  .Mr.  Scott,  "  urder 
a  Grecian  group." 


480 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  see  Monlmorcncy — that  place  which,  you  know, 
Is    so    famous    for    clierries    and    Jean    Jacques 

Rousseau. 
His    card    then    he    gave    us — the    name,    ratlier 

creased — 
But   'twas    Calicot  —  something  —  a    Colonel    at 

least  I 
After  which — sure  there  never  was  hero  so  civil — 

he 
Saw  us  safe  home  to  our  door  in  Rue  Rtvoli, 
Where  his  last  words,  as,  at  parting,  he  threw 
A  soft  look  o'er  his  shoulders,  were — "  How  do  you 

do !'" 

But,  Lord, — there's  Papa  for  the  post — I'msovcVd — 
Montmorency  must  now,  love,  be  kept  for  my  ne.\t. 
That  dear  Sunday  night  I — I  was  chari  *i*igly  dress'd. 
And — so  providential  I — was  looking  my  best ; 
Such  a  sweet  muslin  gown,  with  a  fJoimce — and  my 

fril.ls, 
You've  no  notion  how  rich — (though  Pa  has  by  the 

bills) 
And  you'd  smile  had  you  seen,  where  we  sat  rather 

near. 
Colonel  Calicot  eyeing  the  cambric,  my  dear. 
Then  the  flow'ra  in    my  bonnet — but,  la,  it's   in 

vain — 
So,  good-by,  my  sweet  Doll — I  sliall  soon  write 

again.  B.  F. 

Nola  bene — our  love  to  all  neighbors  about — 
Your  Papa  in  particular — how  is  his  gout  ? 

P.S. — I've  just  open'd  my  letter  to  say, 

la  your  next  you  must  tell  mo,  (now  do,  Dolly, 

pray, 
■For  I  hate  to  ask  Bob,  he's  so  ready  to  quiz,) 
What  sort  of  a  thing,  dear,  a  Brandenburgh  is. 


LETTER  XL 

FROM  PIIELLM  CO.VNOK  TO  . 

Yes,  'twas  a  cause,  as  noble  and  as  great 
As  ever  hero  died  to  vindicate — 
A  Nation's  right  to  speak  a  Nation's  voice, 
And  own  no  power  but  of  the  Nation's  choice  I 


1  Not  an  unusu.ll  mistake  with  foreigners, 

2  Sec  jEIi-in,  lib.  v.,  cap.  29,— who  tells  us  that  these 
peese.  from  a  consciousness  of  their  own  loquacity,  always 
cross  Mount  Taurus  with  stones  in  their  bills,  to  prevent 
any  unluclty  cackle  from  betraying  them  to  the  eagles — 
6taiT£Toi'Tai  aifiinaii/TES. 

3  t?omebody  (Fonlenelle,  I  believe)  has  said,  that  if  he 


Such  was  the  grand,  the  glorious  cause  that  now 
Hung  trembling  on  Napoleo.n's  single  brow ; 
Such  the  sublime  arbitrament,  that  pour'd, 
In  patriot  eyes,  a  light  around  his  sword, 
A  hallowing  light,  which  never,  since  the  day 
Of  his  young  victories,  had  illumed  its  way  .' 

Oh,  'twas  not  then  the  time  for  tame  debates. 

Ye  men  cf  Gaul,  when  chains  were  at  your  gates ; 

When  he,  who  late  had  fled  your  Chieftain's  eye, 

As  geese  from  eagles  on  Mount  Taurus  fly," 

Denounced  against  the  land,  that  spurn'd  his  chain, 

Myriads  of  swords  to  bind  it  fast  again — 

Myriads  of  fierce  invading  swords,  to  track 

Througli  your  best  blood  his  path  of  vengeance  back  ; 

When  Europe's  Kings,  that  never  yet  combined 

But  (like  those  upper  Stars,  that,  when  conjoin'd, 

Shed  war  and  pestilence)  to  scoirrge  mankind, 

Gatlier'd  around,  with  hosts  from  every  shore, 

Hating  Napolel'.n  much,  but  Freedom  more. 

And,  in  that  coming  strife,  appall'd  to  see 

The  world  yet  left  one  chance  for  liberty  ! — 

No,  'twas  not  then  the  time  to  weave  a  net 

Of  bondage  around  your  Chief ;  to  curb  and  fret 

Your  veteran  war-horse,  pawing  for  the  fight. 

When  every  hope  was  in  his  speed  and  might — 

To  waste  tlie  hour  cf  action  in  dispute, 

And  coolly  plan  how  freedom's  boughs  should  shoot, 

When  your  Invader's  axe  was  at  the  root ! 

No,  sacred  Liberty  !  tliat  God,  who  throws 

Tliy  light  around,  lilse  his  own  sunshine,  knows 

How  well  I  love  thee,  and  how  deeply  hate 

AU  tyrants,  upstart  and  Legitiiriate — 

Yet,  in  that  hour,  were  France  my  native  laud, 

I  would  have  follow'd,  with  quick  heart  and  hand. 

Napoleon,  Nero, — ay,  no  matter  whom — 

To  snatch  my  country  from  that  damning  doom^ 

That  deadliest  curee  that  on  the  conquer'd  waits — 

A  Conqueror's  satrap,  throned  within  her  gates  I 

True,  he  was  false — despotic — all  you  please — 
Had  trampled  down  man's  holiest  liberties — 
Had,  by  a  genius,  form'd  for  nobler  things 
Than  lie  within  the  grasp  of  vulgar  Kings, 
But  raised  the  hopes  of  men — as  eaglets  fly 
With  tortoises  aloft  into  the  sky — 
To  dash  them  down  again  more  shatt'ringly  I 
All  this  I  own— but  still'  *  * 


had  his  hand  full  of  truths,  he  would  open  but  one  finger  at 
a  time;  and  the  same  sort  of  reserve  I  find  to  be  necessai7 
with  respect  to  Mr.  Connor's  very  plain-spoken  letters.  The 
remainder  of  this  Epistle  is  so  full  of  unsafe  iiiatter-of-fact, 
that  it  must,  for  the  present  at  least  be  withheld  fr^m  the 
public. 


J 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


481 


LETTER  XII. 

FROM  MISS  BIDDY  FUDGE  TO  M1S3  DOROTin'  . 

At  last,  Dolly, — thanks  to  a  potent  emetic, 
Which  BoDBY  and  Pa,  witli  grimace  sympathetic, 
Have  swallow'd  tliis  morning  to  balance  the  bliss, 
Of  an  eel  matelote  and  a  bisque  d'ecrevisses — 
I've  a  morning  at  home  to  myself,  and  sit  down 
To  describe  you  our  heavenly  trip  out  of  town. 
How  agog  you  must  be  for  this  letter,  my  dear ! 
Lady  J.\NE,  in  the  novel,  loss  languish'd  to  hear 
If  that  elegant  cornet  she  met  at  Lord  Neville's 
Was  actually  dying  with  love  or — blue  devils. 
But  Love,  Dolly,  Love  is  the  theme  /  pursue  ; 
With  Blue  Devils,  thank  lieav'n,  I  have  nothmg  to 

do — 
Except,  indeed,  dear  Colonel  Calicot  spies 
Any  imps  of  that  color  in  certain  blue  eyes, 
Which  he  stares  at  till  /,  Doll,  at  his  do  the  same ; 
Then  he  simpers — I  blush — and  would  often   ex- 
claim. 
If  I  knew  but  thb  French  for  it,  "  Lord,  Sir,  for 
shame !" 

Well,  the   morning  was  lovely — the   trees  in  full 

dress 
For  the  happy  occasion — tlie  sunshine  express — 
Had  we  order'd  it,  dear,  of  the  best  poet  going. 
It  scarce  could  be  furnish'd  more  golden  and  glow- 
ing. 
Though  late  when  we  started,  the  scent  of  the  air 
Was  like  Gattie's  rose-water, — and,  bright,  here 

and  there. 
On  the  grass  an  odd  dew-diop  was  glittering  yet. 
Like  my  aunt's  diamond  pin  on  her  green  tabbinet ! 
While  the  birds  seem'd  to  warble  as  bless'd  on  the 

boughs, 
As  if  each  a  plumed  Calicot  had  for  her  spouse  ; 
And  the  grapes  were  all  blushing  and  kissing  iu 

rows. 
And — in  short,  need  I  tell  you,  wherever  one  goes 
With  the  creature  one  loves,  'tis  all  couleur  de  rose ; 
And,  ah,  I  shall  ne'er,  lived  I  ever  so  long,  see 
A  day  such  as  that  at  divine  Montmorency ! 

There  was  but  one  dra%vback — at  first  when  we 

started. 
The  Colonel  afii  I  were  inhumanly  parted ; 


I  The  column  in  the  Place  Vendome. 

>  "  Employant  pour  cela  le  plus  beau  pnpier  dor6.  s^chant 
l'6criture  avec  de  !a  poudre  d'azur  et  d'arpent,  et  cousant 
mes  cahiers  avec  de  !a  nompareille  bleue." — Les  Confessions, 
part  ii.  liv.  9. 

3  'J'his  word,  "exquisite,"  is  evidently  a  favorite  of  Miss 


How  cruel — young  hearts  of  such  moments  to  rob  ! 
He  went  in  Pa's  bugg)',  and  I  went  with  Bob  ; 
And,  I  own,  I  felt  spitefully  happy  to  know 
That  Papa  and  his  comrade  agreed  but  so-so. 
For  the  Colonel,  it  seems,  is  a  stickler  of  Boney's — 
Served  with  him  of  course — nay,  I'm  sure  they  were 

cronies. 
So  martial  his  features  !  dear  Doll,  you  can  trace 
Ulm,  Austerlitz,  Lodi,  as  plain  in  his  face 
As  you  do  on  that  pillar  of  glory  and  brass," 
Which  the  poor  Due  de  B — ri  must  hate  so  to 

pass  ! 
It  appears,  too,  he  made — as  most  foreigners  do — 
About  English  affairs  an  odd  blunder  or  two. 
For  example — misled  by  the  names,  I  dare  say — 

He  confounded  Jack  Castles  with  Lord  C gh  ; 

And — sure    such   a   blunder    no  mortal    hit   ever 

on — 
Fancied  the  present  Lord  C — .md — n  the  clever  one ! 

But  politics  ne'er  were  the  sweet  fellow's  trade  ; 

'Twas  for  war  and  the  ladies  my  Colonel  was  made. 

And,  oh,  had  you  heard,  as  together  we  walk'd 

Through    that    beautiful    forest,  how    sweetly    he 
talk'd ; 

And  how  perfectly  well  he  appear'd,  Doll,  to  know 

All    the    life    and    adventures   of    Jean   Jacques 
Rousseau  I — 

"  'Twas  there,"  said  he — not  that  his  words  1  can 
state  ; — 

'Twas    a    gibb'rish    that  Cupid    alone  could  trans- 
late ; — 

But  "  there,"  said  he,  (pointing  where,  small  and 
remote. 

The   dear   Hermitage  rose,)  "  there  his  Julie  he 
wrote, — 

"  Upon  paper  gilt-edged,''  without  blot  or  erasure  ; 

**  Then  sanded  it  over  with  silver  and  azure, 

"  And — oh,  what  will  genius  and  fancy  not  do? — 

"  Tied  the  leaves  up  together  with  nompareille  blue '." 

What  a  trait  of  Rousseau  !  what  a  crowd  of  emo- 
tions 
From  sand  and  blue  ribands  are  conjured  up  here  ! 

Alas,  that  a  man  of  such  exquisite^  notions 

Should  send  his  poor  brats  to  the  Foundling,  my 
dear ! 

"  'Twas    here,    too,    perhaps,"    Colonel    Calicot 

said — 
As  down  the  small  garden  he  pensively  led — 


Fudge's ;  and  I  understand  she  was  not  a  little  angry  when 
her  brother  Bob  committed  a  pun  on  the  last  two  syllables 
of  it  in  the  following  couplet: — 

"  I'd  fain  praise  your  Poem— but  tell  me,  how  is  it 
When  /  cry  out  "  Exquisite,"  Ecfto  cries  "  jui:  it  ?* 


31 


482 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


^Though   once  I   could  see   liis   sublime   forehead 

wrinkle 
AVitli  rage  not  to  find  there  the  loved  periwinkle') 
"  'Twas  here  he  received  from  the  fair  D'Epinav, 
"  (Who   oall'd   him   so   sweetly   her  Bear,''  every 

day,) 
"That  dear  flannel  petticoat,  pull'd  off  to  form 
'•  A  waistcoat  to  keep  the  enthusiast  warm  1"' 

Such,  Doll,  were  the  sweet  recollections  wo  pou- 

der'd, 
As,  full  of  romance,  through  that  valley  wo  wan- 

der'd. 
Tlie  (lannel  (one's  train  of  ideas,  how  odd  it  is  !) 
Led  us  to  talk  about  other  commodities, 
Cambric,  and  silk,  and — I  ne'er  shall  forget. 
For  the  sun  was  then  hast'ning  in  pomp  to  its  set, 
And   full   on  the   Colonel's   dark    whiskers   shone 

down, 
Wheu  he  ask'd    me,    with  eagerness, — who   made 

my  gown  ? 
The  question   confused  me — for,  Doll,  you  must 

know. 
And  I  ought  to  have  told  my  best  friend  long  ago, 
That,  by  Pa's  strict  command,  I  no  longer  employ' 
Tiiat  enchanting  couturiere,  Madame  LE  Roi  ; 
But   am   forced   now   to   have  Victorine,   who — 

deuce  take  her ! — 
It  seems  is,  at  present,  the  King's  mantua-maker — 
I  mean  of  his  partij — and,  tbough  much  the  smartest, 
Le  Roi  is  condemn'd  as  a  rank  Bonapartist.' 
Think,  Doll,  how   confounded    I   look'd— so  well 

knowing 
The    Colonel's    opinion — my    cheeks    were    quite 

glowing ; 
I  stammcr'd  out  something — nay,  even  half  named 
Tile  legitimate  sempstress,  when,  loud,  he  exclaim'd, 
"  Yes,  yes,  by  tbe  stitching  'tis  plain  to  be  seen 
"  It  was  made  by  that  Bourbonite  b h,  Vic- 
torine !" 
What  a  word  for  a  hero  ! — but  heroes  will  err, 
And  I  thought,  dear,  I'd  tell  you  things  just  as 

they  were. 
Besides,   though   the  word   on   good   manners   in- 
trench, 
I  assure  you  'tis  not  half  so  shocking  in  French. 

1  The  flower  which  Rousseau  brought  into  such  fashion 
aninn^'  the  I'.irisians,  by  exclainung  one  day,  **  Ah,  voiia  de 
la  per\'entlie  !" 

2  "  Man  ours,  voila  voire  asyle— et  vous,  jnon  ours,  ne 
viendrez  vou-  pas  aussi?" — &c.  &c. 

3  "  Un  j<mr.  qii'il  geloit  trc-s-fort.  en  ouvrant  un  paquet 
qu'elle  in'envoyoit,  je  trouvai  un  peliljupon  de  flanelle  d'An- 
glelerre,  qu'elle  nie  marquoit  avoir  porte,  et  dont  die  vouloit 
queje  me  fi^se  faire  un  gilet.  Ce  soin,  plus  qu'aniical.  me 
parnt  si  tendre.cnmmesi  elle  se  lutd-pnuiliee  pour  mev^tir, 
que,  dans  nion  emotion,  je  baisai  vingl  fois  en  pleurant  le 
biUcl  el  Ic  jupon." 


But  this   cloud,  though  embarrassing,  soon   pass'd 

away, 
And  the  bliss  altogether,  the  dreams  of  that  day. 
The    thoughts  that  arise,  when   such  dear  fellows 

woo  us — 
The  nothings  that  then,  love,  are  every  thing  to  us — 
That  quick  correspondence  of  glances  and  sighs, 
And  what  Bob  calls  the  "  Twopenny -post  of    th» 

Eyes" — 
Ah,  Doll  !  though  I  linoio  you've  a  heart,  'tis  in  vain 
To  a  heart  so  unpractised  these  things  to  explain. 
They  can  only  bo  felt,  in  their  fulness  divine. 
By  her  who  has  wauder'd,  at  evening's  decline, 
Through  a  valley  like    that,   with  a  Colonel    like 

mine  I 

But  here  I  must  finish — for  Bob,  my  deal  Tollv, 
Whom  physic,  I  find,  always  makes  melancholy, 
Is  seized  with  a  fancy  for  churchyard  reflections ; 
And,  full  of  all  yesterday's  rich  recollections, 
Is  just  setting  off  for  Montmartre — "  for  there  is," 
Said  he,  looking  solemn,  "  The  tomb  of  the  Verys  ! 
"  Long,  long  have  I  wish'd,  as  a  votary  true, 

"  O'er  the  grave  of  such  talents  to  utter  my  moans ; 
"  And,  to-day^as  my  stomach  is  not  in  good  cue 

"  For   the  flesh   of  the    Vervs — I'll    visit    their 
hones .'" 
He  insists  upon  my  going  with  him — how  teasing ! 

This  letter,  however,  dear  Dolly,  shall  lie 
Unseal'd  in  my  draw'r,  that,  if  any  thing  pleasing 

Occurs  while  I'm  out,  I  may  tell  you — good-by. 

B.  F. 

Four  o'clock. 
Oh,  Dolly,  dear  Dolly,  Fm  ruiu'd  forever — 
I  ne'er  shall  be  happy  again,  Dolly,  never ! 
To  tliink  of  the  wretcli — what  a  victim  was  I ! 
'Tis  too  much  to  endure — I  sliall  die,  I  shall  die — 
My  brain's  in  a  fever — my  pulses  beat  quick — 
I  shall  die,  or,  at  least,  be  exceedingly  sick ! 
Oh,  wiiat  do  you  think?  after  all  my  romancing. 
My  visions  of  glory,  my  sighing,  my  glancing, 
This  Colonel — I  scarce  can  commit  it  to  paper — 
Tliis  Colonel's  no  more  than  a  vile  linen-draper ! ! 
'Tis  true  as  I  live — I  had  coax'd  brother  Bou  so, 
(You'll  hardly  make  out  what  I'm  writing,  I  sob  so,) 

4  Miss  Biddy's  notions  of  French  pronuncintion  mny  be 
perceived  in  the  rhymes  which  she  always  selects  for  "  Le 
Roi."' 

6  Le  Roi,  who  was  the  Couturiire  of  the  Empress  Maria 
Louisa,  is  at  present,  of  coufso,  out  of  fashion,  and  is  suc- 
ceeded   in    her    station  by   the  Royalist  mantua-maker, 

VlCTORINK. 

6  It  is  the  brother  of  the  present  excellent  Restaurateur 
who  lies  entombed  so  magnificently  in  the  Cimetiere  Mont- 
martre. The  inscripticpn  on  the  column  at  the  head  of  the 
tomb  concludes  with  ihe  fuUowing  words  : — "Toute  sa  vie 
fut  consacr6e  aux  arts  utiies." 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


483 


For  some  liltic  gift  on  my  birtli-day — September 
The  tliirtieth,  desr,  I'm  eighteen,  yon  remember — 
Timt  Bob  to  a  shop  kindly  order'd  the  coach, 

(Ah,   little   I    thought  who  the    shopman  would 

prove,) 
To  bespeak  nio  a  few  of  those  mouchoirs  de  pochc, 
Which,  in  happier  hoiurs,  I  have  sigh'd  for,  my 

love — 
(The   most   beautiful   tilings — two   Napoleons   the 

price — 
And    one's    name    in    tlie    comer    embroider'd    so 

nice  !) 
Well,  with  heart  full  of  pleasure,  I  enter'd  the  shop. 
But — ye   Gods,   what   a  phantom  ! — I  thought   I 

should  drop — 
There  he  stood,  my  dear  Dolly — no  room  for  a 

doubt — 
There,  behind  the  vile  counter,  these  eyes  saw 

him  stand, 
With  a  piece  of  French  cambric,  before  him  roll'd 

out, 
And   that   horrid  yard-measure   upraised  in  his 

hand ! 
Oh — Papa,  all  along,  knew  the  secret,  'tis  clear — 
'Twas  a  shopman  he  meant  by  a  "  Braudenburgh," 

dear ! 
The  man,  whom  I  fondly  had  fancied  a  King, 

And,  when  that  too  delightful  delusion  was  past, 
As  a  hero  had  worshipp'd — vile,  treacherous  thing — 
To  turn  out  but  a  low  linen-draper  at  last ! 


My  head  swam  around — the  wretch  smiled,  I  be- 
lieve. 
But  his  smiling,  alas,  could  no  longer  deceive — 
I  fell    back  on   Bob — my  whole    heart   seem'd   to 

wither — 
And,  pale  as  a  ghost,  I  v.'as  carried  back  hither! 
I  only  remember  that  Bob,  as  I  caught  him, 

With  cruel  facetiousuess  said,  "  Curse  the  Kiddy  ! 
"  A  stanch  Rovolutiouist  always  I've  thought  him, 

"  But  now  I  find  out  he's  a  Counter  one,  Biddy  !" 

Only  think,    my  dear   creature,   if  this  should  be 

known 
To  that  saucy,  satirical  thing.  Miss  Maloxe 
What  a  story  'twill  be  at  Shandangan  forever . 
AVhat  laughs  and  what  quizzing  she'll  have  with 
the  men ! 
It  will  spread  through  the  country — and  never,  oh, 
never 
Can  Biddy  bo  seen  at  Kilrandy  again ! 
Farewell — I  shall  do  something  desp'rate,  I  fear— 
And,  ah !  if  my  fate  ever  reaches  your  ear. 
One  tear  of  compassion  my  Doll  will  not  grudge 
To  her  poor — broken-hearted — young  friend, 

Biddy  Fudge. 

Noia  bene — I  am  sure  you  will  hear,  with  delight, 
That  we're  going,  all  three,  to  see  BiiuNET  to-night, 
A  laugh  will  revive  me — and  kind  Mr.  Cdx 
(Do  you  know  him?)  has  got  us  the  Governor's  box. 


L 


484 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


FABLES  FOR  THE   HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


Eripe. 


Tu  Regibus  alas 


-Clip  the  wings 


Of  tliese  high-flying,  arbitrary  Kings. 


ViRoiL,  Qcorg.  lib.  It. 
Drtden's  Translation. 


TO 

LORD  BYRON. 

Dear  Lord  Bvron, 

Though  this  Volume  should  possess  no  other 
merit  in  your  eyes,  tluin  that  of  reminding  you  of 
the  short  time  we  passed  together  at  Venice,  when 
some  of  the  trifles  which  it  contains  were  written, 
you  will,  1  am  sure,  receive  the  dedication  of  it  with 
pleasure,  and  believe  that  I  am. 

My  dear  Lord, 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

T.  B. 


PREFACE. 

TnoLGii  it  was  the  wish  of  the  members  of  the 
Poco-curante  Society  (who  have  lately  done  me  the 
honor  of  electing  me  their  Secretary)  that  I  should 
prefix  my  name  to  the  following  Miscellany,  it  is 
but  fair  to  them  and  to  myself  to  state,  that,  ex- 
cept in  the  "  painful  pre-eminence"  of  being  em- 
ployed to  transcribe  their  lucubrations,  my  claim  to 
such  a  distinction  in  the  title-page  is  not  greater 
than  that  of  any  other  gentleman,  who  has  contrib- 
uted his  share  to  the  contents  of  the  volume. 

I  had  originally  intended  to  take  this  opportu- 
nity of  giving  some  account  of  tlie  origin  and  ob- 
jects of  oin-  Institution,  the  names  and  cluiracters 
of  the  different  members,  &c.  &c. — but,  as  I  am  at 
present  preparing  for  the  press  the  Firet  Volume 
of  the  "  Transactions  of  the  Poco-curante  Society," 
I  shall  reserve  for  that  occasion  all  further  de- 
tails upon  the  subject ;  and  content  myself  here 
with  referring,  for  a  general  insight  ^uto  our  tenets, 
to  a  Song  which  will  be  found  at  the  end  of  this 
work,  and  which  is  sung  to  us  on  the  first  day  of 
every  month,  by  one  of  our  oldest  members,  to  the 
tune  of  (as  far  as  I  can  recollect,  being  no  musi- 
cian.) either  "  Nancy  Dawson"  or  "  He  stole  away 
the  Bacon." 

It  may  be  well  also  to  state,  for  the  iuforma- 
tiou  of  those  critics  who  attack  with  the  hope  of 
being  answered,  and  of  being,  thereby,  brought  into 


notice,  that  it  is  the  rule  of  this  Society  to  return 
no  other  answer  to  such  assailants,  than  is  con- 
tained in  the  three  words,  "  Non  curat  Hippoclides," 
(meaning,  in  English,  "  Hippoclides  does  not  care  a 
fig,")  whicli  were  spoken  two  thousand  years  ago 
by  the  first  founder  of  Poco-curantism,  and  have 
ever  since  been  adopted  as  the  leading  dictum  of 
the  sect. 

THOMAS  BROWN. 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


FABLE  I. 


THE    DISSOLUTION    OF   THE    HOLY    ALLIANCE. 

A  DREAM. 

I've  had  a  dream  that  bodes  no  good 

Unto  the  Holy  Brotherhood. 

I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  confess — 

As  far  as  it  is  right  or  lawful 
For  one,  no  conjurer,  to  guess — 

It  seems  to  me  extremely  awful. 

Methought,  upon  the  Neva's  flood 

A  beautiful  Ico  Palace  stood, 

A  dome  of  frost-work,  on  tlie  plan 

Of  that  once  built  by  Empress  Anne,' 

Which  shone  by  moonlight — as  the  tale  is — 

Like  an  Aurora  Borealis. 

In  this  said  Palace,  furuish'd  all 

And  lighted  as  tho  best  on  land  are, 
I  dreamt  there  was  a  splendid  Ball, 

Given  by  the  Emperor  Ale.\ander, 
To  entertain  with  all  due  zeal 

Those  holy  gentlemen,  who've  shown  a 
Regard  so  kind  for  Europe's  weal. 

At  Troppau,  I,aybach,  and  Verona 

»  "  It  is  well  known  that  the  Empress  Anne  built  a  palace 
of  ice  on  the  Neva,  in  1740,  which  was  fifty-lwo  feet  in  length, 
anil  when  illuminated  had  a  surprising  efl*ect."— Pinkcrtom 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 
I 


485 


The  thought  was  happy^and  desi^'d 
To  hint  how  thus  tlic  human  Mind 
May,  like  tho  stream  imprisoned  there, 
Be  checked  and  chili'd,  till  it  can  bear 
Tlie  heaviest  Kinn;s,  that  odo  or  sonnet 
E'er  yet  be-praised,  to  dance  upon  it. 

And  all  were  pleased,  and  cold,  and  stately, 

Shiverini^  in  grand  illumination — 
Admired  the  snperstmcture  greatly, 

Nor  gave  one  thought  to  the  foundation 
Much  too  the  Czar  himself  exulted, 

To  all  plebeian  fears  a  stranger. 
For,  Madame  Krudener,  when  consulted, 

Had  pledged  her  word  there  was  no  danger 
So,  on  he  caper'd,  fearless  quite. 

Thinking  himself  extremely  clever, 
And  waltz'd  away  with  ail  his  might, 

As  if  the  Frost  would  last  forever. 

Just  fancy  how  a  bard  like  me. 

Who  reverence  monarchs^must  have  trembled 
To  see  that  goodly  company. 

At  such  a  ticklish  sport  assembled. 

Nor  were  the  fears,  that  thus  astounded 
My  loyal  soul,  at  all  unfounded — 
For,  lo  I  ere  long,  those  walls  so  massy 

Were  seized  with  an  ill-omen'd  dripping, 
And,  o'er  the  floors,  now  growing  glassy. 

Their  Holinesses  took  to  slipping. 
The  Czar,  half  through  a  Polonaise, 

Could  scarce  get  on  for  downright  stuntjling ; 
And  Prussia,  though  to  slippery  ways 

Well  tised,  was  cursedly  near  tumbling. 

Yet  still  'twas,  who  could  stamp  the  floor  most, 
Russia  and  Austria  'mong  the  foremost. — 
And  now,  to  an  Italian  air. 

This  precious  brace  would,  hand  in  band,  go  ; 
Now — while  old  Louis,  from  his  chair, 
Kntreated  them  his  toes  to  spare — 

Call'd  loudly  out  for  a  Fandango. 

And  a  Fandango,  'faith,  they  had, 

At  which  they  all  set  to,  like  mad  I 

Never  were  Kings  (though  small  th'  expense  is 

Of  wit  among  their  Excellencies) 

So  out  of  all  their  princely  senses. 

But,  ah,  that  dance — that  Spanish  dance — 

Scarce  was  tho  luckless  strain  begim, 
When,  glaring  red,  as  'twero  a  glance 

Shot  fium  an  angry  Southern  sun, 
A  light  through  all  the  chambers  flamed. 

Astonishing  old  Father  Frost, 
Who,  bursting  into  tears,  exclaim'd, 

"  A  thaw,  by  Jove — we're  lost,  we're  lost ; 


"  Run,  France — a  second  ^Yatcr\oo 

**  Is  come  to  drown  you — saiive  qui  peut .'" 

Why,  why  will  monarchs  caper  so 

In  palaces  without  foundations? — 
Instantly  all  was  in  a  flow. 

Crowns,  liddles,  sceptres,  decorations — 
Those  Royal  Arms,  tliat  look'd  so  nice. 
Cut  out  in  tho  resplendent  ice — 
Those  Eagles,  handsomely  provided 

With  double  heads  for  double  dealings — 
How  fast  the  globes  and  sceptres  glided 

Out  of  their  claws  on  all  tho  ceilings  I 
Proud  Prussia's  double  bird  ; '  orey , 
Tame  as  a  spatch  cock,  slun^  t  way ; 
While — ^just  like  France  herself,  when  she 

Proclaims  how  great  her  naval  skill  is — 
Poor  Louis'  drowning  fleur-de-lys 

Imagined  themselves  water-liUea 

And  not  alone  rooms,  ceilings,  shelves. 

But — still  more  fatal  execution — 
The  Great  Legitimates  themselves 

Seem'd  in  a  state  of  dissolution. 
Th'  indignaut  Czar — when  just  about 

To  issue  a  sublune  Ukase, 
"  Whereas  all  light  must  be  kept  out" — 

Dissolved  to  nothing  in  its  blaze 
Next  Prussia  took  its  turn  to  melt. 
And,  while  his  lips  illustrious  felt 
The  influence  of  this  southern  air. 

Some  word,  like  "  Constitution" — long 
Congeal'd  in  frosty  silence  there — 

Came  slowly  thawing  from  his  tongue 
While  Louis,  lapsing  by  degrees. 

And  sighing  out  a  faint  adieu 
To  tmifles,  salmis,  toasted  cheese. 

And  smoking /oH^MS,  quickly  grew, 

Himself,  into  a /o«rf«  too; — 
Or  like  that  goodly  King  they  make 
Of  sugar  for  a  Twelfth-niglit  cake. 
When,  in  some  urchin's  mouth,  alas. 
It  melts  into  a  shapeless  mass  ! 

In  short,  I  scarce  could  count  a  minute, 
Ere  the  bright  dome,  and  all  within  it, 
Kings,  Fiddlers,  Emperors,  all  were  gone — • 

And  nothing  now  was  seen  or  heard 
But  tho  bright  river,  rushing  on, 

Happy  as  an  enfranchised  bird. 
And  prouder  of  that  natural  ray, 
Shuiing  along  its  chainless  way — 
More  proudly  happy  thus  to  glide 

In  simple  grandeur  to  the  sea. 
Than  when,  in  sparkling  fetters  tied, 
'Twas  deck'd  with  all  that  kingly  pride 

Could  bring  to  light  its  slavery  I 


486                                              MQORE'S 

:. _^ 

WORKS. 

Such  is  my  dicam — and,  I  confess, 

Your  Peers  were  decent — Knights,  so  so — 

I  ti-einble  at  its  awful  ncss. 

But  all  your  common  people,  gorgons ! 

Tliat  .Spanish  Dance — that  southern  beam — 

Dut  I  say  iiotliing — tliere's  my  dream — 

Of  course,  if  any  knave  had  hinted 

And  IMadaine  Kriidcner,  the  she-prophet. 

That  the  King's  nose  was  turn'd  awr}', 

May  make  just  what  she  pleases  of  it. 

Or  that  the  Queen  (God  bless  her !)  squinted — 

The  judges  doom'd  that  knave  to  die. 

But  rarely  things  like  this  occurr'd. 

The  people  to  their  King  were  duteous. 

And  took  it,  on  his  Royal  word, 

FABLE  n. 

That  they  were  frights,  and  Ho  was  beauteous 

THE    LOOKING-GLASSES. 

The  cause  whereof,  among  all  classes, 

Was  simply  this — these  island  elves 

PROEM. 

Had  never  yet  seen  looking-glasses, 

And,  therefore,  did  not  linow  themselves. 

Where  Kings  have  been  .  y  mob-elections 

Raised  to  the  Throne,  'tis  strange  to  see 

Sometimes,  indeed,  their  neighbors'  faces 

What  different  and  wliat  odd  jierfectiona 

Might  strike  them  as  more  ?uil  of  reason, 

Men  have  required  in  Royalty. 

More  fresh  than  those  in  certain  places — 

Some,  liking  mou^irchs  large  and  plumpy. 

But,  Lord,  the  very  thought  was  treason. 

Have  clios'n  their  Sovereigns  by  the  weight ; — 

• 

Some  wish'd  them  tall,  some  thought  your  dumpy, 

Besides,  howe'cr  we  love  our  neighbor, 

Dutch-built,  the  true  Legitimate.* 

And  take  his  face's  part,  'tis  known 

The  Easterns  in  a  Prince,  'tis  said, 

We  ne'er  so  much  in  earnest  labor. 

Prefer  wliat's  call'd  a  jolter-head  ;^ 

As  when  the  face  attack'd's  our  own. 

Til'  Egyptians  wer'n't  at  all  paiticular. 
So  that  tlieir  Kings  had  not  red  hair- 

So,  on  they  went — the  crowd  believing — 

This  fault  not  even  the  greatest  stickler 

(As  crowds  well  govern'd  always  do) 

mi                   1              J             < 1                  1               1           ■     < 

Iheir  rulers,  too,  themselves  deceivmg — 
So  old  the  joke,  they  thought  'twas  true. 

For  the  blood  royal  well  could  bear. 

A  thousand  more  such  illustrations 

flight  be  adduced  from  various  nations. 

But  jokes,  we  know,  if  they  too  far  go, 

But,  'mong  the  many  tales  they  tell  us. 

Must  have  an  end — and  so,  one  day, 

Touching  th'  acquired  or  natural  right 

Upon  that  coast  there  was  a  cargo 

Which  some  men  have  to  rule  their  fellows, 

Of  looking-glasses  cast  away. 

Tliere's  one,  wliich  I  shall  hero  recite : — 

'Twas  said,  some  Radicals,  somewhere, 

FABLE. 

Had  laid  their  wicked  heads  together, 

There  was  a  land — to  name  the  place 

And  forced  that  ship  to  founder  there, — 

Is  neither  now  my  wish  nor  duty —    , 

While  some  believe  it  was  the  weather. 

Where  reign'd  a  certain  Royal  race, 

By  right  of  their  superior  beauty. 

However  this  might  be,  the  freight 

Was  landed  without  fees  or  duties ; 

What  was  the  cut  legitimate 

And  from  that  hour  historians  date 

Of  tliese  great  pei-sons'  chins  and  noses, 

The  downfall  of  the  Race  of  Beauties. 

By  right  of  which  they  ruled  the  state, 

No  history  I  have  seen  discloses. 

The  looking-glasses  got  about, 

And  grew  so  common  tiirough  the  land, 

Bu(  80  it  was — a  settled  case — 

That  scarce  a  tinker  could  walk  out. 

feome  .\ct  of  Parliament,  pass'd  snugly, 

Without  a  mirror  in  his  hand. 

Had  voted  them  a  beauteous  race, 

And  all  their  faithful  subjects  ugly. 

Comparing  faces,  morning,  noon, 

And  night,  tlieu-  constant  occupation — 

As  rauk,  indeed,  stood  higli  or  low. 

By  dint  of  looking-glasses,  soon. 

Some  change  it  made  in  visual  organs; 

They  grew  a  most  rcil'^errig  nation. 

1  The  Cnth^  lind  a!,uvlochoo5cnhvaysashort,thickniaii 

2  "In  a  Prince  a  joltcr-he;id  is  invaluiihle." 

for  their  Kinj:.— MuKSTKR,  Cosmog,  lili.  iii.  p.  164. 

Oriental  Field  Sports. 

FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


487 


lu  vain  tlie  Court,  aware  of  errors 
111  all  the  old,  cstablisli'd  mazards, 

Proliibiled  the  use  of  mirrors, 

And  tried  to  break  thorn  at  all  hazards : — 

lu  vain — their  laws  might  just  as  well 
Have  been  waste  paper  on  the  shelves  ; 

That  fatal  freight  had  broke  the  spell ; 
People  had  look'd — and  knew  themselves. 

If  chance  a  Duke,  of  birth  sublime, 

Presumed  upon  his  ancient  face, 
(Some  calf-head,  ugly  from  all  time,) 

They  popp'd  a  mirror  to  his  Grace : — 

Just  hinting,  by  that  gentle  sign, 

How  little  Nature  holds  it  true. 
That  what  is  call'd  an  ancient  line, 

Must  be  the  line  of  Beauty  too. 

From  Dukes'  they  pass'd  to  regal  phizzes, 
Compared  them  proudly  with  their  own. 

And  cried.  ''  How  could  such  monstrous  quizzes 
"  In  Beauty's  name  usurp  the  throne !" — 

They  then  wrote  essays,  pamphlets,  books. 

Upon  Cosmetical  (Economy, 
Which  made  the  King  tiy  various  looks, 

But  none  improved  his  physiognomy. 

And  satires  at  the  Court  were  levell'd. 
And  small  lampoons,  so  full  of  slynesses. 

That  soon,  in  short,  they  quite  be-devill'd 
Their  Majesties  and  Royal  Highnesses. 

At  length — but  hero  I  drop  the  veil. 
To  spare  some  loyal  folks'  sensations ; 

Beside",  what  foUow'd  is  the  tale 
Of  all  such  late  enligbten'd  nations ; 

Of  all  to  whom  old  Time  disclows 

A  truth  they  should  have  sooner  known — 

That  Kings  have  neither  rights  nor  uosea 
A  whit  diviner  than  their  own 


FABLE  III. 


THE  TORCH  OF  LIBERTY. 


I  SAW  it  all  in  Fancy's  gla 

Hei-self,  the  fair,  the  wild  magician. 
Who  bids  this  splendid  day-dream  pass, 

And  named  each  gliding  apparition. 

'Twas  like  a  torch-race — such  as  they 
Of  Greece  perform'd,  in  ages  gone. 


When  the  fleet  youths,  in  long  aiTay, 
Pass'd  the  bright  torch  triumphant  on. 

I  saw  th'  expectant  nations  stand. 

To  catch  the  coming  flamo  in  turn  ; — 

I  saw,  from  ready  hand  to  hand. 

The  clear,  though  struggling,  glory  burn. 

And,  oh,  their  joy,  as  it  came  near, 

'Twas,  in  itself,  a  joy  to  see  ;  — 
While  Fancy  whispor'd  in  my  ear, 

"  That  torch  they  pass  is  Liberty  !'' 

And,  each,  as  she  received  the  flame, 

Lighted  her  altar  with  its  ray  ; 
Then,  smiling,  to  the  next  who  came, 

Soeeded  it  on  its  sparkling  way. 

From   \I.DI0N  first,  whose  ancient  shrine 
Was  furnish'd  with  the  fire  already, 

Columbia  caught  the  boon  divine. 

And  lit  a  flame,  like  Albion's,  steady. 

The  splendid  gift  then  Gallia  took, 
And,  like  a  wild  Bacchante,  raising 

The  brand  aloft,  its  sparkles  shook. 
As  she  would  set  the  world  a-blazing ! 

Thus  kindling  wild,  so  fierce  and  higli 

Her  altar  blazed  into  the  air. 
That  Aldiox,  to  that  fire  too  nigh. 

Shrunk  back,  and  shudder'd  at  its  glare! 

Next,  Si'AiN,  so  new  was  light  to  her, 
Leap'd  at  the  torch — -but,  ere  the  spark 

That  fell  upon  her  shrine  could  stir, 

'Twas  queuch'd — and  all  again  was  dc  Jt. 

Yet,  no — not  queuch'd — a  treasure,  worlii 
So  much  to  mortals,  rarely  dies: 

Again  her  living  light  look'd  forth. 
And  shone,  a  beacon,  in  all  eyes. 

Who  next  received  the  flame  ?  alas. 
Unworthy  Naples — shame  of  sliames. 

That  ever  through  such  hands  should  pass 
That  brightest  of  all  earthly  flames  ! 

Scarce  had  her  fingers  touch'd  the  torch. 
When,  frighted  by  the  sparks  it  shed, 

Nor  waiting  even  to  feel  the  scorch. 
She  dropp'd  it  to  the  earth — and  fled. 

And  fall'n  it  might  have  long  remain'd  ; 

But  Greece,  who  saw  her  moment  now. 
Caught  up  the  prize,  though  prostrate,  stain'd. 

And  waved  it  round  her  beauteous  brow. 


488                                               MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

And  Fancy  bade  me  mark  where,  o'er 

No,  no — it  isn't  right-line  Kings, 

Ilcr  altar,  as  its  flame  ascended. 

(Those  sovereign'  lords  in  leading-strings 

Fair,  lanrcll'd  spirits  seem'd  to  soar, 

Who,  from  their  birth,  are  Faith-Defenders.) 

Who  tlius  in  song  their  voices  blended: — 

That  move  my  wratli — 'tis  your  pretenders, 

Your  mushroom  rulers,  sons  of  earth. 

"  Sliino,  shine  forever,  glorious  Flame, 

Who— not,  Uke  t'others,  bores  by  birth. 

"  Divinest  gift  of  Gods  to  men  I 

Establish'd  gratia  Dei  blockheads. 

"  From  Greece  thy  earliest  splendor  came, 

Born  with  three  kingdoms  in  their  pockets — 

"  To  Greece  thy  ray  returns  again. 

Yet,  with  a  brass  that  nothing  stops, 

Push  up  into  the  loftiest  stations. 

"  Take,  Freedom,  take  thy  radiant  round. 

And,  though  too  dull  to  manage  shops. 

"  When  dimm'd,  revive,  when  lost,  return. 

Presume,  the  dolts,  to  manage  nations ! 

"  Till  not  a  shrine  tlirough  earth  be  found. 

"  On  which  thy  glories  shall  not  burn  1" 

This  class  it  is,  that  moves  my  gall, 

And  s'.irs  up  bile,  and  spleen,  and  all. 

While  other  senseless  things  appear 

To  know  the  limits  of  their  sphere — 
While  not  a  cow  on  earth  romances 

• 

So  much  as  to  conceit  she  dances — 

While  the  most  jumping  frog  we  know  of, 

FABLE  IV. 

Would  scarce  at  Astley's  hope  to  show  off— 

Your  *  *  *s,  your  *  *  »s  dare. 

the  fly  and  the  bullock. 

Untrain'd  as  are  then-  minds,  to  set  them 

To  any  business,  any  where. 

At  any  time  that  fools  will  let  them. 

PROEM. 

Of  all  that,  to  the  sage's  survey. 

This  world  presents  of  topsy-turvy. 

But  leave  we  here  these  upstart  things — 

There's  naught  so  much  disturbs  one's  patience 

My  business  is,  just  now,  with  Kings  ; 

As  little  minds  in  lofty  stations. 

To  whom,  and  to  their  right-line  glory. 

'Tis  like  that  sort  of  painful  wonder. 

I  dedicate  the  following  story. 

Which  slender  columns,  laboring  imder 

Enormous  arches,  give  beholders ; 

FABLE. 

Or  those  poor  Carj'atides, 

Condemn'd  to  smile  and  stand  at  ease. 

The  wise  men  of  Egypt  were  secret  as  dummies ; 

With  a  whole  house  upon  their  shoulders. 

And,  ev'n  when  they  most  condescended  to  teach. 

They  pack'd  up  their  meaning,  as  they  did  their 

If,  as  in  some  few  royal  cases. 

mummies. 

Some  minds  are  horn  into  such  places — 

In  so  many  wrappers,  'twas  out  of  one's  reach. 

If  they  are  there,  by  Right  Divine, 

Or  any  such  sufBcient  reason,  . 

They  were  also,  good  people,  much  given  to  Kintrs — 

Why — Heav'n  forbid  we  should  repine  I — 

Fond  of  craft  and  of  crocodiles,  monkeys  and 

To  wish  it  otherwise  were  treason  j 

mystery ; 

Nay,  ev'n  to  see  it  in  a  vision, 

But  blue-bottle  flies  were  their  best  beloved  things — 

Would  be  what  lawyers  call  misprmon. 

As  will  partly  appear  in  this  very  sliort  historj'. 

Sir  Robert  Filmer  saith — and  he. 

A  Scythian  philosopher  (nephew,  they  say. 

Of  course,  knew  all  about  the  matter — 

To  that  other  great  traveller,  young  Anacharsis) 

"  Both  men  and  beasts  love  Monarchy ;" 

Stepp'd  into  a  temple  at  Memphis  one  day. 

Which  proves  how  rational — the  latter. 

To  have  a  short  peep  at  their  mystical  farces. 

Sidney,  we  know,  or  wrong  or  right, 

Entirely  diffcr'd  from  the  Knight ! 

He  saw'  a  brisk  blue-bottle  Fly  on  an  altar. 

Nay,  hints  a  King  may  lose  liis  head. 

Made    much    of,  and  worshipp'd,   as   something 

By  slipping  awkwardly  his  bridle : — 

divine  ; 

But  this  is  treasonous,  ill-bred, 

And  (now-a-days,  when  Kings  are  led 

'  According  to  .-Elian,  it  was  in  the  island  of  Lcucadia 
they  practised  this  ceremony — ^veiv  0ovv  mis  ftviats. — De 

In  patent  snaffles)  downright  idle. 

.Animal,  lib.  ii.  cap.  8. 

FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


489 


While  a  large,  handsome  Bullock,  led  there  in  a 
halter, 
Before  it  lay  stabb'd  at  the  foot  of  the  shrine. 

Surprised  at  such  doings,  he  whisper'd  his  teacher — 
"  If  'tisn't  impertinent,  may  I  ask  why 

"  Should    a    Bullock,    that    useful    and    powerful 
creature, 
"Be  thus  offer'd  up  to  a  blue-bottle  Fly  V 

"  No   wonder" — said   t'other — "  you    stare   at   the 
sight, 
"  But  ICC  as  a  Symbol  of  Monarchy  view  it — 
"  That  Fly  on  the  shrine  is  Legitimate  Right, 
"  And  that  Bullock,  the  People,  that's  sacrificed 
to  it." 


FABLE  V. 


CHURCH    AND    ST.\TE. 

PROEM. 

"  The  moment  any  religion  becomes  national,  or  establish- 
ed, its  purity  must  certainly  be  lost,  because  it  is  then  impos- 
sible to  keep  it  unconnected  with  men's  interests  ;  and,  if 
connected,  it  must  inevitably  be  perverted  by  them."— Soame 
Jen'Vns. 

Tuus  did  SoAME  Jexyns — though  a  Torj-, 
A  Lord  of  Trade  and  the  Plantations, 

Feel  how  Religion's  simple  glory 
Is  stain'd  by  State  associations. 

When  Catherlne,  ere  she  crush'd  the  Poles, 

Appeal'd  to  the  benign  Divinity  ; 
Then  cut  them  up  in  protocols, 
Made  fractious  of  their  very  souls' — 

All  in  the  name  of  the  bless'd  Trinity  ; 
Or  when  her  grandson,  Ale.xander, 
That  mighty  Northern  salamander,^ 
Whose  icy  touch,  felt  all  about. 
Puts  every  fire  of  Freedom  out — 
When  he,  too,  winds  up  his  Ukases 
With  God  and  the  Panagia's  praises — 
When  he,  of  royal  Saints  the  type, 

In  holy  water  dips  the  sponge. 
With  which,  at  one  imperial  wipe, 

Ho  would  all  human  rights  expunge ; 
When  Louts  (whom  as  King,  and  eater. 
Some  name  Dix-huit  and  some  Des-kuifres) 

*  .^mcs,  demi'dmes,  fee. 

3  The  salamander  is  supposed  to  have  the  power  of  extin- 
guishing fire  by  its  natural  coldness  and  moisture. 


Calls  down  "  St  Louis'  God"  to  witness 
The  right,  humanity,  and  fitness 
Of  sending  eighty  thousand  Solons, 

Sages,  with  muskets  and  laced  coats. 
To  cram  instruction,  nolens  volens, 

Down  the  poor  struggling  Spaniards*  throats — 
I  can't  help  thinking,  (though  to  Kings 

I  must,  of  course,  like  other  men,  bow,) 
That  when  a  Christian  monarch  brings 
Religion's  name  to  gloss  these  things — 

Such  blasphemy  out-Beubows  Benbow  '.' 

Or — not  so  far  for  facts  to  roam, 
Having  a  few  much  nearer  home — 
When  we  see  Churchmen,  who,  if  ask'd, 
"  Must  Ireland's  slaves  be  tithed,  and  task'd, 
*'  And  (h'iv'n  like  Negroes  or  Croiits, 

"  That  you  may  roll  in  wealth  and  t  is8?" 
Look  from  beneath  their  shovel  hats 

With  all  due  pomp,  and  answer  "Yes." 
But  then,  if  qucstion'd,  "  Shall  the  brand 
"  Intolerance  flings  throughout  that  land, — 

"  Shall  the  fierce  strife  now  taught  to  grow 
"  Betwixt  her  palaces  and  hovels, 
"  Be  ever  quench'd?" — ffom  the  same  shovels 

Look  grandly  forth,  and  answer  "  No." — 
Alas,  alas  I  have  these  a  claim 
To  merciful  Rehgion's  name  ? 
If  more  you  seek,  go  see  a  bevy 
Of  bowing  parsons  at  a  levee — 
(Choosing  your  time,  when  straw's  before 
Some  apoplectic  bishop's  door,) 
Then,  if  thou  canst,  with  life,  escape 
That  rush  of  law»,  that  press  of  crape, 
Just  watch  their  rev'rences  and  graces, 

As  ou  each  smirking  suitor  frisks. 
And  say,  if  those  round  shining  faces 

To  heav'n  or  earth  most  turn  their  disks  ? 

This,  this  it  is — Religion,  made, 

'Ttvixt  Church  and  State,  a  truck,  a  trade — 

This  most  ill-rnatch'd,  unholy  Co., 

From  whence  the  ills  we  witness  flow ; 

The  war  of  many  creeds  with  one — 

Th'  extremes  of  too  much  faith,  and  none — 

Till,  betwixt  ancient  trash  and  new, 

'Twixt  Cant  and  Blasphemy — the  two 

Rank  ills  with  which  this  age  is  cursed — 

We  can  no  more  tell  which  is  worst, 

Than  erst  could  Egj'pt,  when  so  rich 

In  various  plagues,  determine  which 

She  thought  most  pestilent  and  vile, 

Her  frogs,  like  Benbow  and  Carlisle, 

s  A  well-known  publisher  of  irreligious  books. 


490                                             MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Croaking  their  native  mud-notes  loud, 

Broke  windows,  sliiver'd  lamps  to  smash. 

Or  her  fat  locusts,  like  a  cloud 

And  knock'd  whole  scores  of  watchmen  down. 

Of  pluralists,  obesely  low'ring, 

At  once  benighting  and  devouring .' 

While  naught  could  they,  whose  heads  were  broke. 

Lcam  of  the  "  why"  or  the  "  wherefore," 

This — this  it  is — and  here  I  pray 

Except  that  'twas  Religion's  cloak, 

Those  sapient  wits  of  the  Reviews, 

The  gentleman,  who  crack'd  them,  wore. 

Who  make  us  poor,  dull  authors  say, 

Not  what  we  mean,  but  what  they  choose ; 

Meanwhile,  the  Friar,  whose  head  was  tiuu'd 

Who  to  our  most  abundant  shares 

By  the  laced  coat,  grew  frisky  too  ; 

Of  nonsense  add  still  more  of  theirs. 

Look'd  big — his  former  habits  spuru'd — 

And  are  to  poets  just  such  evils 

And  storm'd  about,  as  great  men  do : 

As  caterpillars  find  those  flics," 

Which,  not  content  to  sting  like  devils. 

Dealt  much  in  pompous  i<iths  and  curses — 

Lay  eggs  upon  their  backs  likewise — 

Said  "  d — mn  you"  oftin,  or  as  bad — 

To  guard  against  such  foul  deposites 

Laid  claim  to  other  people's  pi;  \;;s — 

Of  others'  meaning  in  my  rhymes, 

In  short,  grew  cither  knave,  or  mad. 

(A  thing  more  needful  here,  because  it's 

A  subject,  ticklish  in  tliese  times) — 

As  work  like  this  was  unbefitting. 

I,  here,  to  all  such  wits  make  known, 

And  flesh  and  blood  :iti  longer  bore  it, 

Monthly  and  Weekly,  Whig  and  Tor)-," 

The  Court  of  Common  Sense,  then  sitting, 

'Tis  this  Religion — this  alone 

Summou'd  the  culprits  both  before  it. 

I  aim  at  in  the  following  story : — 

Where,  after  hours  in  wrangling  spent. 

(As  Courts  must  wrangle  to  decide  well,) 

FABLE. 

Religion  to  St.  Luke's  was  sent, 

And  Royalty  pack'd  off'  to  Bridewell. 

When  Royalty  was  young  and  bold, 

Ere,  touch'd  by  Time,  he  had  become, 

With  this  proviso — should  they  be 

If  'tisn't  civil  to  say  oW, 

Restored,  in  due  time,  to  their  senses. 

At  least,  a  ci-devant  jeanc  hommc; 

They  both  must  give  security, 

In  future,  against  such  cffences — 

One  evening,  on  some  wild  pursuit 

Driving  along,  he  chanced  to  see 

Religion  no'er  to  lend  his  cloak, 

Religion,  passing  by  on  foot, 

Seeing  what  dreadful  work  it  leads  to  ; 

And  took  him  in  his  vis-il-vis. 

And  Royalty  to  crack  his  joke, — 

But  not  to  crack  poor  people's  heads  too. 

This  said  Religion  was  a  Friar, 

•  The  humblest  and  the  best  of  men. 

Who  ne'er  had  notion  or  desire 
Of  riding  in  a  coach  till  then. 

"  I  say," — quoth  Royalty,  who  rather 

FABLE  VI. 

Enjoy'd  a  masquerading  joke — 

"  I  say,  suppose,  my  good  old  father. 

THE    LITTLE   GR.AND    L.\MA. 

"  You  lend  me,  for  a  while,  your  cloak." 

PROEM. 

The  Friar  consented — lillle  knew 

What  tricks  tlio  youth  had  in  his  head  ; 

Novella,  a  young  Bolognese, 

Besides,  was  rather  tempted  too 

The  daugliter  of  a  learn'd  Law  Doctor,' 

By  a  laced  coat  ho  got  in  stead. 

Who  had  with  all  the  subtleties 

Of  old  and  modem  jurists  stock'd  her, 

Away  ran  Royalty,  slap-dash, 

Was  so  exceeding  fair,  'lis  said. 

Scamp'ring  like  mad  about  the  town  ; 

And  over  hearts  held  such  dominiou, 

>  "The  greatest  number  of  the  iclinemnon  tribe  are  seen 

difl^rent  intervals  their  slings  into  its  body — at  every  dart  they 

setlliny  iiimn  the  bach  of  the  caterpillar,  and   darling  at 

dejKjse  an  egg." — GoLDSuiTU.                     3  Andreas. 

I 


FABLES  FOR  THE 

HOLY  ALLIANCE.                          491 

That  when  her  father,  sick  in  bed, 

But  short  this  calm  ; — for,  just  when  ha 

Or  busy,  sent  her,  in  his  stead. 

Had  reach'd  tii'  alarming  age  of  three. 

To  lecture  on  the  Code  Justinian, 

Wlien  Royal  natures,  and,  no  doubt. 

She  had  a  curtain  drawn  before  her. 

Those  of  all  noble  beasts  break  out —      ' 

Lest,  if  her  charms  were  seen,  the  students 

The  Lama,  who  till  then  was  quiet. 

Should  let  their  young  eyes  wander  o'er  her, 

Show'il  symptoms  of  a  taste  for  riot ; 

And  quite  forget  their  jurisprudence.' 

And,  ripe  for  mischief,  early,  late. 

,     Just  so  it  is  with  truth,  when  seen, 

Without  regard  for  Church  or  State, 

Too  dazzling  far, — 'tis  from  behind 

Mado  free  with  whosoe'er  came  nigh  ; 

A  liglit,  thin  allegoric  screen, 

Tweak'd  the  Lord  Chancellor  by  the  nose, 

She  thus  can  safest  teach  mankind. 

Tum'd  all  the  Judges'  wigs  awrj'. 

And  trod  on  the  old  Generals'  toes : 

Pelted  the  Bishops  with  hot  buns. 

FABLE. 

Rode  cockhorse  on  the  City  maces. 

And  shot  from  little  devilish  guns. 

In  Thibet  once  there  reign'd,  we're  told, 

Hard  peas  into  his  subjects'  faces. 

A  little  Lama,  one  year  old — 

In  short,  such  wicked  pranks  ho  play'd, 

Raised  to  the  throne,  that  realm  to  bless. 

And  grew  so  mischievous,  God  bless  him ! 

Just  when  his  little  Holiness 

That  his  Chief  Nuree — %vith  ev'n  the  aid 

Had  cut — as  near  as  can  be  reckon'd — 

Of  an  .\rchbishop — was  afraid. 

Some  say  his  first  tooth,  some  his  second. 

When  in  these  moods,  to  comb  or  dress  him. 

Ciironologers  and  Nurses  vary. 

Nay,  ev'n  the  persons  most  inclined 

Which  proves  historians  should  be  wary. 

Through  thick  and  thin,  for  Kings  to  stickle. 

We  only  know  tii'  important  truth', 

Thought  him  (if  they'd  but  speak  their  mind. 

His  Majesty  had  cut  a  tooth.'^ 

Which  they  did  not)  an  odious  pickle. 

And  much  his  subjects  were  enchanted, — 

As  well  all  Lamas'  subjects  mat/  be. 

At  length  some  patriot  lords — a  breed 

And  would  have  giv'u  their  heads,  if  wanted, 

Of  animals  they've  got  in  Thibet, 

To  make  tee-totums  for  the  baby. 

Extremely  rare,  and  fit,  indeed, 

Throned  as  he  was  by  Right  Divine — 

For  folks  like  Pidcock,  to  exliibit — 

(Wliat  Lawyers  call  Jure  Divino, 

Some  patriot  lords,  who  saw  the  length 

Meaning  a  light  to  yours,  and  mine. 

To  which  things  went,  combined  their  strength, 

And  eveiybody's  goods  and  rhino,) 

And  penn'd  a  manly,  plain,  and  free 

Of  course,  his  faithful  subjects'  purses 

Remonstrance  to  the  Nurseiy; 

Were  ready  with  their  aids  and  succors  ; 

Protesting  warmly  that  they  yielded 

Nothing  was  seen  but  pension'd  Nurses, 

To  none,  that  ever  went  before  'era. 

And  the  land  groan'd  with  bibs  and  tuckers. 

In  loyalty  to  him  who  wielded 

Til'  hereditary  pap-spoon  o'er  'em  ; 

Oh  !  had  there  been  a  Hume  or  Bennet, 

That,  as  for  treason,  'twas  a  thing 

Then  sitting  in  tlie  Thibet  Senate, 

Tliat  made  tliem  almost  sick  to  think  of — 

Ye  Gods,  what  room  for  long  debates 

That  they  and  theirs  stood  by  the  King, 

Upon  the  Nursery  Estimates  ! 

Throughout  his  measles  and  his  chin-cough, 

What  cutting  down  of  swaddling-clothes 

When  others,  thinking  him  consumptive, 

"  And  pin-a-fores,  in  nightly  battles  I 

Had  ratted  to  the  Heir  Presumptive  ! — 

Wliat  calls  for  papers  to  expose 

But.  still — though  much  admiring  Kings, 

The  waste  of  sugar-plums  and  rattles ! 

(And  chiefly  those  in  leading-strings,) 

But  no— if  Thibet  had  M.  P.'s, 

They  saw,  with  shame  and  grief  of  soul. 

They  were  far  better  bred  than  these  ; 

There  was  no  longer  now  the  wise 

Nor  gave  the  slightest  opposition. 

And  constitutional  control 

During  the  Monarch's  whole  dentition. 

Of  birch  before  their  ruler's  eyes  ; 

1  Quand  il  etoit  occupf?  d'aucnne  essoine,  il  envoyoit  No- 

a  See  Turner's  Embassy  to  Thibet  for  an  arconnt  of  his 

vclle,  sa  fille,  en  son  lieu  lire  aux  escholes  en  charge,  et, 

interview  witli  the  Lama. — "  Teshno  Lama  (he  says)  was 

afin  que  la  liiaute  d'elle  n'enip'-chit  la  pensee  des  oyanls, 

at  this  time  eighteen  months  old.    Thniifh  he  was  nnable 

cllc  avoit  une  petite  courtine  devant  elle — Cliriet.  de  Pise, 

to  spealt  a  worri,  he  made  the  ninst  expressive  signs,  and 

Cite  da  Dames,  p.  11,  cap.  36. 

condncted  himstlf  with  astonishing  dignity  and  decorum.*' 

493 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But  tliat,  of  late,  such  pranks,  aud  tricks, 

And  freaks  occurr'd  the  whole  day  long, 
As  all,  but  men  with  hishopricks, 

Allow'd,  in  ev'u  a  King,  were  wrong. 
Wlierefore  it  was  they  humbly  pray'd 

That  Honorable  Nursery, 
That  such  reforms  be  henceforth  made, 

A^  all  good  men  desired  to  see  ; — 
In  other  words,  (lest  they  might  seem 
Too  tedious,)  as  the  gentlest  scheme 
For  putting  all  such  pranks  to  rest. 

And  in  its  bud  the  mischief  nipping — 
They  ventured  humbly  to  suggest 

His  Majesty  sliould  have  a  whipping  1 

When  this  was  read,  no  Cougreve  rocket, 

Discharged  into  the  Gallic  trenches, 
E'er  equall'd  the  tremendous  shock  it 

Produced  upon  the  Nursery  benches. 
The  Bishops,  who  of  course  had  votes. 
By  right  of  age  and  petticoats. 
Were  first  aud  foremost  in  the  fuss — 

"  What,  whip  a  Lama  I  suffer  birch 

"  To  touch  his  sacred infamous  ! 

"  Deistieal  '. — assailing  thus 

"  The  fundamentals  of  the  Church  ! — 
"  No — no — such  patriot  plans  as  these, 
"  {So  help  them  Heaven — and  tlieir  Sees !) 
"  They  held  to  he  rank  blasphemies." 

Th'  alarm  thus  given,  by  these  and  other 

Grave  ladies  of  the  Nursery  side. 
Spread  through  the  land,  till,  such  a  pother, 

Such  party  squabbles,  far  and  wide. 
Never  in  history's  page  had  been 
Recorded,  as  were  then  between 
The  Whippers  and  Non-whippers  seen. 
Till,  things  arriving  at  a  state, 

Which  gave  some  fears  of  revolution. 
The  patriot  lords'  advice,  though  late, 

Was  put  at  last  in  e.\ecution. 
The  Parliament  of  Tliibet  met— 

The  little  Lama,  call'd  before  it, 
Did,  then  and  there,  his  whipping  get. 
And  (as  the  Nursery  Gazette 

Assures  us)  like  a  hero  bore  it 

And  though,  'moug  Thibet  Tories  some 
Lament  that  Royal  Martyri/om, 
(Please  to  observe,  the  letter  D 
In  this  last  word's  pronounced  like  B,) 
Yet  to  th'  example  of  that  Priuco 

So  much  is  Thibet's  land  a  debtor, 
That  her  long  hne  of  Lamas,  since. 

Have  all  behaved  themselves  much  better 


FABLE  VIL 


THE    EXTINGIIISnERB. 


PROEM. 

Though  soldiers  are  the  true  supports. 
The  natural  allies  of  Courts, 
Wo  to  the  Monarch,  who  depends 
Too  much  on  liis  red-coated  friends  ; 
For  even  soldiers  sometimes  think — 

Nay,  Colonels  have  been  known  to  reason,- 
And  reasouers,  whether  clad  in  pink. 
Or  red,  or  blue,  are  on  the  brinlc 

(Nine  cases  out  of  ten)  of  treason. 

Not  many  soldiers,  I  believe,  are 

As  fond  of  liberty  as  Mina  ; 
Else — wo  to  kings,  when  Freedom's  fever 

Once  turns  into  a  Scarletina  .' 
For  then — but  hold,  'tis  best  {o  veil 
My  meaning  in  the  following  tale  : — 

FABLE. 

A  Liord  of  Persia,  rich  and  great, 

Just  come  into  a  large  estate. 

Was  shock'd  to  find  ho  had,  for  neighbors. 

Close  to  his  gate,  some  rascal  Ghebers, 

Whose  fires,  beneath  his  very  nose. 

In  heretic  combustion  rose. 

But  Lords  of  Persia  can,  no  doubt, 

Do  what  they  will — so,  one  fine  morning. 
He  tuni'd  the  rascal  Ghebers  out. 

First  giving  a  few  kicks  for  warning. 
Then,  thanking  Heaven  most  piously. 

He  knock'd  their  Temple  to  the  ground, 
Blessing  himself  for  joy  to  see 

Such  Pagan  ruins  strcw'd  around. 
But  much  it  vex'd  my  Lord  to  find. 

That,  while  all  else  obey'd  his  will. 
The  Fire  these  Ghebers  left  behind, 

Do  what  he  would,  kept  burning  still 
Fiercely  he  storm'd,  as  if  liis  frown 
Could  scare  the  bright  insurgent  down  ; 
But,  no — such  fires  are  headstrong  thmgs. 
And  care  not  much  for  Lords  or  Kings. 
Scarce  could  his  Lordship  well  contrive 

The  flashes  in  one  place  to  smother, 
Before — hey  presto ! — all  alive, 

They  sprung  up  freshly  in  another. 

At  length,  when,  spite  of  prayers  and  damns, 
'Twas  found  the  sturdy  flame  defied  him. 

His  stewards  came,  with  low  salams, 
OfTring,  by  contract,  to  provide  him 


FABLES  FOR  THE 

HOLY  ALLIANCE.                          493 

Somo  largo  Extinguishers,  (a  plan, 

And,  though  tlieir  Fire  had  broke  its  bounds, 

Mucli  used,  they  said,  at  Ispahan, 

And  all  abroad  now  wildly  biim'd. 

Vienna,  Petersburgh — in  short, 

Yet  well  could  they,  who  loved  the  flame. 

Wherever  Light's  forbid  at  court,) 

Its  wand'ring,  its  excess  reclaim  ; 

Machines  no  Lord  should  be  without. 

And  soon  another,  fairer  Dome 

Whicli  would,  at  once,  put  promptly  out 

Arose  to  bo  its  sacred  home. 

Ail  kinds  of  fires, — from  staring,  stark 

Where,  chcrish'd,  guarded,  not  confined 

Volcanoes  to  the  tiniest  spark  ; 

The  living  glory  dwelt  iiishrined. 

Till  all  things  slept  as  dull  and  dark. 

And,  shedding  lustre  strong,  but  even. 

As,  in  a  great  Lord's  neighborhood. 

Though  born  of  eartli,  grew  worthy  heav'n. 

'Twas  right  and  fitting  all  things  should. 

MORAL. 

Accordingly,  some  large  supplies 

The  moral  hence  my  Muse  infers 

Of  these  Extinguishers  were  fumish'd, 

Is,  that  such  Lords  are  simple  elves. 

(AH  of  the  true  Imperial  size,) 

In  trusting  to  Extinguisliers, 

And  there,  in  rows,  stood  black  and  burnish'd. 

That  ai«  combustible  themselves. 

1        Ready,  where'er  a  gleam  but  shone 

0/  light  or  fire,  to  be  clapp'd  on. 
But,  ah,  how  lordly  wisdom  errs, 

In  trusting  to  cxtiuguishera  ! 

.jue  day,  when  he  hacj  left  all  sure. 

FABLE  VIII. 

(At  least,  so  thought  he,)  dark,  secure — 

The  flame,  at  all  its  exits,  entries, 

LOUIS  rOURTEENTH's  WIO 

Obstructed  to  his  heart's  content. 

And  black  extiuguisliers,  like  sentries, 

The  money  raised — the  army  ready — 

Placed  over  every  dangerous  vent — 

Drums  beating,  and  the  Royal  Neddy 

Ye  Gods,  imagine  his  amaze, 

Valiantly  braying  in  the  van. 

His  wrath,  his  rage,  when,  on  returning. 

To  the  old  tune,  "  Eh,  eh.  Sire  Ane  .""— 

He  found  not  only  the  old  blaze. 

Naught  wanting,  but  some  coup  dramatic 

Brisk  as  before,  crackling  and  burnmg. 

To  make  French  sentiment  explode. 

Not  only  new,  young  conflagrations. 

Bring  in,  at  once,  the  gout  fanatic, 

Popping  up  round  in  various  stations — 

And  make  the  war  "  la  dernitre  mode" — 

But,  still  more  awful,  strange,  and  dire, 

Instantly,  at  the  Paction  Mnrsan, 

Th'  Extinguishers  themselves  on  fire  ! !' 

Is  held  an  Ultra  cousultatiou — 

They,  they— those  trusty,  blind  machines 

What's  to  he  done,  to  help  the  farce  on  ? 

His  Lordship  had  so  long  been  praising. 

What  stage-effect,  what  decoration, 

As,  under  Providence,  the  means 

To  make  this  beauteous  France  forget, 

Of  keeping  down  all  lawless  blazing. 

In  one  grand,  glorious  pirouette, 

I        Were  now,  themselves — alas,  too  true 

All  she  had  sworn  to  but  last  week, 

'        The  shameful  fact — turn'd  blazers  too. 

And,  with  a  cry  of  "  Magnifique  .'" 

And,  by  a  change  as  odd  as  cruel. 

Rush  forth  to  this,  or  any  war. 

Instead  of  dampers,  served  for  fuel  I 

Witliout  inquiriug  once — "  What  for  ?" 

Thus,  of  his  only  hope  bereft. 

After  some  plans  proposed  by  each. 

"  What,"  said  the  great  man,  "  must  be  done  ?" 

Lord  Chateaubriand  made  a  speech. 

All  that,  in  scrapes  like  this,  is  left 

(Quoting,  to  show  what  men's  rights  are. 

To  great  men  is — to  cut  and  run. 

Or  rather  what  men's  rights  should  be. 

So  run  he  did  ;  while  to  their  grounds. 

From  Hobbes,  Lord  Castlereagh,  the  Czar, 

The  banish'd  Ghebers  bless'd  retum'd  ; 

And  other  friend.'  to  Liberty,) 

•  The  idea  of  this  F.-\ble  was  caught  from  one  of  those 

5  They  celebrated  in  the  dark  ages,  at  many  churches,  par- 

lirillianl niots  which  abound  in  the  conversation  of  my  friend, 

ticularly  at  Rouen,  what  was  called  the  Feast  of  the  Ass.  On 

the  author  of  the  **  Letters  to  Julia." — a  production  which 

this  occasion  the  ass,  finely  dressed,  was  brought  before  the 

aontains  some  of  the  happiest  specimens  of  playful  poetry 

altar,  and  they  sung  before  him  this  elegant  anthem,  "  Eh, 

that  have  appeared  in  this  or  any  age. 

eh,  eh,  Sire  Ane,  eh,  eh,  eli.  Sire  Ane." — Warton's  Essay 

on  Pope. 

494 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Wliercin  he — having  first  protested 

'Gainst  Imnioring  tlie  mob — suggested 

(Ar  tbo  most  high-bred  plan  lio  saw 

For  givin'T  the  new  War  eclat) 

A  grand,  Baptismal  Molo-drame, 

To  bo  got  up  at  Notrc-Damc, 

In  wbicii  the  Duke  (who,  ble«s  his  Iligliness ! 

Had  by  his  hilt  acquired  sncli  fame, 
'Twas  hoped  that  he  as  tittle  shyness 

Would  show,  when  to  the  point  ho  came) 
Should,  for  his  deeds  so  lion-hearted, 
Be  christcn'd  Hero,  ere  ho  started  ; 
With  power,  by  Royal  Ordonnanco, 
To  bear  that  name — at  least  in  France. 
Himself — the  Viscount  Chateaubriand — 
(To  help  th'  affair  with  moro  esprit  on) 
Off'ring,  for  this  baptismal  rite, 

Some  of  his.  own  famed  Jordan  water^ — 
(Marie  Louise  not  having  quite 

Used  all  that,  for  young  Nap,  ho  brought  her,) 
'''ho  baptism,  in  this  case,  to  ba 
Applied  to  that  extremity, 
Which  Bourbon  heroes  most  expose  ; 
And  whicli  (as  well  all  Europe  knows) 
Happens  to  bo,  in  this  Defender 
Of  the  true  Faith,  extremely  tendcr.- 

Or  if  (the  Viscount  said)  this  scheme 
Too  rash  and  premature  should  seem — 
If  thus  discounting  heroes,  on  tick — 

This  glory,  by  anticipation, 
Was  too  much  in  the  genre  romantique 

For  such  a  highly  classic  nation, 
He  begg'd  to  say,  the  Abyssinians 
A  practice  had  in  their  dominions, 
Which,  if  at  Paris  got  up  well, 
In  full  costume,  was  sure  to  tell. 
At  all  great  epochs,  good  or  ill, 
They  have,  says  Bruce,  (and  Bruce  ne*er  budges 
From  the  strict  truth,)  a  grand  Quadrille 
In  public  danced  by  the  Twelve  Judges' — 
And,  ho  assures  us,  tlie  grimaces, 
The  piitrc-chatSi  the  airs  and  graces 
Of  dancers,  so  profound  and  stately, 
Divert  the  Abyssinians  greatly. 


»  BrnUKht  from  the  river  Jord.in  by  M.Chateaubriand,  and 
prost'ntcd  to  the  French  Empress  for  the  cluistening  of  young 
Niipoleon. 

2  Sec  the  Duke's  celebrated  letter  to  roadame,  written 
duriny  his  campaign  in  1815,  in  which  ho  says, "  J'ai  le  iws- 
teiieur  liijj^rement  endoniniage." 

■J  '■  On  cerlain  great  occasions,  the  twelve  Judges  fwho  nre 
pencfiiMy  between  sixty  and  seventy  years  of  age)  sing  the 
song  and  tlance  the  ligure-dancc,"  &c.— 3oi>k  v. 

*  "  Louis  XIV.  fit  present  a  la  Vierge  de  son  cordon  bleu, 
que  Ton  conserv'>  soisneusemeut,  et  lui  envoya  cusuite,  son 


"  Now,  (said  the  Viscount.)  there's  but  few 
"  Great  Empires,  where  this  plan  would  do  : 
•'  For  instance,  England  ; — let  them  take 

"  What  pains  they  would — 'twero  vain  tostrive — 
"  The  twelve  stiff  Judges  there  would  make 

"  The  worst  Quadrille-set  now  alive. 
"  One  must  have  seen  them,  ere  one  could 
"  Imagine  properly  Judge  Wood, 
"  Performing,  in  his  wig,  so  gayly, 
"  A  queuc-de-chat  with  Justice  Bailey  ! 
'*  French  Judges,  though,  are,  by  no  means, 
"  This  sort  of  stiff,  be-wigg*d  machines  ! 
"  And  we,  who've  seen  them  at  SaumuVt 
"  And  Poitiers  lately,  may  bo  sure 
"  They'd  dance  quadrilles,  or  any  thing, 
"  That  would  be  pleasing  to  the  King — • 
"  Nay,  stand  upon  their  heads,  and  more  do, 
"  To  please  the  little  Duke  de  BordeuJX  l" 

After  these  several  schemes  tliere  came 
Some  others — needless  now  to  name, 
Since  that,  which  Monsieur  plann'd  himself, 
Soon  doom'd  all  others  to  the  shelf, 
And  was  received  par  acclamation, 
As  truly  wortliy  the  Grande  Nation. 

It  seems  (as  IMonsieur  told  the  story) 
That  Louis  the  Fourteenth, — that  glory. 
That  Coryphee  of  all  crown'd  pates, — 
That  pink  of  the  Legitimates — 
Had,  when,  with  many  a  pious  pray'r,  he 
Bequeath'd  unto  the  Virgin  Mary 
His  marriage  deeds,  and  cordon  bleu,* 
Bequeath'd  to  her  his  State  Wig  too — 
(An  offVing  which,  at  Court,  'tis  thought. 
The  Virgin  values  as  she  ought)— 
That  Wig,  tho  wonder  of  all  eyes, 
The  Cynosure  of  Gallia's  skies, 
To  watch  and  tend  whose  curls  adored. 

Rebuild  its  tow'ring  roof,  when  flat, 
And  round  its  rumpled  base,  a  Board 

Of  sixty  Barbers  daily  sat,"^ 
With  Subs,  on  State-Days,  (o  assist, 
Well  pension'd  from  the  Civil  List : — 


CoMlrat  t\c  Maringe  et  le  VfuiU  dcs  I'tjrciitcs,  macrninqnenionl 
relit'." — J[Umoircs,  .Anecdotes  pour  $crvir,  &c. 

cThe  learned  author  of  Jtcchcrchca  Historigiies  siir  la 
Pemtqtics  says  that  the  Board  consisted  but  of  Forty — the 
same  number  as  the  Academy.  "Le  plus  betiu  icms  des 
perruques  fut  celui  ou  Louis  XIV.  comuienca  a  porter,  lui- 

ni^me,  pcrruque; On  ignore  IVpoque  ou  Re  fit 

cettc  rfevolution ;  mnis  on  sait  qu'elle  engasca  Louis  le 
Grand  a  y  donner  ses  soins  paternels,  en  crtJant.  en  ICiC, 
quarante  cluirges  de  perruquiers,  suivant  la  cour ;  et  en  1G73. 
il  forma  un  corps  de  deux  cents  perruquiers  pour  la  Villc  tie 
Paris."— P.  III. 


-_J 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


495 


That  wondrous  Wig,  array'd  in  which, 
And  forni'd  alike  to  awe  or  witch, 
Ho  beat  all  other  heirs  of  crowns, 
In  taking  mistresses  and  towns, 
Requiring  but  a  shot  at  onCf 
A  smile  at  t'other,  and  'twas  done  ! — 

"  That  Wig"  (said  Monsieur,  while  his  brow 
Rose  proudly)  "  is  existing  now  ; — 
*'  That  Grand  Pen-uquc,  amid  the  fall 

"  Of  ev'ry  other  Royal  glory, 
"  With  curls  erect  sur\'ives  them  all, 

"  And  tells  in  ev'ry  hair  their  story. 
"  Think,  think,  how  welcome  at  this  time 
■ "  A  relic,  so  beloved,  sublime  ! 
**  What  worthier  standard  of  the  Cause 

"  Of  Kingly  Riglit  can  France  demand  ? 
"  Or  who  among  our  ranks  can  pause 

"  To  guard  it,  wiiiio  a  curl  shall  stand? 
"  Behold,  my  friends" — (while  thus  he  cried, 
A  curtain,  which  conceal'd  this  pride 
Of  Princely  Wigs  was  drawn  aside) 
"  Behold  that  grand  Perruque — how  big 

"  With  recollections  for  the  world — 
"  For  France — for  us — Great  Louis'  Wig, 

"  By  Hippolyte'  new  frizz'd  and  eurl'd-— 
"  New  frizz'd .'  alas,  'tis  but  too  trne, 


'  Well  may  you  start  at  that  word  vew^ 
'  But  such  the  sacrifice,  my  friends, 

*  Th'  Imperial  Cossack  recommends ; 

*  Thinking  such  small  concessions  sage, 
'  To  meet  the  spirit  of  the  age, 

'  And  do  what  best  that  spirit  flatters, 

'  In  Wigs — if  not  in  weightier  matters.  . 

'  Wherefore,  to  please  the  Czar,  and  show 

'  That  ice  too,  much-wrong'd  Bourbons,  know 

'  What  liberalism  in  Monarchs  is, 

'  We  have  conceded  the  New  Friz  ! 

*  Tims  arm'd,  ye  gallant  Ultras,  say, 
'Can  men,  can  Frenchmen,  fear  the  fray 
'  With  this  proud  relic  in  our  van, 

"  And  D'Angouleme  our  worthy  leader, 
'  Let  rebel  Spain  do  all  she  can, 
"  Let  recreant  England  ami  and  feed  her, — 

*  Urged  by  that  pupil  of  Hunt's  school, 

*  That  Radical  Lord  Liverpool— 

'  France  can  have  naught  to  fear— far  from  it — 
"  When  once  astounded  Europe  sees 

'  The  wig  of  Louis,  like  a  Comet, 
•'  Streaming  above  the  Pyrenees, 

'  All's  o'er  with  Spain— then  on,  my  sons, 
'*  On,  my  incomparable  Duke, 

*  And,  Bhouting  for  the  Holy  Ones, 

"  Cry  Vive  la  Guerre — et  la  Perruque  .'" 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD, 

EXTRACTED    FROM   THE   JOURNAL   OF   A   TRAVELLING   MEMBER    OF 

THE  POCO-CURANTE  SOCIETY,  1819. 


The  greater  part  of  the  following  Rhymes  were 
written  or  composed  in  an  old  caliche,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  beguiling  the  ennui  of  solitary  travelling  ; 
and  as  verses,  made  by  a  gentleman  in  his  sleep, 
have  been  lately  called  "  a  psychological  curiosity," 
it  is  to  be  hoped  that  verses,  composed  by  a  gentle- 
man to  keep  himself  awake,  may  be  honored  with 
some  appellation  equally  Greek. 


i  A  celebrated  Coiffeur  of  the  present  day. 


RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD. 


INTRODUCTORY  RHYMES. 

Different  attitudes  in  which  Authors  compose. — Baycs.  Henry 
Stephens,  Herodotus,  Se, —  tVritintr  in  Bed — in  the  Fields 
— Plato  and  Sir  Richard  Blachmore — Fiddling  with  Cloves 
and  Ttciffs. — Madame  de  Stai:l. — Rhyming  on  the  Road,  in 
an  old  Caleche. 

What  various  attitudes,  and  ways, 

And  tricks,  we  authors  liave  in  writing ! 

While  some  write  sitting,  some,  like  Baves, 
Usually  stand,  while  they're  inditing. 


1 

496                                             MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Poets  there  are,  who  wear  the  floor  out,           * 

'Twas  in  his  carriage  the  sublime 

Measuring  a  line  at  every  stride  ; 

Sir  Richard  Black.more  used  to  rhyme  ; 

While  some,  like  Henrv  Stephens,  pour  out 

And  (if  the  wits  don't  do  him  wrong) 

Rhymes  by  the  dozen,  while  they  ride.' 

'Twixt  death'  and  epics  pass'd  his  time. 

Herodotus  wrote  most  in  bed  ; 

Scribbling  and  killing  all  day  long — 

And  RiciiERAND,  a  French  physician, 

Like  Phtcbus  in  his  car,  at  ease, 

Declares  the  clock-work  of  the  head 

Now  warbling  forth  a  lofty  song. 

Goes  best  in  that  reclined  position. 

Now  murd'rmg  the  young  Niobes. 

If  you  consult  Mont.\igne'  and  Pli.vy  on 

The  subject,  'tis  their  joint  opinion 

There  was  a  hero  'mong  the  Danes, 

That  Thought  its  richest  harvest  yields 

Who  wrote,  we're  told,  'mid  all  the  pains 

Abroad,  araoug  the  woods  and  fields ; 

Aiid  horrors  of  exenteration, 

That  bards,  who  deal  in  small  retail, 

Nine  charming  odes,  which,  if  you'll  look, 

At  home  may,  at  their  counters,  stop  ; 

You'll  find  preseri-ed,  with  a  translation, 

But  that  the  grove,  the  hill,  the  vale, 

By  Bartholinus  in  his  book.^ 

Are  Poesy's  true  wholesale  shop. 

In  short,  'twere  endless  to  recite 

And,  verily,  I  think  they're  right — 

The  various  modes  in  which  men  write. 

For,  many  a  time,  on  summer  eves, 

Some  wits  are  only  in  the  mind, 

Just  at  that  closing  hour  of  light, 

When  bcaus  and  belles  are  round  them  prating;     | 

When,  like  an  Eastern  Prince,  who  leaves 

Some,  when  they  dress  for  dinner,  fiud 

For  distant  war  his  Haram  bow'rs, 

Their  muse  and  valet  both  m  waiting ; 

The  Sun  bids  farewell  to  the  flow'rs, 

And  manage,  at  the  self-same  time. 

Whose  heads  are  sunk,  whose  tears  are  flowing 

T'  adjust  a  neckcloth  and  a  rhyme. 

Mid  all  the  glory  of  his  going ! — 

Even  /  have  felt,  beneath  those  beams, 

Some  bards  tliere  are  who  cannot  scribble 

When  wand'ring  through  the  fields  alone, 

Without  a  glove,  to  tear  or  nibble  ; 

Thoughts,  fancies,  intellectual  gleams. 

Or  a  small  twig  to  whisk  about — 

Which,  far  too  bright  to  be  my  own. 

As  if  the  hidden  founts  of  Fancy, 

Seem'd  lent  me  by  the  Sunny  Power, 

Like  wells  of  old,  were  thus  found  out 

That  was  abroad  at  that  still  hour. 

By  mystic  tricks  of  rhabdomancy. 
Such  was  the  little  feathery  wand," 

If  thus  I've  felt,  how  must  ihey  feel. 

That,  held  forever  in  the  hand 

The  few,  whom  genuine  Genius  warms  ; 

Of  her,'  who  won  and  wore  the  crown 

Upon  whose  souls  he  stamps  his  seal. 

Of  female  genius  in  this  age. 

Graven  with  Beauty's  countless  forms  ; — 

Seem'd  the  conductor,  that  drew  down 

The  few  upon  this  earth,  who  seem 

Those  words  of  lightning  to  her  page. 

Bom  to  give  truth  to  Plato's  dream, 

As  for  myself — to  come,  at  last. 

Since  in  their  thoughts,  as  in  a  glass, 

To  the  odd  way  in  which  /  write — 

Shadows  of  heavenly  things  ai)pear, 

Having  employ'd  these  few  months  past 

Reflections  of  bright  shapes  that  pass 

Chiefly  in  travelling,  day  and  night, 

Through  other  worlds,  above  our  sphere  ! 

I've  got  uito  the  easy  mode. 

Of  rhyming  tlius  along  the  road — 

But  this  reminds  me  I  digress  ; — 

Making  a  way-bill  of  my  pages. 

For  Plato,  too,  produced,  'tis  said. 

Counting  my  stanzas  by  my  stages — 

(As  one,  indeed,  might  almost  guess,) 

'Twi.xt  lays  and  re-lays  no  time  lost — 

His  glorious  visions  all  in  bed.* 

In  short,  in  two  words,  writing  post. 

»  Pleraque  sua  cannina  cquitans  coniposuit.— rARAVlciN. 

*  Sir  Richard  Blaclcmore  was  a  physician,  as  well 

as  a 

Singular. 

bad  poet. 

a  "  Mas  pens6es  dormcnt,  si  je  les  assis." — MoNTAioNt. 

6  Eadem  cur^  nee  niinores  inter  cruciatus  animam 

nfeli- 

Animus  eorum  qui  in  aperto  acre  ambulant,  altoUitur.— 

cem  agenti  fuit  Asbiorno  Prudie  Dauico  heroi,  cum 

Bruso 

Pliot. 

ipsum,  intestina  e.\Ir.thens,  ininianiter  torqueret,  tunc 

enim 

8  The  only  aulhority  I  Itnow  for  imputing  this  practice  to 

novem  carmina  cecinit,  &c. — Bartholin,  de  Causis 

Con- 

Plato  and  Herodotus,  is  a  Latin  Poem  by  M.  de  Valois  on 

tempt.  JUort. 

his  Bed,  in  whiclx  he  says : — 

0  Made  of  paper,  twisted  up  like  a  fan  or  feather. 

Lucifer  llerodotiim  vidit  Vesperque  cnbantem, 

'  Madame  de  Staei. 

Desedit  totos  heic  Plato  sicpe  dies. 

RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


497 


EXTRACT  I. 

Geneva. 
yiew  of  th9  LaUe  of  Geneva  from  the  Jura.^ — Anxious  to 
reach  it  before  the  Sun  tpcnt  down. —  Obliged  to  proceed  on 
Foot — Alps. — Mojit  Blanc. — Egcct  of  the  Scene. 

'TwAS  late — the  sun  had  almost  shoue 
His  last  and  best,  when  I  ran  on, 
Anxious  to  reach  that  splendid  view, 
Before  the  day-beams  quite  withdrew  ; 
And  feeling  as  all  feel,  on  first 

Approaching  scenes,  where,  they  are  told. 
Such  glories  on  their  eyes  will  burst, 

As  youthful  bards  in  dreams  behold. 

'Twas  distant  yet,  and,  as  I  ran, 

Full  often  was  my  wistful  gaze 
Tum'd  to  the  sun,  who  now  began 

To  call  in  all  his  outpost  rays, 
And  form  a  denser  march  of  light, 
Such  as  beseems  a  hero's  flight. 
Oh,  how  I  wish'd  for  Josuua's  pow"r. 
To  stay  the  brightness  of  that  hour  I 
But  no — the  sun  still  less  became, 

Diminish'd  to  a  speck,  as  splendid 
And  small  as  were  those  tongues  of  flame. 

That  on  th'  Apostles'  heads  descended  .' 

'Twas  at  this  instant — while  there  glow'd 

This  last,  intensest  gleam  of  light — 
Suddenly,  through  the  opening  road. 

The  valley  burst  upon  my  sight  I 
That  glorious  valley,  with  its  Lake, 

And  Alps  on  Alps  in  clusters  swelling. 
Mighty,  and  pure,  and  fit  to  make 

The  ramparts  of  a  Godhead's  dwelling. 

I  stood  entranced — as  Rabbins  say 
This  whole  assembled,  gazing  world 

Will  stand,  upon  that  awful  day. 

When  the  Ark's  Light,  aloft  unfurl'd, 

Among  the  opening  clouds  shall  shine, 

Divinity's  own  radiant  sign  ! 

Mighty  Mont  Blanc,  thou  wert  to  rae. 
That  minute,  with  thy  brow  in  heaven, 

As  sure  a  sign  of  Deity 

Aj  e'er  to  mortal  gaze  was  given. 

Nor  ever,  were  I  destined  yet 
To  live  my  life  twice  o'er  again, 


1  Between  Vattay  and  Gex. 

a  In  the  year  17^,  when  the  forces  of  Berne,  Sardinia,  and 
France  laid  siege  to  Geneva,  and  when,  after  a  demonstra 
tion  of  heroism  and  self-devotion,  which  promised  to  rival 
the  feats  of  their  ancestors  in  1602,  against  Savoy,  the  Gene- 


Can  I  the  deep-felt  awe  forget. 

The  dream,  the  trance  that  rapt  me  then  ! 

'Twas  all  that  consciousness  of  pow'r 

And  life,  beyond  this  mortal  hour ; — 

Those  mountuigs  of  the  soul  within 

At  thoughts  of  Ileav'n — as  birds  begin 

By  instinct  in  the  cage  to  rise. 

When  near  their  time  for  change  of  skies  ; — 

That  proud  assurance  of  our  claim 

To  rank  among  the  Sons  of  Light, 
Mingled  with  shame — oh  bitter  shame  ! — 

At  having  risk'd  that  splendid  right,         % 
For  aught  that  earth  through  all  its  range 
Of  glories,  oflbrs  in  exchange  ! 
'Twas  all  this,  at  that  instant  brought, 
Like  breaJting  sunshine,  o'er  my  thought — 
'Twas  all  this,  kindled  to  a  glow 

Of  sacred  zeal,  which,  could  it  shine 
Thus  purely  ever,  man  might  grow, 

Ev'n  upon  earth  a  thing  dirine, 
And  be,  once  more,  the  creature  made 
To  walk  unstain'd  th'  Elysian  shade  I 

No,  never  shall  I  lose  the  trace 

Of  what  I've  felt  in  this  bright  place. 

And,  should  my  spirit's  hope  grow  weak. 

Should  L  oh  God,  e'er  doubt  thy  pow'r, 
This  mighty  scene  again  I'll  seek. 

At  the  same  calm  and  glowing  hour, 
And  here,  at  the  sublimest  shrine 

That  Nature  ever  rear'd  to  Thee, 
Rekindle  all  that  hope  divine, 

And  feel  my  immortahty  ! 


EXTRACT  II. 

Geneva. 
FATE  OF  GENEVA  IN  THE  YEAR  1782. 

A    FRAGMENT. 

Yes — if  there  yet  live  some  of  those. 
Who,  when  this  small  Republic  rose. 
Quick  as  a  startled  hive  of  bees. 
Against  her  leaguering  enemies — "^ 
When,  as  the  Royal  Satrap  shook 
His  well-known  fetters  at  her  gates. 


vans,  either  panic-struck  or  betrayed,  to  the   surprise  of 
all  Europe,  opened  their  gates  to  the  besiegers,  and  sub- 
mitted without  a  strucgle  to  the  extinction  of  their  liber- 
ties.—See  an  account  of  this  Revolution  in  Coxe's  S«-itzer 
land. 


32 


498 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Kv'n  wives  and  mothers  arm'd,  and  took 

Their  stations  hy  their  sons  and  mates ; 
And  on  tliese  walls  there  stood — yet,  no, 

Sliame  to  the  traitors — would  have  stood 
As  firm  a  band  as  o'er  let  flow 

At  Freedom's  base  their  sacred  blood ; 
If  those  yet  live,  who,  on  that  night. 
When  all  were  watching,  girt  for  fight, 
Stole,  like  the  creeping  of  a  pest. 
From  rank  to  rank,  from  breast  to  breast, 
Filling  tlie  weak,  tlie  old  with  fears. 
Turning  tlie  heroine's  zeal  to  tears, — 
Betraying  Honor  to  that  brink, 
Where,  one  step  more,  and  he  must  sink — 
And  quenching  hopes,  which,  though  the  last, 
Like  meteors  on  a  drowning  mast. 
Would  yet  have  led  to  death  more  bright, 
Than  life  e'er  look'd,  in  all  its  light ! 
Till  soon,  too  soon,  distrust,  alarms 

Throughout  th'  embattled  thousands  ran, 
And  the  high  spirit,  late  in  arms. 
The  zeal,  that  might  have  work'd  such  charms. 

Fell,  like  a  broken  talisman — • 
Their  gates,  that  they  had  sworn  should  be 

The  gates  of  Death,  tliat  very  dawn. 
Gave  passage  widely,  bloodlessly, 

To  the  proud  foe — nor  sword  was  drawn, 
Nor  ev'u  one  martyr'd  body  cast 
To  stain  their  footsteps,  as  they  pass'd ; 
But,  of  the  many  sworn  at  night 
To  do  or  die,  some  fled  the  sight. 
Some  stood  to  look,  with  sullen  frown, 

Wliile  some,  in  impotent  despair, 
Broke  their  bright  armor  and  lay  down, 

Weeping,  upon  the  fragments  there  ! — 
li"  '.liose,  I  say,  who  brought  that  shame. 
Thai  blast  upon  Geneva's  name. 
Be  living  still — though  crime  so  dark 

Shall  hang  up,  fix'd  and  unforgiv'n. 
In  History's  page,  tli'  eternal  mark 

For  Scorn  to  pierce — so  help  mo,  Heav'n, 
I  wish  the  traitorous  slaves  no  worse, 

No  deeper,  deadlier  disaster. 
From  all  earth's  ills  no  fouler  curse 

Than  to  have  »*»»«»*«*»*  their  master ! 


-  niliilique  cupidine  pomi 


BecUnal  cxirsus,  auriuiniue  volubile  tollit. 

Ovid. 
'  I   is  oflen  very  difficult  to  distinguish  between  ciouds 
anj  Alps  ;  and  on  Uie  evenins  wlien  I  lirsl  saw  this  mag- 


EXTRACT  III. 

Geneva. 

Fancy  and  Truth. — Hippomenes  and  Atalanta, — Jtlunt  Blanc. 
— Clouds. 

Even  here,  m  this  region  of  wonders,  I  find 
That  light-footed  Fancy  leaves  Truth  far  behind  ; 
Or,  at  least,  like  Hippomenes,  turns  her  astray 
By  the  golden  illusions  he  flings  in  her  way." 

What  a  glory  it  seem'd  the  first  ev'ning  I  gazed 
Mont  Blanc,  like  a  vision,  then  suddenly  raised 
On  the  wreck  of  the  sunset — and  all  his  array 

Of  high-towering  Alps,  touch'd  still  with  a  light 
Far  holier,  purer  than  that  of  the  Day, 

As  if  neaniess  to   Heaven   had  made   them  so 
bright ! 
Then  the  dying,  at  last,  of  these  splendors  away 
From  peak  after  peak,  till  they  left  but  a  ray. 
One  roseate  ray,  that,  too  precious  to  fly. 

O'er   the   Mighty  of  Mountains   still   glowingly 
hung, 
Like  the  last  sunny  step  of  Astr.«a,  wlien  high 

From  the  summit  of  eartlr  to  Elysium  she  spnmg ! 
And  those   infinite  Alps,  stretching    out  from  th© 

sight 
Till  they  mingled  with  Heaven,  now  shorn  of  their 

hght. 
Stood  lofty,  and  lifeless,  and  pale  in  the  sky, 
Lilio  the  ghosts  of  a  Giant  Creation  gone  by  ! 

That  scene — I  have  view'd  it  tliis  evening  again. 
By  the  same  brilliant  light  that  hung  over  it  then — 
The  valley,  the  lake  in  their  tenderest  charms — 
Mont  Blanc  in  Iris   awfuUest  pomp — and   the 
whole 
A  bright  picture  of  Beauty,  reclined  in  the  arras 

Of  Sublimity,  bridegroom  elect  of  her  soul ! 
But  where  are   the   mountains,  that  loimd  me  at 

first. 
One  dazzling  horizon  of  miracles,  burst? 
Those  Alps  beyond  Alps,  without  end  sweUing  on 
Like  the  waves  of  eternity — where  are  iheij  gone  ? 
Clouds — clouds — they  were  nothing  but  clouds,  af- 
ter all  \' 
That  chain  of  Mont  Blancs,  which  my  fancy 
flew  o'er. 
With  a  wonder  that  naught  on  this  earth  can  recall. 
Were  but  clouds  of  the  evening,  and  now  are  no 
more. 

nificent  scene,  the  clouds  were  so  disposed  along  the  whtle 
horizon  as  to  deceive  me  inlo  an  idea  of  llie  sni|)cniious 
e.xtent  of  these  mountains,  which  my  sultsequenl  observa- 
tion was  very  far,  of  course,  from  confirming. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


499 


Wliat   a  picture   of   Life's   young  illusions  1     Oh, 

Niglit, 
Drop  thy  curtaiu,  at  once,  and  hide  all  from  my 

sight 


EXTRACT  IV. 

Milan. 
The  Picture  Gallery. — Albano^s  Rape  of  Proserpine. — Re- 
Jiecliorts. —  Universal  Salcation. — Ahraham  sending  away 
.i^ar^  by  Gacrcino. — Genius. 

Wext  to  tiio  Brpra— ^aw  a  Dance  of  Loves 
By  smooth  Albano  ;'  him,  wliose  pencil  teems 

Witli  CiT^)ids,  numerous  as  in  summer  groves 
The  leaflets  are,  or  motes  in  summer  beams. 

'Tis  for  the  theft  of  Enna's  flow'r''  from  earth, 
Tiiese  urcliins  celebrate  their  dance  of  mirth 
Round  the  green  tree,  like  fays  upon  a  heath — 

Those,  that  are  nearest,  link'd  in  order  bright, 
Clicek  after  cheek,  like  rose-buds  in  a  wreath  ; 
And  those,  more  distant,  showing  from  beneath 

The  others'  wiiigs  their  little  eyes  of  light. 
While  see,  among  th^j  c'.oud^,  their  eldest  brother. 

But  just  flown  up,  tells  witli  a  smile  of  bliss 
This  prank  of  Pluto  to  his  charmed  mother, 

Who  turns  to  greet  the  tidings  with  a  kiss ! 

Well  might  the  Loves  rejoice — and  well  did  they. 

Who  wove  these  fables,  picture,  in  their  weaving. 
That  blessed  truth,  (which,  in  a  darker  day, 

Origen  lost  his  saintsliip  for  believing,)^ — 
That  Love,  eternal  Love,  whose  fadeless  ray 

Nor  time,  nor  death,  nor  sin  can  overcast, 
Ev'n  to  the  deptlis  of  hell  will  find  his  way. 

Arid  sooth,  and  heal,  and  triumph  there  at  last ! 

Gi'EitciNo's  Agar — where  the  bondmaid  hears 

From  Abram's  lips  that  he  and  she  must  part ; 
And  looks  at  him  with  eyes  all  full  of  teai-s. 

That  seem  the  very  last  drops  from  her  heart. 
Exquisite  picture  I — let  me  not  be  told 
Of  minor  faults,  of  coloring  tame  and  cold — 
If  thus  to  conjure  up  a  face  so  fair,' 
So  full  of  sorrow ;  with  the  story  there 
Of  all  that  %voman  suffers,  when  the  stay 
Her  trusting  heart  hath  lean'd  on  falls  away — 

i  This  picture,  the  Agar  of  Guereino,  and  the  Apostles  of 
Guuin,  (the  two  latter  of  which  are  dow  the  chief  ornaments 
of  the  Brera,)  were  formerly  in  the  Palazzo  Zampieri,  at 
Bologna. 

■  that  fair  lield 

Of  Enna,  where  Proserpine,  gathering  flowers, 
Herself  a  fairer  flower,  by  gloomy  Dis  was  gathcr'd. 


If  thus  to  touch  the  bosom's  tend'rest  spring. 
By  calling  into  life  such  eyes,  as  briug 
Back  to  our  sad  remeinbrance  some  of  those 
We've  smiled  and  wept  with,  in  their  joys  and  woes, 
Thus  filling  them  witli  tears,  like  fears  we've  known. 
Till  all  the  pictured  grief  becomes  our  own — 
If  this  bo  deem'd  flie  victory  of  Art — 

If  thus,  by  pen  or  pencil,  fo  lay  bare 
The  deep,  fresh,  living  foimtains  of  tlie  heart 

Before  all  eyes,  be  Genius — it  is  there .' 


EXTRACT  V. 

Padua 

Fancy  and  Reality. — Rain-drops  and  Lakes. —  '.tr,  of  a 
Story. —  tVlicrc  to  place  the  Scene  of  it. — Jn  some  unknown 
Reffion. — Psalmanazars  Imposture  with  respect  to  tlu 
Island  of  Formosa. 

The   more   I've  view'd  this  world,  the   more  I've 
found. 

That,  fill'd  as  'tis  W'ith  scenes  and  creatures  rare. 
Fancy  commands,  within  her  own  bright  round, 

A  world  of  scenes  and  creatures  far  more  fair. 
Nor  is  it  that  her  power  can  call  up  there 

A  single  charm,  that's  not  from  Nature  won. 
No  more  than  rainbows,  in  their  pride,  can  wear 

A  single  hue  unborrow'd  from  the  sun — • 
But  'tis  the  mental  medium  it  shines  through. 
That  lends  to  Beauty  all  its  charm  and  hue  ; 
As  the  same  light,  that  o'er  the  level  lake 

One  dull  monotony  of  lustre  flings. 
Will,  entering  in  the  rounded  rain-drop,  make 

Colors  as  gay  as  those  on  Peris'  wings ! 

And  such,  I  deem,  the  diff'rence  between  real, 
E.visting  Beauty  and  that  form  ideal. 
Which  she  assumes,  when  seen  by  poets'  eyes. 
Like  sunshine  in  the  drop — with  all  those  dyes. 
Which  Fancy's  variegating  prism  supplies. 

I  have  a  story  of  two  lovers,  fill'd 

With  all  the  pure  romance,  the  blissful  sadness. 
And  the  sad,  doubtful  bliss,  that  ever  thriU'd 

Two    young   and    longing   hearts  in  tliat  sweet 
madness. 
But  where  to  choose  the  region  of  my  vision 

In  this  wide,  vulgar  world — what  real  spot 

3  Thee.ttensionof  the  Divine  Love  ultimately  even  to  the 
regions  of  the  damned. 

*  It  is  probable  that  this  fine  head  is  a  portrait,  as  we  find 
it  repeated  in  a  picture  by  Guereino,  which  is  in  the  posses- 
sion of  Signor  Canmccini,  the  brother  of  the  celebrated 
painter  at  Rome. 


500 


MOORE'S    WORKS. 


Can  be  found  out  sufficiently  Elysian 

For  two  sucli  perfect  lovers,  I  know  not. 
Oh  for  some  fair  Formosa,  such  as  he, 
The  younq;  Jew  fabled  of,  in  tli'  Indian  Sea, 
By  nothing,  but  its  name  of  Beauty,  known, 
And  wliich  Queen  Fancy  might  make  all  her  own, 
Her  fairy  kingdom — take  its  people,  land  , 
And  tenements  into  her  own  bright  hands, 
And  make,  at  least,  one  earthly  comer  fit 
For  Love  to  live  in,  pure  and  exquisite  I 


EXTRACT  VI. 

Venice 

The  Fall  of  Venice  not  to  be  Inmentr'l.—  Formt  r  Glory.— Ez- 
pedition  arrainst  Constantinople. — Gitist'nianis.—Rcpjthlie. 
—Characteristics  of  the  old  Government.— On! den  Book.— 
Brazen  J\Iouths.—Spics.—J>Hn^eons.— Present  Desolation. 

Mourn  not  for  Venice — let  her  rest 
In  ruin,  'mong  those  States  unbless'd, 
Beneath  whose  gilded  hoofs  of  pride. 
Where'er  they  trampled,  Freedom  died. 
No — let  us  keep  our  tears  for  them, 

Where'er  they  pine,  whose  fall  hath  been 
Not  from  a  blood-stain'd  diadem, 

Like  tliat  which  deck'd  this  ocean-queen, 
But  from  high  daring  in  tlie  cause 

Of  human  Rights— the  only  good 
And  blessed  strife,  in  wiiicli  man  draws 

His  mighty  sword  on  land  or  flood. 

Mourn  not  for  Venice  ;   though  her  fall 

Be  awful,  as  if  Ocean's  wave 
Swept  o'er  her,  she  deserves  it  all, 

And  Justice  triiV  aplis  o'er  her  grave. 

1  Under  the  Doge  Michaeli.  in  1171. 

a  "  Lafaniilleenti^re  des  Justiniani,  Pane  des  plusillustres 
de  Venise,  voulut  marcher  toiite  entierc  dans  cette  ex- 
p6dition  ;  elle  fournit  cent  conibatlans  ;  cVtait  renouveler 
Texemple  d'une  illuslre  funiille  dc  Rome  :  IcmCme  malhenr 
les  atlendait." — Histoirc  dc  Vcnisc,  par  Daru. 

3  The  celebrated  Fra  Paolo.  TIic  collection  of  Maxims 
which  this  hold  monk  drew  up  at  the  request  of  thi  Venetian 
Government,  for  the  guidance  of  the  Secret  Inquisition  of 
State,  are  so  atrocious  as  to  seem  rather  an  over-charged 
satire  upon  despotism,  than  a  system  of  policy,  seriously 
inculcated,  and  but  too  readily  and  constantly  pursued. 

Th£  spirit,  in  which  these  maxims  of  Father  Paul  are  con- 
ceived, may  be  judged  from  the  instructions  which  he  gives 
for  the  management  of  the  Venetian  colonies  and  provinces. 
Of  the  former  he  says:— "II  fant  les  trailer  comme  des 
animaux  firoces,  les  rogner  les  dents,  et  les  gritfes,  les  hu- 
milier  souvent,  surtonl  leur  fitcr  les  occasions  de  s'aguerrir. 
Du  pain  et  le  baton,  voil.-j  ce  qu'il  leur  faut ;  gardens  I'hu- 
maniie  [pour  une  meiUcure  occasion." 

For  the  treatment  of  the  provinces  he  advises  thus: — 
*■  Ten  Ire  li  depouiller  les  villes  de  leurs  privilt^gcs,  faire  que 


Thus  perish  ev*ry  King  and  State, 

That  run  the  guilty  race  she  ran. 
Strong  but  in  ill,  and  only  great 

By  outrage  against  God  and  man  I 

Tnt«,  her  high  spirit  is  at  rest, 

And  all  those  days  of  glor^'  gone, 
When  the  world's  waters,  east  and  west, 

Beneath  her  white-wing'd  commerce  shone  ; 
When,  with  her  countless  barks  she  went 

To  meet  the  Orient  Empire's  might,^ 
And  her  Giustinianls  sent 

Their  hundred  heroes  to  tha  -^ight.' 

Vanish'd  are  all  her  pomps,  'tis  t /ue. 
But  mourn  thein  not — for  vanish'd,  too, 
^Thanks  to  tliat  Fow'r,  who,  soon  or  late, 
Hurls  to  the  dust  the  guilty  Great,) 
Are  all  the  outrage,  falsehood,  fraud, 

The  chains,  the  rapine,  and  the  blood, 
That  fill'd  each  spot,  at  home,  abroad. 

Where  the  Republic's  standard  stood. 
Desolate  Venice  !  when  I  track 
Thy  haughty  course  through  cent'iies  back ; 
Thy  ruthless  pow'r,  obey'd  but  cursed — 

The  stern  machinery  of  thy  Stale, 
Which  hatred  would,  like  steam,  have  burst, 

Had  stronger  fear  not  cliiU'd  cv'n  hate  ; — 
Thy  pei-fidy,  still  worse  than  aught 
Thy  own  unblushing  Sarpi^  taught; — 
Thy  friendship,  which,  o'er  all  beneath 
Its  shadow,  rain'd  down  dews  of  death  ;* — 
Thy  Oligarchy's  Book  of  Gold, 

Closed  against  humble  Virtue's  uame,^ 
But  open'd  wide  for  slaves  who  sold 

Their  native  laud  to  thee  and  shame  ;* — 
Thy  all-pervading  host  of  spies. 

Watching  o'er  ev'rj^  glance  and  breath, 

les  habitans  s'appauvrisscnt,  et  que  leurs  biens  soient  achett^s 
par  les  Vcniticns.  Ccux  qui,  dans  les  conseils  munieipaux, 
se  montreront  ou  plus  nudacieax  ou  plus  diJvou6s  aux 
int^rfits  de  la  population,  il  faut  les  perdre  ou  les  gagner  a 
quclque  prix  que  ce  soit;  enfin,  s'il  se  tr.nive  dans  les  pro- 
vinces qiielqucs  chefs  de  parti,  il  faiit  les  cxtermincr  sous  tnt 
pritcxte  quelconque,  vidis  en  evUant  dc  rerourir  a  la  justice 
ordinaire.  Que  le  poison  fasse  T office  de  bourreau,  cela  est 
moins  odieux  et  bcaiicoup  plus  profitable.''^ 

*  Conduct  of  Venice  towards  her  allies  and  dependencies, 
particularly  to  unfortunate  Padua. — Fate  of  Francesco  Car- 
rara, for  which  see  Daru,  vol.  ii.  p.  141. 

6  "  A  I'exception  des  trente  citJidins  admis  nu  grand  conseil 
pendant  la  guerre  di  Chiozzi,  il  n'est  pas  arriv6  une  seule 
fois  que  les  talens  ou  les  services  aient  paru  a  cette  noblesse 
orgueilleuse  des  litres  suffisans  pour  s'asseoir  avec  elle.'* — 
Daru. 

"  Among  those  admitted  to  the  honor  of  being  inscribed 
in  the  Libra  d'oro  were  some  families  of  Brescia,  Treviso, 
and  other  places,  whose  only  claim  to  that  distinction  was 
the  zeal  with  which  they  prostrated  themselves  and  their 
country  at  the  feet  of  the  republic. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


501 


Till  nu'n  look'd  in  cacli  others'  eyes, 

To  read  tlicir  cliaiice  of  life  or  death  ; — 

Ttiy  laws,  that  made  a  mart  of  hlood, 
Aiid  Ie;ralized  th'  assassin's  knife  ;' — 

Thy  sunless  cells  beneath  the  flood, 

And  racks,  and  Leads,"  tiiat  burnt  out  life  ;- 

When  I  review  all  this,  and  see 

The  doom  that  now  hath  fall'n  on  thee  ; 

Tliy  nobles,  tow'ring  onco  so  proud, 

Themselves  beneath  the  joke  now  bow'd, — 

A  yoke,  by  no  one  grace  redcem'd. 

Such  as,  of  old,  around  thee  beam'd, 

But  mean  and  base  as  e'er  yet  gall'd 

Earth's  tyrants,  when,  themselves,  enthrall'd,— 

I  feel  the  moral  vengeance  sweet, 

And,  smiling  o'er  the  wreck,  repeat, 

"  Thus  perish  ev'ry  King  and  State, 

'•  That  tread  the  steps  which  Venice  trod, 
*'  Strong  but  in  ill,  and  only  great, 

"  By  outrage  against  man  and  God  i" 


LoTi  Byron's 


EXTRACT  VII. 

Venice. 
Manoirs,    written   hy  himself. — Rrfiections, 
wlien  about  to  read  tiiem. 


Let  me,  a  moment, — ero  with  fear  and  hope 
Of  gloomy,  glorious  things,  these  leaves  I  ope — 

*  By  the  infamous  statutes  of  the  Staii  InfiuisUion,*  not 
only  was  assassination  recognised  as  a  refalar  niodeof  |)ur.- 
ishment,  but  this  secret  power  over  life  ivas  delegated  to 
their  minions  at  a  distance,  with  nearly  as  much  facility  as 
a  license  is  given  under  the  game  laws  of  E~*gl:ind.  The  only 
rsslriction  seems  to  have  been  the  necessity  of  applying  for  a 
new  certificate,  after  every  individual  exerdie  of  the  power 

*  "  Les  prisons  des  plomLs  ;  c'est-a-dirc  ccs  fournaises  ar- 
dcntes  qu'on  avait  distaibufees  en  petites  cellales  sous  les  ter- 
rasses  qui  couvrenl  le  palais." 

3  Psaphon,  in  o-dcr  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  world, 
taught  multitudes  of  birds  to  speak  his  rara'i  and  then  let 
them  fly  away  in  vajious  directions;  whe-ice  the  proverb, 
"  Psaphojiis  axes  '*       ^ 

*  Uruce. 


«  M.  Daru  hai  ^'ven  an  abstract  of  t'lf  v^  ^.tatutes,  from  a 
manuscript  ia  the  Bililiothfiqne  du  IJri,  and  it  is  hardlycred- 
iblc  ihat  such  p.  system  of  treachery  and  cruelty  should  ever 
have  been  esbbajhed  by  any  govemaienl,  or  subniitted  to, 
for  an  instant,  I>y  any  people.  Amo.ig  various  piecautions 
i^ainst  the  intrigues  of  their  own  Nobles,  we  fiinl  the  fol- 
lowing:— "  Pour  persuader  aux  ttiangers  qu'il  ttait  difficile 
ct  dangereux  d'entretenir  quelque  intrigue  secrete  avec  les 
nol)Ies  V6nitiens,  on  imagina  de  faire  avertir  mystiirieuse- 
nientle  Nonce  du  Pape  (afin  q.ie  les  autres  ministres  en  fus- 
sent  inforrn^s)  que  rinquisilion  avait  autoris6  les  patriciens  a 
poignarder  quicooque  essaierait  de  tenter  leur  fidclit.j.  Mais 
cmignant  que  Ics  aniba-'isadeurs  ne  prdtassent  foi  d  fficile- 
«nenl  &  une  diirlib^ration,  qui  en  effet  n'existait  pas,  I'lnqui- 


L. 


As  one,  in  fuiry  talc,  to  whom  the  key 

Of  some  euciianter's  secret  lialls  is  giv*n, 
Doubts,  whil-;  lie  enters,  slowly,  tremblingly, 

If  he  elial!  meet  with  shapes  from  hell  or  hearr. — 
Let  me,  a  moment,  think  what  thousands  live 
O'er  the  wide  earth  tliis  inytunt,  who  would  give. 
Gladly,  whole  sleepless  nights  to  bend  th**  brow 
Over  these  precious  leaves,  as  I  do  now. 
How  all  wlio  know — and  where  is  he  unknown  V 
To  what  far  region  have  his  songs  not  flown. 
Like  Psaphon's  birds.^spe'tking  their  master's  name, 
In  evVy  language,  syllabi*  d  by  Fame  ? — 
How  all,  who've  felt  the  various  spells  combined 
Within  the  circ  d  of  that  niaster-.'nind, — 
Like  spells,  derived  "rem  many  t.  itai,  and  met 
Together  in  some  wondroiis  amulet, — 
Would  burn  to  know  w!:on  first  the  Light  awoke 
In  his  young  soul, — and  if  tho  gleams  that  broke 
From  that  Aurora  of  his  genius,  raised 
Most  pain  or  bli^  in  tiiose  on  whom  they  blazed ; 
Would  love  to  trace  th'  unfoldmg  of  that  powV, 
Which  hatii  grown  ampler,  grander,  ev'ry  hour ; 
And  feel,  in  watching  o'er  his  first  advance, 

As  did  th'  Egyptian  traveller,*  when  he  stood 
By  the  young  Nile,  and  fathom'd  with  his  lance 

The  fast  small  fouutaiiis  of  that  mighty  flood. 

They,   too,   who,  mid    the  scomfid   thoughts    that 
dwell 
In  his  rich  fancy,  tinging  all  its  streams, — 

sition  voulait  prouver  qu'elle  en  6tait  capable.  Elleordonna 
des  recherches  pour  decouvrir  s'il  n'y  avait  pas  dans  Venise 
quelque  exile  au-dessus  du  commun.  qui  eut  rompu  son 
ban  ;  ensuite  un  des  patriciens  qui  ^talent  aux  gages  du 
tribunal,  rccut  la  mission  d'assassiner  ce  malheureux,  et 
Tordre  de  s'en  vanter,  en  disant  qu'il  s'^tait  pori6  a  cet  acte, 
parce  que  ce  banni  6tait  I'agent  d'un  ministre  stranger,  et 
avait  cherch6  a  le  corrompre." — "Reinarquons,"  adds  M. 
Dar_,  "que  ceci  n'est  pas  une  simple  anecdote  ;  c'est  une 
mission  projetie,  d61iberee,  Ocrite  d'avance ;  une  regie  de 
conduite  tracee  par  des  hommes  graves  a  leurs  successeurs, 
et  consign6e  dans  des  statuts." 

The  cases,  in  which  assassination  is  ordered  by  these 
Statutes,  are  as  follow  : — 

"Un  ouvrierde  I'arsenal.un'chef  de  ce  qu'on  appelle  par- 
mi  les  inarins  le  mensirance,  passait-il  au  service  d'une 
puissance  i-trangere:  il  fallait  le  faire  assassiner,  surlout  si 
cViait  un  homme  repute  brave  et  habile  dans  sa  profession." 
{Art.  3,  des  Statuts.) 

"  Avait-il  comiiiis  quelque  action  qu*on  ne  jugeait  pas  a 
propos  de  punir  jurldiqueiucnt,  on  devait  le  faire  empoison- 
ner."  {Art.  H.) 

"  Un  artisan  passait-il  a  I'titranger  eu  y  exportant  quelque 
proced6  de  I'industrie  nationale  :  c'ctait  encore  un  crime 
capital,  que  la  loi  inconnue  ordonnait  de  punir  par  un  assas- 
sinat."     {JJrt.  20.) 

Thefacility  with  which  they  got  rid  of  their  Duke  of  Bed- 
fords,  Lord  Fitzwilliams,  &c.,  was  admirable  :  it  was  thus  ■.— 

"Le  patricien  qui  se  penneuait  le  moindre  propos  contre 
le  gouvernement,  ctait  admonetJ  deux  fois,  et  a  la  troisicme 
noye  comme  incorrigible*^     {Art.  39.) 


502 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


As  if  the  Star  of  Bitterness,  wliich  fell 

On    earth    of  old,'    had    touch'd    them   with    its 
beams, — 
Can  track  a  spirit,  which,  tlioiigh  driven  to  hate, 
From  Nature's  hands  came  kind,  affectionate  ; 
And  which,  ev'n  now,  struck  as  it  is  with  blight. 
Comes  out,  at  times,  in  love's  own  native  lijjht  ; — 
How  gladly  all,  who've  watcli'd  these  struggling  rays 
Of  a  bright,  ruin'd  spirit  through  his  lays, 
Would  here  inquire,  as  from  his  own  frank  lips, 

What  desolating  grief,  what  wrongs  had  di-iven 
That  noble  nature  into  cold  eclipse  ; 

Like  some  fair  orb  tiiat,  once  a  sun  in  heaven, 
And  born,  not  only  to  surprise,  but  cheer 
With  warmth  and  lustre  all  within  its  sphere, 
Is  now  so  quench'd,  that  of  its  grandeur  lasts 
Naught,  but  the  wide,  cold  shadow  which  it  casts ! 


and 


Lventful  volume  !  whatsoe'er  the  change 

Of    scene    and    clime — th'    adventures,    bold 

strange — 
The  griefs — tlie  frailties,  but  too  frankly  told — 
The  loves,  the  feuds  thy  pages  may  unfold. 
If  Truth  with  half  so  prompt  a  hand  unlocks 

His  virtues  as  his  failings,  we  sliall  find 
The  record  there  of  friendships,  held  like  rocks, 

And  enmities,  like  sun-touch'd  snow,  resign'd  ; 
Of  fealty,  cherish'd  without  cliange  or  chill, 
In  tliose  who  eei-ved  him,  young,  and  sen'©  hhn  still ; 
Of  gcn'rous  aid,  giv'n  with  that  noiseless  art 
Which  wakes  not  pride,  to  many  a  wounded  heart ; 
Of  acts^but,  no — not  from  himself  must  aught 

Of  the  brigiit  features  of  his  life  be  sought. 
While  they,  who  court  tho  world,   lilie   Milton's 

cloud,' 
*'  Turn  forth  their  silver  lining"  on  the  crowd, 
This  gifted  Being  wraps  himself  in  night ; 

And,  keeping  all  that  softens,  and  adorns, 
And  gilds  his  social  nature  liid  from  sight. 

Turns  but  its  darkness  on  a  world  he  scorns. 


1  "  And  the  name  of  the  star  is  caUcd  wormwood,  and  the 
tliird  partol'lhc  waters  became  woruuvood.*'— /ini.  viii. 

a  "Did  a  s;il)Ic  cloud 

Turn  forth  her  silver  liuing  ou  ilie  night  1" 

Comus. 
3  In  the  Tribune  at  Florence 
*  In  the  Palazzo  Pitti. 


EXTRACT  VHI. 

Venice. 

Female  Beauty  at  Venice. — .Vw  lonirer  what  it  was  in  the 
Time  of  Titian. — His  Jilistress- — Various  Forms  inichich 
he  has  painted  her. —  Venus. — Divine  and  profavr.  I.nfe. — 
La  Fragilitii  iVJimore. — Paul  Veronese. — His  IVomcn. — 
Marriage  of  Cana. — Character  of  Italian  Beauty. — Ra- 
phael Fontarina. — Modesty. 

Tin"  brave,  thy  learn'd,  have  pass'd  away; 
Thy  beautiful  I — ah,  where  aro  they  ? 
The  forms,  the  faces,  that  once  shone, 

Models  of  grace,  in  Titian's  eve, 
AVliero  are  they  now  ?  while  flowers  live  on 

In  ruin'd  places,  why,  oh  why 

Must  Beauty  thus  with  Glory  die? 
That  maid,  whose  lips  would  still  have  moved, 

Could  art  have  breatiied  a  spirit  tlirough  them ; 
"Whose  varying  charms  her  artist  loved 

I\Iore  fondly  ev'ry  time  he  drew  them, 
(So  oft  beneath  his  touch  they  pass'd. 
Each  semblance  fairer  tiian  the  last ;) 
\Vearing  each  shape  that  Fancy's  range 

Oflt-rs  to  Love — yet  still  the  one 
Fair  idol,  seen  through  every  change. 

Like  facets  of  some  orient  stone, — 

In  each  the  same  bright  image  shown. 
Sometimes  a  Venus,  unarray'd 

But  in  her  beauty^— -sometimes  deck'd 
In  costly  raiment,  as  a  maid 

That  kings  might  for  a  throne  select."* 
Now  high  and  proud,  like  one  who  thought 
The  world  siiould  at  lier  feet  bo  brought ; 
Now,  with  a  look  reproaciiful,  sad,*— 
Unwonted  look  from  brow  so  glad  ; — 
And  telling  of  a  pain  too  deep 
For  tongue  to  speak  or  eyes  to  weep. 
Sometimes,  througli  allegorj-'s  veil. 

In  double  semblance  seen  to  shine. 
Telling  a  strange  and  mystic  tale 

Of  Love  Profane  and  Love  Divine' — 
Akin  in  features,  but  in  heart 
As  far  as  earth  and  heav'n  apart. 
Or  else  (by  quaint  device  to  prove 
The  frailty  of  all  worldly  love) 
Holding  a  globe  of  glass,  as  thin 

As  air-blown  bubbles,  in  her  hand, 
Witii  a  young  Lovo  confined  therein. 

Whoso  wings  seem  waiting  io  expand — 

s  Alludes  particularly  to  the  portrait  of  her  in  the  Sciarra 
coUeciion  at  Rome,  where  the  look  of  mournful  reproach  in 
those  full,  shadowy  eyes,  as  if  she  had  been  unjustly  accus- 
ed of  soniclhing  wrong,  is  exquisite, 

^  The  fine  picture  in  Ihe  Palazzo  Ilorghesc,  called  fit  Is  not 
easy  to  say  why)  "Sacred  ana  Prufane  Love,"  in  which  the 
two  figures,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  fuunt:un,arceviflcut]y 
portraits  of  the  same  person. 


RHYMES  ON 

THE  ROAD.                                        503 

And  telliiig,  by  her  anxioiis  eyes, 

And  thence,  as.  from  her  throne  diffuses 

That,  if  that  frail  orb  breaks,  he  flies !' 

O'er  thoughts  and  looks  so  bland  a  reign, 

That  not  a  thought  or  feeling  loses 

Thou,  too,  with  touch  magnificent, 

Its  freshness  in  that  gentle  chain. 

Paul  of  Verona  ! — where  are  they, 

The  oriental  forms,^  that  lent 

Thy  canvass  such  a  bright  array  ? 
Noble  and  gorgeous  dames,  whose  dress 

Seems  part  of  their  own  loveliness; 

Like  the  sun's  drapeiy,  which,  at  eve, 

EXTRACT  IX. 

The  floating  clouds  around  him  weave 

Of  light  they  from  himself  receive  ! 

Venice. 

Where  is  there  now  the  living  face 

77tc  English  to  be  met  with  evfrywherc.—.Slps  and  Thread- 

needle  Street. —  The  Simplonandthe  Stocks. — Rn/re  for  trav- 

Like  those  that,  in  thy  nuptial  throng,' 

dling. — Blue   Stockings    among  the  fVababecs.— Parasols 

By  their  superb,  voluptuous  grace. 

and  Pyramids. — Mrs.  Hopkins  and  the  Wall  of  China. 

Make  us  forget  the  time,  the  place. 

The  holy  guests  they  smile  among, — 

And  is  there  then  no  earthly  place, 

Till,  in  that  feast  of  heaven-sent  wine. 

Where  we  can  rest,  in  dj-eam  Elysian, 

We  saw  no  miracles  but  thine. 

AVithout  some  cursed,  round  English  face, 

Popping  up  neai   to  break  the  vision? 

If  e'er,  except  in  Painting's  dream, 

'Mid  northern  lakes,  \A\d  southern  vines, 

There  bloom'd  such  beauty  here,  'tis  gone, — 

Unholy  cits  we're  doom'd  to  meet  ; 

Gone,  like  the  face  that  in  the  stream 

Nor  highest  Alps  nor  Apennines    ■ 

Of  Ocean  for  an  instant  shone, 

Are  sacred  from  Threadneedle  Street! 

When  Venus  at  that  mirror  gave 

A  last  look,  ere  she  left  the  wave. 

If  up  the  Siniplon's  path  we  wind, 

And  though,  among  the  crowded  ways, 

Fancying  we  leave  this  world  behind, 

We  oft  are  startled  by  the  blaze 

Such  pleasant  sounds  salute  one's  ear 

Of  eyes  that  pass,  with  fitful  light. 

As — "  Baddish  news  from  'Change,  my  dear — 

Ijlie  fire-flics  on  the  wiug  at  night,* 

"  The  Funds — (phew,  curse  this  ugly  hill) — 

'Tis  not  tliat  nobler  beauty,  giv'n 

*'  Are  low'ring  fast,— (what,  higher  still  ?)— 

To  show  how  angels  look  m  heav'n. 

"And  —  (zooks,    we're    mounting    up    to  heav- 

Ev'n in  its  shape  most  pure  and  fair, 

en  !)- 

'Tis  Beauty,  witii  but  half  her  zone, — 

"  Will  soon  bo  down  to  sixty-seven." 

All  that  can  warm  the  Sense  is  there. 

But  tlie  Soul's  deeper  charm  is  flown: — 

Go  where  wo  may — rest  where  we  will, 

'Tis  RAruAEL's  Fornariua, — warm. 

Eternal  London  haunts  us  still. 

Luxuriant,  arch,  but  unrefined  ; 

The  trash  of  Almack's  or  Fleet  Ditch — 

A  flower,  round  which  the  noontide  swarm 

And  scarce  a  pin's  head  difference  lohick — 

Of  young  Desires  may  buzz  and  wind. 

Mixes,  tiiough  ev'n  to  Greece  we  run, 

But  where  true  Love  no  treasure  meets, 

With  every  rill  from  Helicon  ! 

Worth"  hoarding  in  his  hive  of  sweets. 

And,  if  this  rage  for  travelling  lasts, 

If  Cockneys,  of  all  sects  and  castes, 

Ah,  no, — for  this,  and  for  the  hue 

Old  maidens,  aldermen,  and  squires, 

Upon  the  rounded  cheek,  which  tells 

Will  leave  their  puddings  and  coal  fires. 

How  fresh,  within  the  heart,  this  dew 

To  gape  at  tilings  in  foreigii  lands, 

Of  Love's  unrifled  sweetness  dwells. 

No  soul  among  them  understands  ; 

We  must  go  back  to  our  own  Isles, 

If  Blues  desert  their  coteries, 

Where  Modesty,  which  here  but  jjives 

To  show  off  'mong  the  Wahabees ; 

A  rare  and  transient  grace  to  smiles, 

If  neither  sex  nor  age  controls. 

In  the  heart's  holy  centre  lives ; 

Nor  fear  of  Mamelukes  forbids 

1  This  fanciful  allegory  is  the  subject  o'  a  picture  by  Ti- 

women maybe  regarded  tis  pretty  close  imitations  of  the 

tian,  in  the  possession  of  the  Marquis  Cambian  at  Turin, 

living  models  which  Venice  afforded  in  his  time. 

'    whose  collection,  though  small,  contains  some  beautiful 

a  The  Marriage  of  Cana. 

specimens  of  all  the  great  masters. 

*  "  Certain  it  is  (as  Arthur  Young  trnly  and  feelincly  says) 

2  As  Paul  Veronese  gave  but  little  into  the  beau  ideal,  his 

one  now  and  then  meets  with  terrible  eyes  in  Italy." 

504 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Young  ladies,  with  pink  parasols, 

To  glide  among  the  Pyramids' — 
Why,  tlien,  farewell  all  hope  to  find 
A  spot,  that's  free  from  London-kind  ! 
Who  knows,  if  to  the  West  we  roam, 
But  we  may  find  some  Biue  "  at  home" 

Among  the  Blacka  of  Carolina — 
Or,  flying  to  the  Eastward,  see 
Some  Mrs.  Hopkins,  taking  tea 
And  toast  upon  the  Wall  of  Cliina , 


EXTRACT  X. 


Mantua. 


Verses  of  Hippolyta  to  her  Husband. 

TuEY  tell  me  thou'rt  the  favor'd  guest' 

Of  every  fair  and  brilliant  throng ; 
No  wit,  like  thine,  to  wake  the  jest, 

No  voice  like  thine,  to  breathe  the  song. 
Aud  none  could  guess,  so  gay  thou  art, 
Tliat  thou  and  I  are  far  apart. 
Alas,  alas,  how  diiF'rcnt  flows. 

With  thee  and  me  tlie  time  away. 
Not  that  I  wish  thee  sad,  heaven  knows — 

Still,  if  thou  canst,  be  light  and  gay ; 
I  only  know  that  without  thee 
The  sun  himself  is  dark  for  me. 

Do  I  put  on  the  jewels  rare 

Thou'st  always  loved  to  see  me  wear? 

Do  I  perfume  the  locks  that  thou 

So  oft  hast  braided  o'er  my  brow, 

Thus  deck'd,  through  festive  crowds  to  run, 

And  all  th'  assembled  world  to  see, — 
All  but  the  one,  the  absent  one. 

Worth  more  tlian  present  worlds  to  me  I 
No,  nothing  cheers  this  widow'd  heart — 
My  only  joy,  from  thee  apart. 
From  thee  thyself,  is  sitting  hours 

And  days,  before  thy  pictured  form — > 
That  dream  of  thee,  which  Raphael's  pow'rs 

Have  made  with  all  but  life-breath  warm  ! 
And  as  I  smile  to  it,  and  say 
The  words  I  speak  to  thee  iu  play, 

1  It  was  pink  spencers,  I  believe,  that  Ihe  imagination  of 
the  French  traveller  conjureti  up. 

2  Utque  ferunt  la-lus  convivia  lita 

Et  celebras  lenlis  otia  mista  jocis  ; 
Aut  cilhara  jpstivuni  attenuas  cuntuquc  calorem. 

Hei  niihi,  quani  disparnunc  mea  vita  tux ! 
Nee  milii  displiceantqua;  sunt  tibi  grata  ;  scd  ipsa  est, 

Te  sine,  lu.t  oculis  pene  inimica  meis. 
Non  auro  aut  gen.ma  caput  exornare  nitenti 

Me  juval,  aut  Arabo  spargerc  odore  comas : 


I  fancy  from  their  silent  frame. 
Those  eyes  and  lips  give  back  the  same ; 
And  still  I  gaze,  and  still  they  keep 
Smiling  thus  on  me — till  I  n'eep ! 
Our  little  boy,  too,  knows  it  well. 

For  there  I  lead  him  ever)'  day, 
And  teach  liis  lisping  lips  to  tell 

The  name  of  one  that's  far  away. 
Forgive  me,  love,  but  thus  alone 
My  time  is  cheer'd,  while  thou  art  gone. 


EXTRACT  XI. 

Florence. 
No — 'tis  not  the  region  where  Love's  to  be  found — 
They  have  bosoms  that  sigh,  they  have  glances 
that  rove, 
They  have    language  a  Sappho's   own   lip   might 
resoimd, 
When  she  warbled  her  best — but  they've  nothing 
like  Love. 

Nor  is't  that  pure  sentiment  only  they  want, 

Which    Heav'n    for  the  mild    and    the    tranquil 
hath  made — 
Calm,  wedded  affection,  that  home-rooted  plant. 
Which   sweetens   seclusion,   and   smiles   in   the 
shade ; 

That  feeling,  which,  after  long  years  have  gone  by. 
Remains,  like  a  portrait  we've  sat  for  iu  youth, 

Where,  ev'n  though  tlie  flush  of  the  colors  may  fly, 
The  features  still  live,  in  their  first  smiling  truth ; 

Tliat  union,  where  all  that  iu  Woman  is  kind, 
AVith  all  tliat  iu  Man  most  ennoblingly  tow'rs, 

Grow  wreath'd  into  one — like  the  column,  combined 
Of  the  strength  of  the  shaft  and  the  capital's 
Jtow'rs. 

Of  this — bear  ye  witness,  ye  wives,  ev'rywhere. 
By  the  Arno,  the  Po,  by  all  Italy's  streams— 

Of  this  heart-wedded  love,  so  delicious  to  share, 
Not    a    husband  hath   even  one  glimpse  in  his 
dreams. 

Non  celebres  ludos  fastis  spectare  diebus. 

*  *  «  * 

Sola  tuos  vultus  referens  Raphaelis  imago 

Picta  manu,  curas  allevat  usque  meas. 
Iluic  ego  delicias  Hicio,  arrideoque  jocorquc, 

Alloquor  et  tanquam  reddcre  verba  queat. 
Asatnsu  nutuque  niihi  smpe  ilia  videtur 

Dicere  velle  aliquid  et  tua  verba  loqui. 
Agnoscit  balboque  palrem  puer  ore  salutat 

Hoc  solor  longas  decipioque  dies. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


505 


But  it  IS  not  this,  only  ;— bora  full  of  the  light 
Of  a  sun,  from  whoso  fount  the  luxuriant  festoons 

Of  theso  beautiful  valleys  drink  lustre  so  bright, 
/hat,  beside  him,  our  suns  of  the  north  aro  but 
moons, — 

We  might  fancy,   at  least,  like  their  climate  they 
buru'd ; 
And  that  Love,  though  unused,  in  this  region  of 
spring, 
To  be  thus  to  a  tame  Household  Deity  turn'd, 
AVould  yet  be  all  soul,  when  abroad  on  the  wing. 

And  there  may  be,  there  are,  those  e.xplosions  of 
heart, 
Which  burst,  when  the  senses  have  first  caught 
the  flame ; 
Such  tils  of  the  blood  as  those  climates  impart. 
Where  Love  is  a  sun-stroke,  tliat  maddens  the 
f.'ame 

But  that  Passion,  which  springs  in  the  depth  of  the 
soul ; 

Whose  beginnings  are  virginly  pure  as  the  source 
Of  some  small  mountain  rivulet,  destined  to  roll 

As  a  torrent,  ere  long,  losing  peace  in  its  course — 

A  course,  to  which  Modesty's  struggle  but  lends 
A   more   headlong   descent,  without   chance   of 
recall ; 

But  which  Modesty  ev'n  to  the  last  edge  attends. 
And,  then,  throws  a  halo  of  tears  round  its  fall ! 

This  exquisite  Passion — ay,  exquisite,  even 
Mid  the  mm  its  madness  too  often  hath  made, 

As  it  keeps,  even  then,  a  bright  trace  of  the  heaven. 
That  heaven  of  Virtue  from  which  it  has  stray'd — 

This  entireness  of  love,  %vhich  can  only  be  found. 
Where    Woman,    like    something    that's     holy, 
watch'd  over. 

And  fenced,  from  her  childhood,  with  purity  round, 
Comes,  body  and  soul,  fresh  as  Spring,  to  a  lover  ! 

%Miere   not   an   eye   answers,   where   not  a  hand 
presses. 
Till  spirit  with  spirit  in  sympathy  move  ; 
And  the  Senses,  asleep  in  their  sacred  recesses. 
Can   only   be   reach'd    through   the   temple  of 
Love ! — 

This  perfection  of  Passion — how  can  it  be  found. 
Where  the  mystery  nature  hath  hung  round  the 
tie 


1  Bergamo — the  birthplace,  it  is  saii    jf  Harlequin. 


By  which  souls  are  together  attracted  and  bound. 
Is  laid  open,  forever,  to  heart,  ear,  and  eye  ; — 

Where  naught  of  that  innocent  doubt  can  exist, 
That    ignorance,    even    than    knowledge    more 
bright, 
Which   circles  the   young,  like  the  morn's  sunny 
mist,  ^ 

And  curtains  them   round  in  their  own   native 
light  ;- 

Where  Experience  leaves  nothing  for  Love  to  reveal, 
Or  for  Fancy,  in  visions,  to  gleam  o'er  the  thought ; 

But  the  trutlis  \yhich,  alone,  we  would  die  to  conceal 
From  the  maiden's  young  heart,  are  the  onli/  ones 
taught. 

No,  n,'    Vis  not  here,  howsoever  we  sigh, 

Whether  purely  to  Hymen's  one  planet  we  pray. 

Or  adore,  like  Sabffians,  each  light  of  Love's  sky. 
Here  is  not  the  region,  to  fix  or  to  stray. 

For  faithless  in  wedlock,  in  gallantry  gross. 
Without  honor  to  guard,  or  reserve  to  restrain. 

What,  have  they,  a  husband  can  mourn  as  a  loss? 
What  have  they,  a  lover  can  prize  as  a  gain  ? 


EXTRACT  Xn. 

Florence. 
.Music  in  Italy. — Disappointed  hy  it. — Recollections  of  other 
Times  and  Friends. — Daltan. — Sir  John  Stevenson. — His 
Daughter. — Musical  Evenings  together. 


If  it  be  true  that  Music  reigns,  • 

Supreme,  in  Italy's  soft  shades, 
'Tis  like  that  Hannony,  so  famous, 
Among  the  spheres,  which,  He  of  Samos 
Declared,  had  such  transcendent  merit, 
Tliat  not  a  soul  on  earth  could  hear  it ; 
For,  far  as  I  have  come — from  Lakes, 
AVhose  sleep  the  Tramontana  breaks. 
Through  Milan,  and  that  land,  which  gave 

The  Hero  of  the  rainbow  vest' — 
By  MiNcio's  banks,  and  by  that  wave,' 

Which  made  Vero.xa's  bard  so  bless'd — 
Places,  that  (like  the  Attic  shore. 

Which  rung  back  music,  when  the  sea 
Struck  on  its  marge)  should  be,  all  o'er, 

Thrilling  alive  with  melody — 
I've  heard  no  music — not  a  note 
Of  such  sweet  native  airs  as  float, 

3  Tie  -  Hgo  di  Garda. 


506 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


In  ray  own  land,  among  ttie  throng, 
And  ppeak  our  nation's  sou!  for  song 

Nay,  cv*n  in  liigher  walks,  where  Art 
Performs,  as  'twere,  the  gardener's  part. 
And  richer,  if  not  sweeter,  makes 
The  flow'rs  she  from  the  wild-hedge  takes — 
Kv'n  there,  no  voice  hath  charm'd  my  car, 

No  taste  hath  won  my  perfect  praise, 
Like  tliine,  dear  friend^ — long,  truly  dear — 

Thine,  and  thy  loved  Olivia's  lays. 
She,  always  beautiful,  and  growing 

Still  more  so  cv'ry  note  she  sings — 
Like  an  inspired  young  Sibyl,'  glowing 

With  her  own  bright  imaginings  1 
And  thou,  most  worthy  to  be  tied 

In  music  to  her,  as  in  love. 
Breathing  that  language  by  her  side, 

All  other  language  far  above. 
Eloquent  Song — whose  tones  and  words 
In  ev'ry  heart  find  answering  chords  1 

How  happy  once  the  hours  we  pass'd. 

Singing  or  list'ning  all  day  long. 
Till  Time  hself  seem'd  changed,  at  last, 

To  music,  and  we  lived  in  song! 
Turning  the  leaves  of  H.wdn  o'er. 

As  quick,  beneath  her  master  hand. 
They  open'd  all  tlieir  brilliant  store, 

Like  chambers,  touch'd  by  fairy  wand ; 
Or  o'er  the  page  of  Mozart  bending. 

Now  by  his  airy  warblings  cheer'd, 
Now  in  his  mournful  Requiem  blending 

Voices,  through  which  the  heart  was  heard. 

And  still,  to  lead  our  ev'ning  choir. 

Was  He  invoked,  thy  loved-one's  Sire' — 

He,  wh^,  if  aught  of  grace  there  bo 

In  tho  wild  notes  I  write  or  sing. 
First  smooth'd  their  links  of  harmony. 

And  lent  them  charms  they  did  not  bring  ; — 
He,  of  the  gentlest,  simplest  heart, 
AVith  whom,  employ'd  in  his  sweet  art, 
(That  art,  which  gives  this  world  of  oure 

A  notion  liow  they  speak  in  heav'n,) 
I've  pass'd  more  bright  and  charmed  hours 

Than  all  earth's  wisdom  could  have  giv'n. 
Oh  happy  days,  oh  early  friends. 

How  Life,  since  then,  hath  lost  its  flow'rs  ! 


1  Edward  Tuite  Dalton,  the  first  husband  of  Sir  John 
glcvcnson's  tlauybtt^r,  the  late  Marcliioness  of  Ileadfort. 

^  Such  as  those  of  Donienichino  in  Ihc  Palazzo  Borghese 
at  Ilio  Capitol,  &c. 

3  Sir  Jotin  Stevenson. 

<  The  "  Conjunition  de  Nicolas  Gabrini.  dit  de  Rienzi,"  by 
the  Jesuit  Du  Cerceau,  is  chiefly  taken  from  the  much  more 


But  yet — though  Time  some  foliage  rends, 

The  stem,  the  Friendship,  still  is  ours  ; 
And  long  may  it  endure,  as  green. 
And  fresh  as  it  hath  always  been ! 

How  I  have  wander'd  from  my  theme  I 

But  where  is  he,  that  could  return 
To  such  cold  subjects  from  a  dream, 

Through  which  these  best  of  feelings  buru  7 
Not  all  the  works  of  Science,  Art, 

Or  Genius  in  this  world  are  wortli 
One  genuine  sigh,  that  from  tho  heart 

Friendship  or  Love  draws  freshly  forth. 


EXTRACT  XIII. 

Rome. 

Rejlcctions  on  rending  Du  Ccrccfin^s  ,'Jccount  of  the  Con 
spiractj  of  Rieit:i,  in  1347.* — The  Jilectiiig  of  the  Con 
spirators  on  the  JViffltt  of  the  Wlh  of  .M^^' —Their  Pro- 
cession in  the  Morning  to  the  Capitol. — Ricn:   i  Speech. 

'TwAS  a  proud  moment — ev'n  to  hear  the  words 

Of    Tnith    and    Freedom    'mid    these    templea 
breathed. 
And  see,  once  more,  tho  Forum  shine  with  swords, 

lu  the  Republic's  sacred  name  unsheath'd — 
That  glimpse,  that  vision  of  a  brighter  day. 

For  his  dear  Rome,  must  to  a  Roman  be. 
Short  as  it  was,  worth  ages  pass'd  away 

In  the  dull  lapse  of  hopeless  slavery. 

'Twas  on  a  night  of  INIay,  beneath  that  moon. 
Which  had,  through  many  an  age,  seen  Time  untime 
The  strings  of  this  Great  Empire,  till  it  fell 
From  his  rude  hands,  a  broken,  silent  shell — 
The  sound  of  the  church  clock,''  near   Adrian's 

Tomb, 
Summon'd  the  w-arriors,  who  had  risen  for  Rome, 
To   meet   unarm'd, — with   none    to    watch    them 

there. 
But  God's  own  eye, — and  pass  the  night  in  prayer. 
Holy  beginning  of  a  holy  cause. 
When  lieroes,  girt  for  Freedom's  combat,  pause 
Before  high  Heav'n,  and,  humble  in  their  might. 
Call  down  its  blessing  on  that  coining  tight. 


authentic  work  of  Fortifiocca  on  the  same  sabjcct.    Rienzi 
was  the  son  of  a  laundress. 

f*  It  is  not  easy  to  discover  what  church  is  meant  by  Du 
Cerceau  here : — "  II  fit  crier  dans  les  rues  de  Rome,  a  son  de 
trompc,  que  chacun  eut  a  se  trouver,  sans  armes,  ta  nuitdu 
lendemain,  di.\-neuvieme,  dans  1  iglise  du  chateau  de  Saint- 
Ange,  au  son  de  la  cloche,  atin  de  pourvoir  au  Bon  E'lat." 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


507 


At  dawn,  iu  arms,  went  forth  tlie  patriot  band ; 
And,  as  the  breeze,  fresh  from  the  Tuier,  fanuM 
Their  gilded  gonfalons,  all  eyes  conid  see 

The  palm-tree    there,    the   sword,   the    keys  of 
Heav'n' — 
T}T)03  of  the  justice,  peace,  and  liberty. 

That  were  to  bless  thorn,  when  their  chains  were 
riv'n. 
On  to  the  Capitol  the  pageant  moved. 

While  many  a  Shade  of  other  times,  (liat  stilt 
Around  that  grave  of  grandeur  sighing  roved, 

Hung  o'er  their  footsteps  up  the  Sacred  Hill, 
And  heard  its  mournful  echoes,  as  the  last 
High-minded  heirs  of  the  Republic  pass'd. 
'Twas    then    that    thou,    their    Tribune,"    (name, 

which  brought 
Dreams  of  lost  glory  to  each  patriot's  thought,) 
Didst,  with  a  spirit  Rome  in  vain  shall  seek 
To  wake  up  in  her  sons  again,  thus  speak: — 
"  Romans,  look  round  you — on  this  sacred  place 

"  There  once  stood  shrines,  and  gods,  and  godlike 
men. 
"  What  see  you  now  ?  what  solitary  trace 

"  Is  left  of  all,  that  made  Rome's  glory  then? 
"  The  shrines  are  sunk,  the  Sacred  Mount  bereft 

"  Ev'n  of  its  name — and  nothing  now  remains 
"  But  the  deep  mem'ry  of  that  glory,  left 

"  To  whet  our  pangs  and  aggravate  our  chains  ! 
"  But  shall  this  bo  ? — our  sun  and  sky  the  same, — 

*'  Treading  the  very  soil  our  fathere  trod, — 
"  What  witli'ring  curse  hath  fall'n  on  soul  and  frame, 

"  What  visitation  hath  there  come  from  God, 
*'  To  blast  our  strength,  and  rot  us  into  slaves, 
*'  Hcrcy  on  our  great  forefathers'  glorious  gi-aves? 
"  It  cannot  be — rise  up,  ye  Mighty  Dead, — 

"  If  we,  the  living,  are  too  weak  to  crush 
"  These  tyrant  priests,  that  o'er  your  empire  tread, 

"  Till  all  but  Romans  at  Rome's  lameness  blush  ! 

"  Happy,  PAL>rYRA,  in  thy  desert  domes, 

'•  Wiiere  only  date-trees  sigh  and  serpents  hiss ; 

**  And  thou,  whose  pillars  are  but  silent  homes 
*'  For  the  stork's  brood,  superb  Persepolis  ! 


1  "Les  gentilshonimes  conjures  portaient  ilcvant  lui  trois 
6temlarts.  Nicolas  Guallato,  surnomra6  le  bon  disciir,  pnr- 
lait  Ic  premier,  qui  6tail  de  couleur  rouge,  et  plus  grand  que 
les  autres.  On  y  voyait  des  c;u-acieres  d'or  avec  une  fenimc 
assise  sur  deux  lions,  tenant  d'une  main  le  globe  du  iiionde, 
et  de  I'aulre  une  Palme  pour  repr6senter  la  ville  dft  Rome. 
C'6taitlcConf;iIandc  la  Libert^.  Le  socond,  a  fonds  blanr, 
avec  un  Si.  Paul  tenant  de  la  droite  une  Ep--e  nue  ti  de  la 
gauche  la  conronnc  de  Justice,  tlait  porttr  par  Etienne  Mag- 
nacHCcia,  notaire  aposlolique.  Dans  le  troisieme,  St.  Pierre 
avait  en  main  Ics  clefs  de  la  Concorde  et  de  la  Paix.  Tout 
ccla  insinuait  le  dessein  de  Rienzi.  qui  6tait  de  r'Staldir  la 
liberty,  la  justice,  et  la  paix." — Dc  Cerceau,  liv.  ii. 

s  Rienzi. 

*  The  fineCanzoneof  Petrarch,  beginning  "  Spirtogentil," 


"Thrice  happy  both,  that  your  extinguish'd  race 
"  Have  left  no  embers — no  lialf-living  trace — 
'*  No  slaves,  to  crawl  around  the  once  proud  spot, 
"  Till  past  renown  in  present  sliame's  forgot. 
"  While  Rome,  the  Queen  of  all,  whose  very  wrecks, 

"  If  lone  and  lifeless  through  a  desert  hurPd, 
"  Would  wear  more  true  magnificence  than  decks 

*'  Th*  assembled  thrones  of  all  th'  existing  world — 
"  Rome,  Rome  alone,  is  haunted,  stain'd,  and  cui-scd, 

"  Through  ev'ry  spot  lier  princely  Tideii  laves, 
"  By  living  Inmian  things — the  deadliest,  woi-st, 

*'  Tliis  eartli  engenders — tyrants  and  their  slaves  ! 
"  And    we— oh    shame  I — we,  who    have   ponder'd 
o'er 

"  Tiio  patriot's  lesson  and  the  poet's  lay  ;^ 
"  Have  mounted  up  the  streams  of  ancient  lore, 

"  Tracking  our  country's  glories  all  the  way — 
"  Ev'n  we  have  tamely,  basely  kiss'd  the  ground 

"  Before  that  Papal  Power, — that  Ghost  of  Her, 
"  The  World's  Imperial  mistress — sitting,  crown'd 

"  And  ghastly,  on  her  mould'ring  sepulciire  I"* 

"  But  this  is  past . — too  long  have  lordly  priests 
"  And  priestly  lords  led  us,  with  all  our  pride 
"  Witli'ring  about  us — like  devoted  beasts, 

"  Dragg'd  to  the  shrine,  with  faded  garlands  tied. 
"  'Tis  o'er, — the  dawn  of  our  deliv'rance  brealts  I 
"  Up  from  his  sleep  of  centuries  awakes 
'*  The  Genius  of  the  Old  Republic,  free 
*'  As  fii"st  he  stood,  in  chainless  majesty, 
"  And  sends  his  voice  through  ages  yet  to  come, 
"  Proclaiming  RoaiE,  Rome,  Rome,  Eternal  Rome  !'* 


is  supposed,  by  Voltaire  and  others,  to  have  been  addressed 
to  Rienzi;  but  there  is  much  mure  evidence  of  its  liaving 
heun  written,  as  Ginguen6  asserts,  to  the  yonng  Stephen 
Colonna,  on  his  being  created  a  Senator  of  Rome.  That 
Petrarch,  however,  was  lilled  with  high  and  patriotic  hopes 
by  the  Prst  measures  of  this  exiraordinary  man,  appears 
troiii  one  of  his  letters,  quoted  by  Da  Cerceau,  where  he 
says, — "Pour  tout  dire,  en  un  mol.  j'atteste,  non  comme 
lecteur,  mais  comme  t6moin  oculaire,  qu'il  nous  a  ramene 
la  justice,  la  paix.  la  bonne  foi,  la  stcuritr,  et  tous  les  autres 
vestiges  de  I'ilgc  dVir." 

*  This  image  is  borrowed  from  Hobhes,  ^vhose  words  are, 
as  near  as  I  can  recollect : — "'For  what  is  the  Papacy,  but 
the  Ghost  of  the  old  Ronian  Empire,  siuing  crowned  on  the 
grave  thereof?" 


508 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


EXTRACT  XIV. 

Rome. 
I'ra^mcnt  of  a  Dream. —  The  ^r cat  Painters  supposed  to  be 
Jlngicians. —  The  Bcgivniv^s  of  the  Jlrt.— Gildings  on  the 
Cilorics  and  Draperies.—' Tinpropcmcnts  under  Giotto,  «S'c. 
—  The  first  Dawn  of  the  true  Stijle  in  Jilasaccio. — Studied 
bji  ait  the  great  j^rtists  who  followed  him. — Leonardo  da 
S'inei,  with  whom  commenced  the  Golden  .Sge  of  Painting. 
-  His  Knowledge  of  Mathematics  and  of  Music. — His 
female  Heads  nil  lH.e  each  other. —  Triangular  Faces.— 
Portraits  of  Mona  Lisa,  S,'C. —  Picture  of  Vanity  and 
Modesty.— His  chef-d'tEuvrc,  the  Last  Supper.— Faded  and 
almost  effaced. 

Fill'd  with  the  wonders  I  had  seen, 

In  Rome's  stupendous  shrines  and  halls, 
I  felt  the  Veil  of  sleep,  serene, 
Come  o'er  the  mem'ry  of  each  scene, 

As  tivilight  o'er  the  landscape  falls. 
Nor  was  it  slumber,  sound  and  deep, 

Bat  such  as  suits  a  poet's  rest — 
Tiiat  sort  of  thiu,  transparent  sleep, 

Tlirough  which  liis  day-dreams  shine  the  best. 
Methought  upon  a  plain  I  stood. 

Where  certain  wondrous  men,  'twas  said, 
With  strange,  mirac'lous  pow'r  endued, 

Were  coming,  each  in  turn,  to  shed 
His  arts'  illusions  o'er  the  siglit, 
And  call  up  miracles  of  light. 
The  sky  above  this  lonely  place, 

Was  of  that  cold,  uncertain  hue, 
The  canvass  wears,  ere,  warm'd  apace, 

Its  bright  creation  dawns  to  view. 

But  soon  a  glimmer  from  the  east 

Proclaim'd  the  first  enchantments  nigh  ;^ 
And  as  the  feeble  light  increased. 

Strange  figures  moved  across  the  sky, 
With  golden  glories  deck'd,  and  streaks 

Of  gold  among  their  garments'  dyes  ;* 
And  life's  resemblance  tinged  their  cheeks. 

But  naught  of  life  was  in  tlieir  eyes  ; — 
Like  the  fresh-painted  Dead  one  meets, 
Borno  slow  along  Rome's  mournful  streets. 


1  The  paintings  of  those  arlists  who  were  inlroduced  into 
Venice  and  Florence  from  Greece. 

3  iMargarilone  of  Orezao,  who  was  a  pupil  and  imitator  nf 
the  Greeks,  is  said  to  have  Invcnlod  this  art  of  gilding  the 
ornaments  of  pictures,  a  pnicticcj  which,  thoujih  it  gave  way 
lo  a  purer  taste  at  the  beginning  of  the  IGth  century,  was 
still  occasionally  used  by  many  of  the  preat  masters:  as  by 
Raphael  in  the  ornaments  of  the  Fornarina,  and  by  Rubens 
not  unfrequently  in  glories  and  flames. 

3  Cimabue.  Giotto.  &c. 

*  The  words  of  Masaccio. — For  the  character  of  this 
powerful  and  original  genius,  see  Sir  Joslma  Reynolds' 
twelfth  discourse.  His  celebrated  frescoes  arc  in  the  church 
of  St.  Piciro  del  Carmine,  at  Florence. 


But  soon  these  figures  passed  away ; 

And  forms  succeeded  to  their  place, 
With  less  of  gold  in  their  array, 

But  shining  with  more  natural  grace, 
And  all  could  see  the  charming  wauds 
Had  pass'd  into  more  gifted  hauds.^ 

Among  tbese  visions  there  was  one,* 
Surpassing  fair,  on  which  the  sun, 
That  instant  ris'n,  a  beam  let  fall. 

Which  through  the  dusky  twilight  trembled, 
And  reach'd  at  length  the  spot  where  all 

Those  great  magicians  stood  assembled. 
And  as  they  turn'd  tlieir  heads,  to  view 

Tiie  sinning  lustre,  I  could  trace 
The  bright  varieties  it  tlirew 

On  each  uplifted  studying  face  ;^ 
While  many  a  voice  with  loud  acclaim, 
Gall'd  forth,  "  Masaccio"  as  the  name 
Of  him,  th'  Enchanter,  who  had  raised 
This  miracle,  on  which  all  gazed. 

'Twas  daylight  now — the  sun  had  ris'n. 

From  out  the  dungeon  of  old  Night, — 
Like  the  Apostle,  from  his  prison 

Led  by  the  Angel's  hand  of  light ; 
And — as  the  fetters,  when  that  ray 
Of  glory  reach'd  them,  dropp'd  away,® 
So  fled  the  clouds  at  torn  h  of  day  ! 
Just  then,  a  bearded  sage''  came  forth. 

Who  oft  in  thoughtful  dream  would  stand, 
To  trace  upon  the  dusky  earth 

Strange  learned  figures  with  his  wand  f 
Aud  oft  he  took  the  silver  lute* 

His  little  page  behind  him  bore, 
And  waked  such  music  as,  when  mute, 

Left  in  the  sotd  a  tliirst  for  more  I 

Meanwhile,  his  potent  spells  went  on, 
And  forms  aud  faces,  that  from  out 

A  depth  of  shadow  mildly  shone. 
Were  in  the  soft  air  seen  about. 

Though  thick  as  midnight  stars  they  beam'd. 

Yet  all  like  living  sisters  seem'd, 


"  All  the  great  artists  studied,  and  many  of  them  borrowed 
from  Masaccio.  Several  figures  in  the  Cartoons  of  Rjiphuel 
are  taken,  with  but  little  alLeratinn,  from  his  frescoes. 

•  "And  a  Hplit  shined  in  the  prison  .  .  .  and  his  chains 
ft^ll  off  from  his  hinils." — .dcts. 

'  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

6  His  treatise  on  Mechanics,  Optics,  Stc,  preserved  in  the 
Ambrosian  library  at  Milan. 

3  On  dil  que  Leonard  parut  pour  la  premiere  fois  a  la  cour 
de  Milan,  dans  un  espece  de  concours  mivcrtcntre  les  meil- 
Icurs  joncnrs  de  lyre  d'ftjtlie.  II  sc  pr^^enta  avec  une  lyre 
de  sa  facon,  construit  en  argent. — Histoire  de  la  Pcinture  en 
Italie. 


RHYMES  ON 

THE  ROAD.                                         509 

So  close,  ill  every  point,  reseniblinj; 

Which  gives  to  ev'n  the  gayest  hue, 

Each  other's  beauties— from  the  eyes 

A  sober'd,  melancholy  tone. 

Lucid  as  if  tlirougli  crystal  trcmbliiif, 

It  was  a  vision  of  that  last,' 

Yet  soft  as  if  suffused  witli  siglis, 

Sorrowful  night  which  Jesus  pass'd 

To  the  long,  fawn-like  mouth,  and  chin, 

With  bis  disciples,  when  he  said 

Lovely  tapering,  less  and  less. 

Mournfully  to  them — "  I  shall  bo 

Till,  by  this  vcr>'  charm's  excess, 

"  Bctray'd  by  one,  who  here  hath  fed 

Like  virtue  on  the  verge  of  sin. 

"  This  night  at  the  same  board  with  me." 

It  touch'd  tho  bounds  of  ugliness. 

And  though  tho  Saviour,  in  the  dream 

Here  look'd  as  when  they  lived  tlie  sliades 

Spoke  not  these  words,  we  saw  them  beam 

Of  some  of  Arno's  dark-eyed  maids — 

Legibly  in  bis  eyes,  (so  well 

Such  maids  as  should  alone  live  on. 

The  great  magician  work'd  his  spell,) 

In  dreams  thus,  when  their  charms  are  gone : 

And  read  in  every  thoughtful  lino 

Some  jMona  Lisa,  on  whose  eyes 

Imprinted  on  that  brow  divine. 

A  painter  for  whole  years  might  gaze,' 

The  meek,  the  tender  nature,  grieved, 

Nor  find  in  all  his  palette's  dyes, 

Not  anger'd,  to  he  thus  deceived — 

One  that  could  even  approacli  their  blaze ! 

Celestial  love  requited  ill                                               i 

For  all  its  care,  yet  loving  still — 

Here  float  two  spirit  shapes,"  the  one. 

Deep,  deep  regret  that  there  should  fall 

With  her  white  fingers  to  tho  sun 

From  man's  deceit  so  foul  a  blight 

Outspread,  as  if  to  ask  his  ray 

Upon  that  parting  hour — and  all 

Whether  it  e'er  had  chanced  to  play 

His  Spurit  must  have  felt  that  night, 

On  lilies  half  so  fair  as  they  ! 

W'ho,  .soon  to  die  for  human-kiud. 

This  self-pleased  nympli,  was  Vanity — 

Thought  only,  'mid  his  mortal  pain, 

And  by  her  side  another  smiled. 

How  many  a  soul  was  left  behind 

In  form  as  beautiful  as  she, 

For  whom  he  died  that  death  in  vain  I 

But  with  tiiat  air,  subdued  and  mild. 

That  still  reserve  of  purity, 

Such  was  the  heavenly  scene — alas. 

Which  is  to  beauty  like  tho  haze 

That  scene  so  bright  so  soon  should  pass  ! 

Of  ev'ning  to  some  sunny  view, 

But  pictured  on  the  humid  air, 

Soft  'uing  such  charms  as  it  displays, 

Its  tints,  ere  long,  grew  languid  there  ;* 

And  veiling  others  in  that  hue, 

And  storms  came  on,  that,  cold  and  rough. 

Which  fancy  only  can  see  through ! 

Scatter'd  its  gentlest  glories  all — 

This  phantom  nymph,  who  could  she  be. 

As  when  tho  baffling  winds  blow  off 

But  the  bright  Spirit,  Modesty  ? 

The  hues  that  hang  o'er  Terni's  fall,— 

Till,  one  by  one,  the  vision's  beams 

Long  did  the  learn'd  enchanter  stay 

Faded  away,  and  soon  it  fled. 

To  weave  his  spells,  and  still  there  pass'd, 

To  join  those  other  vanish'd  dreams 

As  in  the  lantern's  shifting  play, 

That  now  flit  palely  'mong  the  dead, — 

Group  after  group  in  close  array. 

The  shadows  of  those  shades,  that  go, 

Each  fairer,  grander,  than  the  last. 

Aroimd  Oblivion's  lake,  below  ! 

But  the  great  triumph  of  his  pow'r 

Was  yet  to  come : — gradual  and  slow, 

(As  all  that  is  ordain'd  to  tow'r 

Among  the  works  of  man  must  grow,) 
The  sacred  vision  stole  to  view. 

• 

In  that  half  light,  half  shadow  shown. 

1  He  is  said  lo  liave  been  four  years  employed  upon  the 

toire  de  la  Peinlure  in  Italie,  liv.  iii.  chap.  45.    The  writer 

portrait  of  this  f;iir  Florentine,  without  being  able,  al^er  ail, 

of  that  interesting  work  (to  whom  I  take  this  opportunity  of 

to  come  up  to  his  idea  of  her  beauty. 

offering  my  acknowledgments,  for  the  copy  he  sent  me  a 

2  Vanity  and  Modesty  in  the  collection  of  Cardinal  Fesch, 

year  since  from  Rome)  will  see  I  have  profiled  by  some  of 

at  Rome.    The  composition  of  the  four  hands  here  is  rather 

his  observations  on  this  celebrated  picture. 

awkward,  but  the  picture,  altogether,  is  very  delightful. 

*  Leonardo  appears  to  have   used  a  mixture  of  ?il  and 

There  is  a  repetition  of  the  subject  in  the  possession  of 

varnish  for  this  picture,  which  alone,  without  the  various 

Lucien  Bonaparte. 

other  causes  of  its  ruin,  would   have  prevented  any  long 

3  The  Last  Supper  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  which  is  in  the 

duration  of  its  beauties.    It  is  now  almost  entirely  effaced. 

Refectory  of  the  Convent  delle  Grazie  at  Milan.    See  L'llis- 

510 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


EXTRACT  XV. 

Rome. 

JIhry  Magdalen.— Her  SInry.—M'amcriijU!  Pictures  of  her. 
—Ctirrrggio.—nuiiliy.— Raphael,  ^-c.—Canova' s  two  ex- 
quisite Statues.— The  Somariva  Magdalen. — Chantrcifs 
Admiration  of  Canova's  Works. 

No  wonder,  Mary,  that  tliy  story 
Touclics  all  hearts — for  there  we  see 

The  soul's  corruption,  and  its  glory, 
Its  death  and  life  combined  in  thee. 

From  the  first  moment,  when  we  find 

Thy  spirit  haunted  by  a  swann 
Of  dark  desires, — like  demons  shrined 

Unholily  ill  that  fair  form, — 
Till  when,  by  touch  of  Heav'n  set  free. 

Thou  cam'st,  with  those  bright  locks  of  gold 
(So  oft  the  gaze  of  Bethanv,) 

And,  cov'ring  in  tlieir  precious  fold 
Tliy  Saviour's  feet,  didst  shed  sucli  tears 
As  paid,  each  drop,  the  sins  of  years  ! 
Thence  on,  through  all  thy  course  of  love 

To  Him,  thv  Heavenly  Master, — Him, 
Whoso  bitter  death-cup  from  above 

Had  yet  tliis  cordial  round  the  brim, 
That  woman's  faith  and  love  stood  fast 
Ami  fearless  by  Him  to  the  last : — 
Till,  oh,  bless'd  boon  for  truth  like  thine  ! 

Thou  wert,  of  all,  the  chosen  one, 
Before  whose  eyes  that  Face  Divine, 

When  risen  from  the  dead,  first  shone  ; 
That  thou  might'st  see  how,  like  a  cloud. 
Had  pass'd  away  its  mortal  shroud. 
And  make  that  bright  revealment  known 
To  hearts,  less  trusting  than  thy  own. 
All  is  aflecting,  cheering,  grand  ; 

The  kindliest  record  ever  giv'n, 
Ev'n  under  God's  own  kindly  hand. 

Of  what  Repentance  wins  from  Heav'n  ! 

No  wonder,  Mary,  that  tliy  face. 

In  all  its  touching  light  of  tears, 
Should  meet  us  in  each  holy  place, 

WherAMan  before  his  God  appears, 
Hopeless — were  he  not  taught  to  see 
All  hope  in  Him,  who  pardon'd  thee  ! 
No  wonder  that  the  painter's  skill 

Should  oft  have  triumpli'd  in  the  pow'r 
Of  keeping  thee  all  lovely  still 

Ev'n  in  thy  sorrow's  bitt'rcst  hour ; 

1  This  statue  is  one  of  the  last  works  of  Canova,  and  was 
not  yet  in  marble  when  I  left  Rome.  The  olher,  which  seems 
to  provf,  in  conlrailiclion  to  very  hish  aullicri'y,  tliat  expres- 
sion, of  tlic  inlenscsl  l<inll,  is  fully  within  tlie  sphere  of 


That  soft  CoRREGGio  should  diffuse 

His  melting  shadows  round  thy  form  ; 
That  GuiDo's  pale,  unearthly  hues 

Should,  in  portraying  thee,  grow  warm  ; 
That  all— from  the  ideal,  grand. 
Inimitable  Roman  hand, 
Down  to  the  small,  enamelling  touch 

Of  smooth  Carli.no — should  delight 
In  piet'ring  her,  who  "  loved  so  much," 

And  was,  in  spite  of  sin,  so  bright ! 

But,  Mary,  'mong  these  bold  essays 

Of  Genius  and  of  Art  to  raise 

A  semblance  of  those  weeping  eyes — 

A  vision,  worthy  of  the  sphere 
Thy  faith  has  earn'd  thee  in  the  skies. 
And  in  the  hearts  of  all  men  here, — 
None  e'er  hath  match'd,  in  grief  or  grace, 
Canova's  day-dream  of  thy  <'ace. 
In  those  bright  sculptured  foni.s   more  brigh 
With  true  expression's  breathing  light. 
Than  ever  yet,  beneath  the  stroke 
Of  chisel,  into  life  awoke. 
The  one,'  portraying  what  thou  wert 

In  thy  first  grief, — while  yet  the  flow'r 
Of  those  young  beauties  was  unhurt 

By  sorrow's  slow,  consuming  pow'r  ; 
And  mingling  earth's  seductive  grace 

With  heav'n's  subliming  thoughts  so  well, 
We  doubt,  while  gazing,  in  which  place 

Such  beauty  was  most  form'd  to  dwell  ! 
The  other,  as  thou  look'dst   «\"!n  years 
Of  fasting,  penitence,  and  tears 
Had  worn  thy  frame  ; — and  ne'er  did  .Art 
With  half  such  speaking  pow'r  express 
The  ruin  which  a  breaking  heart 

Spreads,  b}^  degrees,  o'er  loveliness. 
Those  wasting  arms,  that  keep  the  trace, 
Ev'n  still,  of  all  their  youthful  grace, 
That  looscn'd  hair,  of  which  thy  brow 
Was  once  so  proud, — neglected  now  ! — 
Those  features,  ev'n  iu  fading  worth 
The  freshest  bloom  to  others  giv'n. 
And  those  sunk  eyes,  now  lost  to  earth, 
But,  to  the  last,  still  full  of  heav'n  I 

W^onderful  artist !  praise,  like  mine — 
Though  springing  from  a  soul,  that  feels 

Deep  worship  of  those  works  divine. 
Where  Genius  all  his  light  reveals — 

How  weak  'tis  to  the  words  that  came 

From  him,  thy  peer  in  alt  and  fame," 

sculpture,  was  executed  many  ycar.s  jiyo,  and  is  in  the  posses 
sion  ot  the  Count  Somariva,  at  P.axis. 
»  Cbunlrey. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


511 


Wliom  I  have  known,  by  day,  by  night, 
Hang  o'er  thy  marble  with  delight ; 
And,  wiiile  his  ling'ring  hand  would  steal 

O'er  every  grace  the  taper's  rays,' 
Give  thee,  with  all  the  gen'rous  zoa! 
Such  master-spirits  only  feel, 

That  best  of  fame,  a  rival's  praise  ! 


EXTRACT  XVI. 

Les  Charmettes. 
.^  Visit  to  the  House  where  Rousseau  lived  icilh  Madame  de 
IVarrcns. —  T/irir  JiJinagc. — Its  Grossncss. — Claude  .iiiet. 
— Rcoerence  with,  which  the  Spot  is  now  v is itcd.-~^b surd- 
ity of  this  blind  Devotion  to  Fame. — Feelings  excited  by  the 
Beauty  and  Seclusion  of  the  Scene. — Disturbed  by  its  dis- 
sociations with  Rousseau's  History. — Impostures  of  Mm 
of  Genius. —  Their  power  of  mimicking  all  the  best  Feel- 
ings, Love,  Independence,  <S-c. 

Strange  power  of  Genius,  that  can  throw 

Round  all  tliat's  vicious,  weak,  and  low, 

Such  magic  lights,  such  rainbow  dyes 

As  dazzle  ev'n  the  steadiest  eyes ! 
*         «    «  «  *  «  # 

****** 

*Tis  worse  than  weak — *tis  wrong,  His  shame, 

Tills  mean  prostration  before  Fame  ; 

This  casting  down,  beneath  the  car 

Of  Idols,  whatsoe'er  they  are, 

Life's  purest,  holiest  decencies, 

To  be  career'd  o'er,  as  they  please. 

No — give  triumphant  Genius  all 

For  which  his  loftiest  wish  can  call : 

If  ho  be  worshipp'd,  let  it  be 
For  attributes,  his  noblest,  first ; 

Not  with  that  base  idolatry. 

Which  sanctifies  his  last  and  worst. 

I  may  be  cold  ;— may  want  that  glow 

Of  iiigh  romance,  which  bards  should  know  ; 

That  holy  homage,  which  is  felt 

In  treading  where  the  great  have  dwelt; 

This  rev'rence,  whatsoe'er  it  be, 

I  fear,  I  feel,  I  have  it  not : — 
For  here,  at  this  still  hour,  to  me 

The  charms  of  this  delightful  spot ; 
It^  calm  seclusion  from  the  throng, 

From  all  the  heart  would  fain  forget ; 
This  narrow  valley,  and  tiie  song 

Of  its  small  murmV  jg  rivulet ; 
Tlie  Hitting,  to  and  iro,  of  birds, 

Tranquil  and  tame  as  they  were  once 


I  Canova  always  shows  his  fine  statue,  the  Venere  Vin- 
citrice,  by  Ihe  light  of  a  small  candle. 


In  Eden,  ere  the  startling  words 

Of  Man  di-sturb'd  their  orisons  ; 
Those  little,  sliadowy  putiis,  that  wind 
Up  the  hill-side,  witli  fruit-trees  lined, 
And  lighted  only  by  the  breaks 
The  gay  wind  in  the  foliage  makes, 
Or  vistas,  herp  and  there,  that  ope 

Through  weeping  willows,  like  the  snatches 
Of  far-oft' scenes  of  light,  which  Hope 

Ev'n  through  the  shade  of  sadness  catcJies  ! — 
All  this,  which — could  I  once  but  lose 

The  memory  of  those  vulgar  ties, 
^\1iose  grossness  all  the  heavenliest  hues 

Of  Genius  can  no  more  disguise. 
Than  the  sun's  beams  can  do  away 
The  filth  of  fens  o'er  which  they  play — 
This  scene,  which  would  have  fill'd  my  heart 

"With  thoughts  of  all  that  happiest  is  ; — 
Of  Love,  where  self  liatli  only  part, 

As  echoing  back  another's  hli.*:s  ; 
Of  solitude,  secure  and  sweet, 
Beneath  whose  shade  the  Virtues  meet  i 
Which,  while  it  shelters,  never  chills 

Our  sympathies  with  human  wo, 
But  keeps  them,  like  sequester'd  rills, 

Purer  and  f.esher  in  theit  flow ; 
Of  happy  days,  that  sliare  their  beams 

'Twixt  quiet  mirth  and  wise  employ  ; 
Of  tranquil  nights,  that  give,  in  dreams. 

The  moonlight  of  the  morning's  joy  ! — 
All  this  my  heart  could  dwell  on  here. 
But  for  those  gross  mementoes  near  ; 
Those  sullying  truths,  that  cross  the  track 
Of  each  sweet  thought,  and  drive  them  back 
Full  into  all  the  mire,  and  strife. 
And  vanities  of  that  man's  life. 
Who,  more  than  all  tliat  e'er  have  glow'd 

With  Fancy's  flume,  (and  it  was  his^ 
In  fullest  warmth  and  radiance,)  show'd     • 

What  an  impostor  Genius  is  ; 
How,  with  that  strong,  mimetic  art, 

Which  forms  its  life  and  soul,  it  takes 
All  shapes  of  thought,  all  hues  of  heart. 

Nor  feels,  itself,  one  throb  it  wakes ; 
How  like  a  gem  its  light  may  smile 

O'er  the  dark  path,  by  mortals  trod, . 
Itself  as  mean  a  worm,  the  while, 

As  crawls  at  midnight  o'er  the  sod  ; 
What  gentle  words  and  thougiits  may  fall 

From  its  false  lip,  what  zeal  to  bless. 
While  homo,  friends,  kindred,  countiy,  all, 

Lie  waste  beneath  its  selfishness  ; 
How,  with  the  pencU  hardly  dry 

From  coloring  up  such  scenes  of  love 
And  beauty,  as  make  young  hearts  sigli, 

And  dream,  and  think  through  heav'n  they  rovo, 


512 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


They,  who  can  thus  describe  and  move, 
The  verj'  workers  of  these  channs, 

Nor  seek,  nor  know  a  joy,  above 
Some  Maraan's  or  Theresa's  arms  ! 


How  all,  in  short,  that  makes  the  boast 
Of  their  false  tongues,  they  want  the  most ; 
And,  while  with  freedom  on  their  lips. 

Sounding  their  timbrels,  to  set  free 
This  bright  world,  laboring  in  th'  eclipse 

Of  priestcraft,  and  of  slavery, — 


They  may,  themselves,  be  slaves  as  low 

As  ever  Lord  or  Patron  made 
To  blossom  in  his  smile,  or  grow, 

Like  stunted  brushwood,  in  his  shade 
Out  on  the  craft  I — I'd  rather  be 

One  of  those  hinds,  that  round  me  tread, 
With  just  enough  of  sense  lO  see 

The  noonday  sun  that's  o'er  his  head. 
Than  thus,  with  high-built  genius  ciu^ed, 

That  hath  uo  heart  for  its  foundation, 
Be  all,  at  once,  that's  brightest,  worst, 

Sublimest,  meanest  in  creation ! 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


OCCASIONAL  EPILOGUE. 

BPOKEN  BT  MR.  COItRY,  IN  THE  CUAHACTER  OF  VAPID, 
AFTER  THE  FLAY  OF  THE  DRAMATIST,  AT  THE  KIL- 
KENNY  THEATRE. 

(Entering  as  if  to  announce  the  Flay) 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  on  Monday  night, 

For  the  nintii  time — oh  accents  of  delight 

To  the  poor  author's  ear,  when  three  times  three 

With  a  full  bumper  crowns  his  Comedy  ! 

When,  long  by  money,  and  the  muse,  forsak'n. 

He  finds,  at  length,  his  jokes  and  boxes  tak'n. 

And  sees  his  play-bill  cuculate — alas, 

The  only  bill  on  which  his  name  will  pass  1 

Thus,  Vapid,  thus  shall  Thespian  scrolls  of  fame 

Through   box   and   gall'ry  waft   your  well-known 

name, 
While  critic  eyes  the  happy  cast  shall  con, 
And  learned  ladies  spell  your  Dram.  Person. 

'Tis  said  our  worthy  Manager'  intends 
To  help  my  night,  and  he,  you  know,  has  friends. 
Friends,  did  I  say?  for  fi.\ing  friends,  or  parts, 
Engaging  actors,  or  engaging  hearts, 


1  The  late  Mr.  Richard  Fower. 

3  The  brief  appellalion  by  which  those  persons  were  dis- 
tinguished who,  at  the  openinfi  of  the  new  theatre  of  Co- 
vent  Garden,  clamored  for  the  continuance  of  the  old  prices 
uf  admission. 


There's  nothmg  like  him !  wits,  at  his  request, 
Ai'e  tum'd  to  fools,  and  dull  dogs  learn  to  jest ; 
Soldiers,  for  him,  good  "  trembling  cowards"  make, 
And  beans,  tum'd  clowns,  look  ugly  for  his  sake  ; 
For  him  ev'n  lawyers  talk  without  a  fee. 
For  him  (oh  friendship!)  /  act  tragedy! 
In  short,  like  Orpheus,  his  persuasive  tricks 
Malie  boars  amusing,  and  put  life  in  sticks. 

With  such  a  manager  we  can't  but  please. 
Though  London  sent  us  all  her  loud  O.  P.'s,^ 
Let  them  come  oil,  like  snakes,  all  hiss  and  rattle, 
Arm'd  with  a  thousand  fans,  we'd  give  them  battle  ; 
You,  on  our  side,  R.  P.'  upon  our  banners. 
Soon  should  we  teach  the  saucy  O.  P.'s  manners: 
And   show    that,   here — howe'er   John    Bull   may 

doubt — 
In  all  our  plays,  the  Riot-Act's  cut  out ; 
And,  while  wo  skim  the  cream  of  many  a  jest, 
Your  well-timed  thunder  never  sours  its  zest. 

Oh  gently  thus,  when  three  short  weeks  are  past, 
At  Shakspeare's  altar,'  shall  we  breathe  our  last ; 
And,  ere  this  long-loved  dome  to  niin  nods, 
Die  all,  die  nobly,  die  like  demigods  I 


3  The  initials  of  our  manager's  name. 
*  This  alludes  to  a  scenic  representation  then  preparing 
for  the  last  night  of  the  performances. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


513 


EXTRACT 

FROM  A  PROLOGUE  WRITTEN  AND  SPOKEN  BY  THE 
AUTHOR,  AT  THE  OPENING  OF  THE  KILKENNY 
THEATRE,    OCTOBER,   1809. 


Yet,  even  here,  thougli  Fiction  rules  the  hour, 
There    sliine    some    genuine    smiles,    beyond    her 

power ; 
And  there  are  tears,  too — tears  that  Memory  sheds 
Ev'n  o'er  the  feast  that  mimic  fancy  spreads. 
When  her  heart  misses  one  lamented  guest,' 
Whose  eye  so  long  threw  light  o'er  all  the  rest ! 
There,  there,  indeed,  the  Muse  forgets  her  task. 
And  drooping  weeps  behind  Thalia's  mask. 

Forgive  this  gloom — forgive  this  joyless  strain, 
Too  sad  to  welcome  pleasure's  smiling  train. 
But,  meeting  thus,  our  hearts  will  part  the  lighter, 
As  mist  at  dawn  but  makes  the  setting  brighter ; 
Gay  Epilogue  will  shine  where  Prologue  fails — 
As  glow-worms  keep  their  splendor  for  their  tails. 

I  know  not  why — but  time,  methinks,  hath  pass'd 

More  fleet  than  usual  since  we  parted  last. 

It  seems  but  like  a  dream  of  yester-night, 

Whose  chann  still  bangs,  with  fond,  delaying  light : 

And,  ere  the  memory  lose  one  glowing  hue 

Of  former  joy,  we  come  to  kindle  new. 

Thus  ever  may  the  flying  moments  haste 

With  trackless  foot  aloug  life's  vulgar  waste. 

But  deeply  print  and  lingeringly  move. 

When  thus  they  reach  the  sunny  spots  we  love. 

Oh  yes,  whatever  be  our  gay  career. 

Let  this  be  still  the  solstice  of  the  year. 

Where  Pleasure's  sun  shall  at  its  height  remain, 

And  slowly  sink  to  level  life  again. 


THE  SYLPH'S  BALL. 

A  SvLPH,  as  bright  as  ever  sported 
Her  figure  through  the  fields  of  air, 

By  an  old  swartliy  Gnome  was  courted, 
And,  strange  to  say,  he  won  the  fair. 

The  annals  of  the  oldest  witch 
A  pair  60  sorted  could  not  show, 

But  how  refuse? — the  Gnome  was  rich. 
The  Rothschild  of  the  world  below ; 

»  The  late  Mr.  John  Lyster,  one  of  the  oldest  members 
and  best  actors  of  the  Kilkenny  Theatrical  Society. 


And  Sylphs,  like  other  pretty  creatures, 
Are  told,  betimes,  they  must  consider 

Love  as  an  auctioneer  of  features. 
Who  knocks  them  down  to  the  best  bidder. 

Home  she  was  taken  to  his  Mine — 
A  Palace,  paved  with  diamonds  all — 

And,  proud  as  Lady  Gnome  to  shine, 
Sent  out  her  tickets  for  a  Ball. 

The  lower  world,  of  course,  was  there, 
And  all  tlie  best ;  but  of  the  upper 

The  sprinkling  was  but  sliy  and  rare, 
A  few  old  Sylphids,  who  loved  supper. 

As  none  yet  knew  the  wondrous  Lamp 
Of  Davy,  that  renown'd  Aladdin, 

And  the  Gnome's  Halls  exhaled  a  damp, 
Which  accidents  from  fife  were  bad  in ; 

The  chambers  wtre  supplied  with  light 
By  many  strange  but  safe  devices; 

Large  fire-flies,  such  as  shine  at  night 
Among  the  Orient's  flowers  and  spices ; — 

Musical  flint-mills — swiftly  play'd 
By  elfin  hands — that,  flashing  round, 

Like  certain  fire-eyed  minstrel  maids, 
Gave  out,  at  once,  both  light  and  soimd. 

Bologna  stones,  that  drink  the  sun ; 

And  water  from  that  Indian  sea, 
Whose  waves  at  night  like  wild-fire  run — 

Cork'd  up  in  crystal  carefully. 

Glow-worms,  that  round  the  tiny  dishes, 
Like  httle  light-houses,  were  set  up ; 

And  pretty  phosphorescent  fishes, 

That  by  their  own  gay  light  were  eat  up. 

'Mong  the  few  guests  from  Ether,  came 
That  wicked  Sylph,  whom  Love  we  call ; 

My  Lady  knew  him  but  by  name. 
My  Lord,  her  husband,  not  at  all. 

Some  prudent  Gnomes,  'tis  said,  apprized 
That  he  was  coming,  and,  no  doubt, 

Alarm'd  about  his  touch,  advised 

He  should,  by  all  means,  be  kept  out. 

But  others  disapproved  this  plan. 

And,  by  his  flame  though  somewhat  frighted. 
Thought  Love  too  much  a  gentleman. 

In  such  a  dangerous  place  to  light  it 


514 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Ilowepcr,  there  he  was — and  dancing 
Willi  the  fair  Sylph,  light  as  a  feather ; 

They  look'd  like  two  fresh  sunbeams,  glancing, 
At  daybreak,  down  to  earth  together. 

And  all  had  gone  off  safe  and  well. 
But  for  that  plaguy  torch,  whose  light. 

Though  not  yet  kindled — who  could  tell 
How  soon,  bow  devilishly,  it  might  ? 

And  so  it  chanced — which,  in  those  dark 
And  fireless  halls,  was  quite  amazing ; 

Did  we  not  know  how  small  a  spark 
Can  set  the  torch  of  Love  a-blazing. 

Whether  it  came  (wlicn  close  entangled 
In  the  gay  waltz)  from  her  bright  eyes. 

Or  from  the  lucciolct  that  spangled 
Her  locks  of  jet — is  all  surmise ; 

But  certain  'tis  th'  ethereal  girl 

Did  drop  a  spark,  at  some  odd  turning. 

Which,  by  the  waltz's  windy  whirl, 
Was  fann'd  up  into  actual  burning. 

Oh  for  that  Lamp's  metallic  gauze, 

Th.at  curtain  of  protecting  wire, 
Which  Davy  delicately  draws 

Around  illicit,  dangerous  fire  1 — 

The  wall  he  sets  'twixt  Flame  and  Air, 

(Like  that,  which  barr'd  young  Thisbe's  bliss,) 

Through  whose  small  holes  this  dangerous  pair 
May  see  each  other,  but  not  kiss.' 

At  first  the  torch  look'd  rather  bluely, 
A  sign,  they  say,  that  no  good  boded — 

Then  quick  the  gas  became  unruly, 
Aud,  crack !  the  ball-room  all  exploded. 

Sylphs,  gnomes,  and  fiddlers  mix'd  together, 
With  all  their  aunts,  sous,  cousins,  nieces, 

Lilte  butterflies  in  stormy  weather, 

Were     blown  —  legs,     wings,     and    tails — to 
pieces ! 

While,  'mid  these  victims  of  the  torch, 
The  Sylph,  alas,  too,  bore  her  part — 

Found  lying,  with  a  livid  scorch. 
As  if  from  lightning,  o'er  her  heart ! 


Partiqne  dedftre 

09:ula  qnisque  sua;,  noD  pcrveDiectla  contrd. 

Ovio 


'  Well  done" — a  laughing  Goblin  said — 
Escaping  from  this  gaseous  strife — 

'  'Tis  not  the  frst  time  Love  has  made 
"  A  blow-up  in  connubial  life  I" 


REMONSTRANCE. 

JJfter  a  Conversation  with  Lord  John  Rvssell,  in  which  he  had 
intimated  some  Idea  of  giving  up  alt  political  Pursuits. 

WnAT !  thou,  '-•'i:-  thy  genius,  thy  youth,  and  thy 
name — 

Thou,  born  of  a  Russell — whose  instinct  to  run 
The  accustom'd  career  of  thy  sires,  is  the  same 

As  the  eaglet's,  to  soar  with  his  eyes  on  the  sun  ! 

Whose  nobility  comes  to  tliee,  slamp'd  with  a  seal. 
Far,  far  more  ennobling  tlian  monarch  e'er  set ; 

With  the  blood  of  thy  race,  ofFer'd  up  for  the  weal 
Of  a  nation,  that  swears  by  that  martyrdom  yet ! 

Shalt  thou  bo  faint-hearted,  and  turn  from  the  strife, 
From  the  mighty  arena,  where  all  that  is  grand, 

And  devoted,  and  pure,  and  adorn'mg  in  life. 

Is   for   liigh-thoughted  spirits  like  thine  to  com- 
mand? 

Oh  no,  never  dream  it — while  good  men  despair 
Between  tyrants  and  traitors,  and  timid  men  bow, 

Never  think,  for  an  instant,  thy  country  can  spare 
Such   a   light   from   her   darkening  horizon    as 
thou. 

With  a  spirit,  aa  meek  as  the  gentlest  of  those 
Who   in   life's   sunny   valley    lie    shelter'd    and 
warm  ; 
Yet  bold  and  heroic  as  ever  yet  rose 

To  the  lop  cliffs  of  Fortune,  aud  brcsted   her 
storm ; 

With  an  ardor  for  liberty,  fresh  as,  in  youth. 

It  first  kindles  the   bard    and    gives  life    to    his 
lyre ; 

Yet  mellow'd,  ev'n  now,  by  that  mildness  of  truth, 
Which  tempere,  but  chills  not,  the  patriot  fire  ; 

With   an   eloquence — not   like   those  rills   from   a 
height. 
Which  sparkle,  and  foam,  and  in  vapor  are  o'er ; 
But  a  current,  that  worlis  out  its  way  into  light 
Tliroiigh  the  filteruig  recesses  of  thought  and  of 
lore. 


J 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.                                     515 

Thus  gifted,  thou  never  canst  sleep  iu  the  shade  ; 

Those  fricndship3,  in  my  boyhood  twined, 

If  the  stirrings  of  Genius,  tlio  music  of  fame. 

And  kept  til!  now  unchangingly  ; 

And  tiie  cliarms  of  tliy  causo  have  not  power  to 

And  tliat  dear  home,  that  saving  ark. 

persuade. 

Where  Love's  true  light  at  last  I've  found, 

Yet  tliiuli  how  to  Freedom  thou'rt  pledged  by  thy 

Cheering  within,  when  all  grows  dark. 

Name. 

And  comfortless,  and  stormy  round  ! 

Like  the  boughs  of  that  laurel,  by  Delphi's  decree 
Set  apart  for  the  Fane  and  its  service  divine, 

So  the  branches,  that  spring  from  the  old  Russell 

tree, 

FANCY. 

Are  by  Liberty  claim'd  for  tho  use  of  her  Slirine. 

The  more   I've  view'd  this   world,  the  more  I've 

found. 
That,  fill'd  as  'tis  with  scenes  and  creatures  rare, 

Fancy  commands,  within  her  own  bright  round. 

MY  BIRTH-DAY. 

A  world  of  scenes  and  creatures  far  more  fan*. 

Nor  is  it  that  her  power  can  call  up  there 

"  My  birth-day" — what  a  dift''rent  sound 

A  single  charm,  that's  not  from  nature  won, — 

That  word  had  iu  my  youtliful  ears  I 

No  more  than  rainbows,  in  their  pride,  can  wear 

And  how,  each  time  the  day  comes  round, 

A  single  tint  unborrow'd  from  the  sun  ; 

Less  and  less  white  its  mark  appears ! 

But  'tis  the  mental  medium  it  shines  through. 

That  lends  to  Beauty  all  its  charms  and  hue  ; 

When  first  our  scanty  years  are  tqld. 

As  the  same  ligh.t,  that  o'er  the  level  lake 

It  seems  like  pastime  to  grow  old  ; 

One  dull  monotony  of  lustre  flings. 

And,  as  Youth  counts  the  shining  links, 

Will,  entering  in  the  rounded  rain-drop,  make              1 

That  Time  around  him  binds  so  fast. 

Colors  as  gay  as  those  on  angels'  wings  I 

Pleased  with  the  task,  he  little  tliinks 

How  hard  that  chain  will  press  at  last 
Vain  was  the  man,  and  false  as  vain. 

Who  said'^"  were  he  ordaiu'd  to  run 

"  His  long  career  of  life  again. 

SONG. 

"  He  would  do  all  that  he  had  done." — 

Ah,  'tis  not  thus  the  voice,  that  dwells 

FANNY,    DEAHEST ! 

In  sober  birth-days,  speaks  to  me ; 

Far  otherwise — of  time  it  tells, 

Yes  !  had  I  leisure  to  sigh  and  mourn, 

Lavish'd  unwisely,  carelessly ; 

Fanny,  dearest,  for  thee  I'd  sigh  ; 

Of  counsel  mock'd  ;  of  talents,  made 

And  every  smile  on  my  cheek  should  turn 

Haply  for  high  and  pure  designs, 

To  teai-s  when  thou  art  nigh. 

Cut  oft,  like  Israel's  incense,  laid 

But,  between  love,  and  wine,  and  sleep. 

Upon  unholy,  earthly  shrines ; 

So  busy  a  life  I  live, 

Of  nursing  many  a  wrong  desire  ; 

That  even  the  time  it  would  take  to  weep 

Of  wandering  after  Love  too  far, 

Is  more  than  my  heart  can  give. 

And  taking  every  meteor  fire, 

Then  wish  me  not  to  despair  and  pine. 

That  cross'd  ray  pathway,  for  his  star. — 

Fanny,  dearest  of  all  tlie  dears  1 

All  this  it  tells,  and,  could  I  trace 

The  Love  that's  order'd  to  bathe  in  wine, 

Th'  imperfect  picture  o'cr_ again, 

Would  be  sure  to  take  cold  in  tears. 

With  pow'r  to  add,  retouch,  efface 

The  lights  and  shades,  the  joy  and  pain, 

Reflected  bright  in  this  heart  of  mine. 

How  little  of  the  past  would  stay  ! 

Fanny,  dearest,  thy  image  lies  ; 

How  quickly  all  should  melt  away — 

But,  ah  !  the  mirror  would  cease  to  shine, 

All— but  that  Freedom  of  the  Mind, 

If  dimm'd  too'  often  with  sighs. 

Which  hath  been  more  than  wealth  to  me ; 

They  lose  the  half  of  beauty's  light, 

Who  view  it  through  son'ow's  tear ; 

1  Fo!<TENELLE.— "  Si  je  recoiiimencais  ma  carrisre,  je  fe- 

And  'tis  but  to  see  thee  truly  bright 

lai  loul  ce  que  j*ai  fait." 

That  I  keep  my  eye-beams  clear. 

516                                              MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

— 1 

Then  wait  no  longer  till  tears  shall  flow — 

Like  a  fair  flow'r,  the  meadow's  last, 

Fanny,  dearest !  the  hope  is  vain  ; 

Which  feels  the  ploughshare's  edge,  and  dies ! 

If  sunshine  cannot  dissolve  tliy  snow, 

I  shall  never  attempt  it  with  rain 

Carm.  29. 

Peninsularum  Sirmio,  insvJaruvtqut 
OcMe. 

TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CATULLUS. 

Sweet  Sirmio  I  thou,  the  very  eye 

Of  all  peninsulas  and  isles,                     ^ 

Cam.  70. 

That  in  our  lakes  of  silver  lie, 

Or  sleep,  enwrcatlvd  by  Nojgtune's  smiles — 

Dicebas  ijuondam,  &'C 

How  gladly  back  to  thee  I  fly  ! 

TO    LESBU. 

Still  doubting,  asking — ran  it  be 
That  I  have  left  Bithyuiu'a  sky, 

Thou  told'st  me,  in  our  days  of  love, 

And  gaze  in  safety  upon  tliee  ? 

That  I  had  all  that  heart  of  thine  : 

Tliat,  ev'n  to  share  the  couch  of  Jove, 

Oh  !  what  is  happier  than  to  fiud 

Tliou  wouldst  not,  Lesbia,  part  from  mine. 

Our  hearts  at  ease,  oiu-  perils  past ; 
When,  anxious  long,  the  jghten'd  mind 

How  purely  wert  thou  worshipp'd  then ! 

Lays  down  its  load  of  care  at  last : 

Not  with  the  vague  and  vulgar  fires 

Wiiich  Beauty  wakes  in  soulless  men, — 

When,  tired  with  toil  o'er  land  and  deep, 

But  loved,  as  children  by  their  sires. 

Again  we  tread  the  welcome  floor 
Of  our  own  home,  and  sink  to  sleep 

That  flatt'ring  dream,  alas,  is  o'er ; — 

On  the  long-wish'd-for  bed  once  more." 

I  know  thee  now — and  though  these  eyes 

Doat  on  thee  wildly  as  before. 

Tliis,  this  it  is,  that  pays  alone 

Yet,  even  in  doatiug,  I  despise. 

The  ills  of  all  life's  fonner  track. — 
Shine  out,  my  beautiful,  my  own 

Yes,  sorceress — mad  as  it  may  seem — 

Sweet  Sirmio  !  greet  thy  master  back. 

Witli  all  thy  craft,  such  spells  adorn  thee, 

Tliat  passion  even  outlives  esteem, 

And  thou,  fair  Lake,  whose  water  quafis 

And  I,  at  once,  adore — and  scorn  thee. 

The  light  of  heav'n,  like  Lydia's  sea. 
Rejoice,  rejoice — let  all  that  laughs 
Abroad,  at  home,  laugh  out  for  me  ! 

Carm.  11. 
Pauca  nunciate  mcx  puella 

»»«»»» 

TIBULLUS  TO  SULPICIA. 

Comrades  and  friends  !  witli  whom,  where'er 

The  fates  have  will'd  through  life  I've  roved. 

Nulla  tuum  nobis  subducet  femina  lectum,  &c.  &c. 

Lib.  iv.  Carm.  13. 

Now  speed  ye  home,  and  with  you  bear 

These  bitter  words  to  her  I've  loved. 

"  Never  shall  woman's  smile  have  pow'r 
"  To  win  me  from  those  gentle  charms !" — 

Tell  her  from  fool  to  fool  to  run, 

Thus  swore  I,  in  that  happy  hour. 

Where'er  her  vain  caprice  may  call ; 

When  Love  first  gave  thee  to  ray  arras. 

Of  all  her  dupes  not  loving  one, 

But  raining  and  madd'ning  all. 

And  still  alone  thou  charra'st  ray  sight — 
Still,  though  our  city  proudly  shine 

Bid  her  forget — what  now  is  past — 

With  forms  and  faces,  fair  and  bright. 

Oiur  once  dear  love,  whose  ruiu  lies 

I  see  none  fair  or  bright  but  thine. 

1  O  quid  polutis  est  beatius  curis, 

Lahore  fessi  veninius  Iftrem  ad  nostrum, 

Cum  mens  onus  reponit,  ac  peregrino 

Desideratoque  acquiescimus  iccto. 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.                                     517 

Would  thou  wert  fair  for  only  me, 

P 
First  course — a  Phcenix,  at  the  head, 

And  couldst  no  heart  but  mme  allure  I — 

Done  in  its  own  celestial  ashes ; 

To  all  men  else  unpleasin^  be. 

.\.t  foot,  a  cygnet,  which  kept  singing 

So  shall  I  feel  my  prize  secure.' 

All  the  time  its  nock  was  wringing. 

Side  dishes,  tlius — Minerva's  owl, 

Oh,  love  like  mine  ne'er  wants  the  zest 

Or  any  such  like  learned  fowl : 

Of  others'  envy,  others'  praise ; 

Doves,  such  as  heaven's  poulterer  gets, 

But,  in  its  silence  safely  bless'd. 

When  Cupid  slioots  his  mother's  pets. 

1            Broods  o'er  a  bliss  it  ne'er  betrays. 

Larks,  stew'd  in  Morning's!  roseate  breath, 

1 

Or  roasted  by  a  sunbeam's  splendor  ; 

Chann  of  my  life  I  by  whose  sweet  pow'r 

And  nightingales,  berhymid  to  death — 

All  cares  are  hush'd,  all  ills  subdued — 

Like  young  pigs  whipp'd  to  make  them  tender. 

My  light,  in  ev*u  the  darkest  hour. 

My  crowd,  in  deepest  sohtude  I- 

Such  fare  may  suit  those  bards,  who're  able 

To  banquet  at  Duke  Humphrey's  table  ; 

No,  not  though  heav'n  itself  sent  down 

But  as  for  me,  who've  long  been  taught 

Some  maid,  of  more  than  heav'nly  chamis, 

To  eat  and  drink  like  other  people ; 

With  bliss  undreamt  thy  bard  to  crown. 

And  can  put  .ip  with  mutton,  bought 

Would  he  for  her  forsake  those  amis ! 

Where  Bromliam'  rears  its  ancient  steeple — 

If  Lansdowne  will  consent  to  shaiw 

My  humble  feast,  though  rude  the  fare, 
Yet,  season'd  by  that  salt  he  brings 

From  Attica's  salinest  springs. 

IMITATION. 

'Twill  turn  to  dainties  ; — while  the  cup 

Beneath  his  influence  bright' ning  up, 

FROM  THE  FRENCH. 

Like  that  of  Baucis,  touch'd  by  Jove, 

Will  sparkle  fit  for  gods  above  ! 

With  women  and  apples  both  Paris  and  Adam 

Made  mischief  enough  in  their  day  : — 
God  be  praised  that  the  fate  of  mankind,  my  dear 

Madam, 

Depends  not  on  us,  the  samo  way. 
For,  weak  as  I  am  with  temptation  to  grapple. 
The  world  would  have  doubly  to  rue  thee ; 

VERSES  TO  THE  POET  CRABBE'S 
INKSTAND.* 

Like  Adam,  I'd  gladly  take  from  thee  the  apple, 

Like  Paris,  at  once  give  it  to  thee. 

WRITTEN  MAY,   1832. 

All,  as  he  left  it ! — ev'n  the  pen. 
So  lately  at  that  mind's  command, 

Carelessly  lying,  as  if  then 

INVITATION  TO  DINNER. 

Just  fallen  from  his  gifted  hand. 

ADDRESSED  TO  LORD  L.VNSDOWNE. 

Have  we  then  lost  him  ?  scarce  an  hour, 

A  little  hour,  seems  to  have  pass'd. 

September,  1818. 

Suice  Life  and  Inspiration's  power 

'   So.ME  think  wo  bards  have  nothing  real ; 

Around  that  relic  breathed  their  last. 

That  poets  live  among  the  stars  so, 

Their  very  dinners  are  ideal, — 

Ah,  powerless  now — like  talisman, 

(And,  heaven  knows,  too  oft  they  are  so,) — 

Found  in  some  vanish'd  wizard's  halls, 

For  instance,  that  we  have,  instead 

Whose  mighty  charm  with  him  began. 

Of  vulgar  chops,  and  stews,  and  hashes. 

Whose  chann  with  him  extinguish'd  falls. 

»         Displiceas  aliis,  sic  ego  tulus  ero. 

i  Soon  after  Mr.  Crabbe's  death,  the  sons  of  that  gentle- 

2       Tu  mihi  cur.arum  requies,  m  nocte  vel  atr& 

man  did  nie  the  honor  of  presenting  to  ine  the  inkstand. 

Lumen,  et  in  soUs  tu  niihi  turba  iocis. 

pencil,  fee,  which  iheir  distinguished  father  had  long  been 

A  picturesque  vill.ige  in  sight  of  my  collage,  and  from 

in  the  habit  of  using. 

wLlch  il  l3  separated  bul  by  a  small  verdant  valley. 

518                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Yet  though,  alas  !  the  gifts  that  shone 

Seems  still  to  sound — immortal  dwells 

Around  that  pen's  exploring  track, 

Old  Albion's  Spirit  of  the  Sea. 

Bo  now,  -n-lth  its  great  master,  gone, 

Nor  living  hand  can  call  them  back ; 

Such  was  our  ho-^t ;  and  though,  since  then, 

^ 

Slight  clouds  have  ris'n  twLxt  him  and  me. 

Who  docs  not  feel,  wliile  thus  his  eyes 

Who  would  not  grasp  such  hand  agaiu, 

Rest  on  the  enchanter's  broken  wand. 

Stretch'd  forth  again  in  amity  ? 

Kach  earth-born  spelt  it  work'd  arise 

Before  him  in  succcssloa  grand? — 

Who  can,  in  this  short  life,  afford      - 

To  let  such  mists  a  moment  stay, 

Grand,  from  the  Truth  that  reigns  o'er  all ; 

When  thus  one  frank,  atoning  word, 

The  unshrinking  Truth,  that  lets  her  light 

Like  sunshine,  melts  them  all  away  ? 

Through  Life's  low,  dark  interior  fall. 

Opening  the  whole,  severely  bright : 

Briglit  was  our  board  that  day — though  one 

Unworthy  brother  there  had  place  ; 

Yet  scftening,  as  she  frowns  along. 

As  'mong  the  horses  of  the  Sun, 

O'er  scenes  which  angels  weep  to  see — 

One  was,  they  say,  of  earthly  race. 

Where  Trutli  herself  half  veils  the  Wrong, 

In  pity  of  the  Misery. 

Yet,  next  to  Genius  is  the  power 

Of  feeling  where  true  Genius  lies ; 

True  bard ;— and  simple,  as  the  race 

And  there  was  light  around  that  hour 

Of  tme-bo»n  poets  ever  are, 

Such  as,  in  memory,  never  dies ; 

When,  stooping  from  their  starry  place. 

They're  chi'di'en,  near,  though  goda,  afar. 

Liglit  which  com  PS  o'er  me,  as  I  gaze. 

Thou  Relic  of  tlie  Dead,  on  tliee, 

How  freshly  dolli  my  nijnd  recall, 

Like  all  such  dreams  of  vanisli'd  days. 

'Mong  the  few  days  I've  known  with  thee, 

Brightly,  indeed — but  mournfully  ! 

One  that,  most  buoyantly  of  all, 

Floats  in  the  v.'ake  of  memory  ;' 
Wh.en  he,  the  poet,  doubly  graced. 

In  life,  as  in  liis  perfect  strain, 

WItli  that  pure,  mellowing  power  of  Taste, 

TO 

Without  which  Fancy  shines  in  vain  ; 

CAROLINE,  VISCOUNTESS  VALLETORT 

Who  in  his  page  wilt  leave  heliind. 

WEITTEN  AT  LACOCK  ABBEY,  JANDARY,  1832. 

Pregnant  with  genius  though  it  be, 

But  half  the  treasures  of  a  mind. 

When  I  would  sing  tliy  beauty's  light, 

Where  Sense  o'er  all  holds  mastery : — 

Such  various  forms,  and  all  so  bright. 

I've  seen  thee,  from  thy  childhood,  wear, 

Friend  of  long  years  !  of  friendship  tried 

I  know  not  which  to  call  most  fair, 

Through  many  a  bright  and  dark  event ; 

Nor  'mong  the  countless  cliarms  tliat  spring 

In.doubts,  my  judge — in  taste,  my  guide — 
In  all,  my  stay  and  ornament .' 

Forever  round  thee,  which  to  sing. 

When  I  would  paint  thee,  as  thou  art, 

He,  too,  was  of  our  feast  that  day. 

Then  all  thou  weri  comes  o'er  my  heart — 

And  all  were  guests  of  one,  whose  hand 

The  graceful  child,  in  beauty's  dawn. 

Hath  shed  a  new  and  deathless  ray 

Within  the  nursery's  shade  withdrawn, 

Around  the  lyre  of  this  great  land ; 

Or  peeping  out — like  a  young  moon 

Upon  a  world  'twill  brighten  soon. 

In  whose  sea-odes — as  in  thoso  shells 

Then  next,  in  girlhood's  blushing  hour, 

Where  Ocean's  voice  of  majesty 

As  from  thy  own  loved  Abbey-tow'r 

'  The  lines  that  follow  allude  to  a  day  passed  in  company 

verses,  had  the  pleasure  of  dining  with  Mr.  Thomas  Camp- 

with  Mr.  Crabbe,  many  years  since,  when  a  party,  consist- 

belt, at  his  house  at  Sydenham. 

ing  only  of  Mr  Rogers,  Mr.  Crabbe,  and  the  author  of  these 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


519 


Tve  seen  theo  look,  all  radiant,  down, 
Will;  smiles  tliat  to  the  hoary  frown 
Of  centuries  round  thee  lent  a  ray, 
Chasing  even  Age's  gloom  away  ; — 
Or,  in  the  world's  resplendent  throng, 
jVs  I  have  niark'd  tliee  glide  along. 
Among  tlio  crowds  of  fair  and  great 
A  spirit,  pure  and  separate. 
To  which  even  Admiration's  eye 
Was  fearful  to  approach  too  nigh  ; — 
A  creature,  circled  by  a  spell 
Witlim  which  nothing  wrong  could  dwell ; 
And  fresh  and  clear  as  from  the  source, 
Holding  through  life  her  limpid  course, 
Like  Arethusa  through  the  sea, 
Stealing  in  fountain  piu-ity. 

Now,  too,  another  change  of  light ! 
As  noble  bride,  still  meekly  briglit. 
Thou  bring'st  thy  Lord  a  dower  above 
All  earthly  price,  pure  woman's  love  ; 
And  show'st  what  lustre  Rank  receivesj 
When  with  his  proud  Corinthian  leaves 
Her  rose  thus  high-bred  Beauty  weaves. 

Wonder  not  if,  where  all's  bo  fair 
To  ciioose  were  more  than  bard  can  dare  ; 
Wonder  not  if,  while  eveiy  scene 
I've  watch'd  thee  through  so  bright  hath  been, 
Th'  enamor'd  Muse  should,  in  her  quest 
Of  beauty,  know  not  where  to  rest. 
But,  dazzled,  at  thy  feet  thus  falj. 
Hailing  thee  beautiful  in  all ! 


Far  better  loves  to  bend  its  arms 

Downward  again  to  that  dear  earth, 

From  which  the  life,  that  fills  and  warms 
Its  grateful  being,  first  had  birth. 

*Tis  thus,  though  woo'd  by  flattering  friends, 
And  fed  with  fame  (if  fame  it  be) 

This  heart,  my  own  dear  mother,  bends, 
With  love's  true  instinct,  back  to  thee  ! 


A  SPECULATION. 

Of  all  speculations  the  market  holds  forth, 
The  best  that  I  know  for  a  lover  of  pelf. 

Is  to  buy  Marcus  up,  at  the  price  he  is  worth, 
And  then  sell  him  at  that  which  he  sets  on 
himself. 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 

WRITTEN  IN  A  POCKET  BOOK,  1822. 

They  tell  ns  of  an  Indian  tree, 
Which,  howsoe'er  the  sun  and  sky 

May  tempt  its  boughs  to  wander  free, 
And  shoot,  and  blossom,  wide  and  high, 


LOVE  AND  HYMEN. 

Love  had  a  fever — ne'er  could  close 
His  little  eyes  till  day  was  breaking  ; 

And  wild  and  strange  enough,  Heav'n  knows, 
The  things  he  raved  abo,ut  while  waking. 

To  let  him  pine  so  were  a  sin  ; — 

One,  to  whom  all  the  world's  a  debtor — 

So  Doctor  Hymen  was  call'd  in, 

And  Love  that  night  slept  rather  better. 

Next  day  the  case  gave  further  hope  yet, 
Though  still  some  ugly  fever  latent ; — 

"  Dose,  as  before"— a  gentle  opiate. 
For  which  old  Hymen  has  a  patent. 

After  a  month  of  daily  call. 

So  fast  tlio  dose  went  on  restoring. 

That  Love,  who  first  ne'er  slept  at  all, 

Now  took,  the  rogue  !  to  downright  snoring. 


LINES 


ON  THE 

ENTRY  OF  THE  AUSTRIAN'S  INTO  NAPLES,  1821. 

Carbone  notati. 

Ay — down  to  tho  dust  with  them,  slaves  as  they 
are, 
From  this  hour,  let  the  blood  in  their  dastardly 
veins. 
That  shrunk  at  the  first  touch  of  Liberty's  war 
Be  wasted  for  tyrants,  or  stagnate  in  chains. 

On,  on  like  a  cloud,  through  their  beautiful  vales, 
Ye  locusts  of  tyranny,  blasting  them  o'er — 

Fill,  fill  up  their  wide  sunny  waters,  ye  sails 

From  each  slave-mart  of  Europe,  and  shadow 
their  shore  ! 


520 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Let  their  fato  be  a  mock-word — let  men  of  all  lands 
Laugh  out,  with  a  scorn  that  shall  ring  to  the 
poles, 
When  each  sword,  that  the  cowards  let  fall  from 
their  hands, 
Shall  be  forged  into  fetters  to  enter  their  souls. 

And  deep,  and  more  deep,  as  the  iron  is  driv'n, 
Base  slaves !  let  the  whet  of  their  ago"ny  be, 

To  think — as  the  Doom'd  often  think  of  that  heav'n 
They  had  once  within  reach — that  they  might 
have  been  free. 

Oh  shame !  when  there  was  not  a  bosom,  whose 
heat 

Ever  rose  'hove  the  zero  of  C h's  heart. 

That  did  not,  like  echo,  your  war -hymn  repeat,      * 
And   send   all   its   prayere   with   your   Liberty's 
start ; 

When  the  world  stood  in  hope — when  a  spirit, 
that  breathed 

The  fresh  air  of  the  olden  time,  whisper'd  about ; 
And  the  swords  of  all  Italy,  half-way  unsheath'd. 

But  waited  one  conquering  cry,  to  flash  out '. 

When  around  you   the  shades  of  yoiu-  Mighty  ui 
fame, 
FiLiCAMS   and   Petrarchs,   seera'd   bursting  to 


And  their  words,  and  their  warnings,  like  tongues 
of  bright  flame 
Over  Freedom's  apostles,  fell  kindling  on  you  ! 

Oh  shame !  that,  m  such  a  proud  moment  of  life, 
Worth  the  hist'ry  of  ages,  when,  had   you  but 
hurl'd 
One  bolt  at  your  tyrant  invadf/,  that  strife 

Between  freemen  and  tyrants  had  spread  through 
the  world — 

That    then— oh  !     disgrace    upon    manhood — ev'n 
then. 
You   should   falter,  should  cling  to  your  pitiful 
breath  ; 
Cow'r  down  into  heals,  when  you  miglit  I;  »ve  stood 
men. 
And  prefer  the  slave's  life  of  prostration  to  desth. 

It  is  strange,  it  is  dreadful : — shout.  Tyranny,  shout 
Througli  your  dungeons  and  palaces,  "  Freedom 
is  o'er ;" — 
If  there  lingers  one  spark  of  her  light,  tread  it  out. 
And  return   to  your  empire   of  darkness   once 
more. 

For,  if  such  are  the  braggarts  that  claim  to  be  free. 
Come,  Despot  of  Russia,  thy  feet  let  me  kiss ; 

Far  nobler  to  live  the  brute  bondman  of  thee, 
Than  to  sully  ev'n  chains  by  a  struggle  like  Was ! 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


PREFACE. 

The  Eastern  story  of  the  angels  Harat  and  Ma- 
rut,'  and  the  Rabbinical  fictions  of  tlie  loves  of 
Uzziel  and  Shamcliazai,'^  are  tlie  only  sources  to 
which  I  need  refer,  for  tlie  orighi  of  the  notion  on 
which  this  Romance  is  founded.     In  addition  to  the 

»  See  nets  on  page  524. 

'  Hyde,  de  Relig.  Vet.  Persarum,  p.  272. 

2  The  account  which  Macrobius  gives'  of  the  downward 
joarney  of  the  Soul,  through  that  gate  of  the  zodiac  which 
opens  into  the  lower  spheres,  is  a  curious  specimen  of  the 
wild  fancies  passed  fur  philosophy  in  ancient  times. 

&Ia  Soma.  ScipionJs,  cap.  13. 


fitness  of  tiio  subject  for  poetrj'",  it  struck  me  also 
as  capable  of  affordiu<j  an  allegorical  medium, 
through  which  might  be  shadowed  out  (as  I  have 
endeavored  to  do  in  the  following  stories)  the 
fall  of  the  Soul  from  its  original  purity^ — the  loss 
of  light  and  happiness  which  it  suffers  in  the  pur- 
suit of  this  world's  perishable   pleasures — and   the 

In  the  system  of  Manes,  the  luminous  or  spiritual  principle 
owes  its  corruption  not  to  any  evil  tendency  of  its  own,  but  to 
a  violent  inroad  of  the  spirits  of  darkness,  who,  finding  them- 
selves in  the  neighborhood  of  this  pure  light,  and  becoming 
passionately  enamored  of  its  beauty,  break  the  boundaries 
between  them,  and  take  forcible  possession  of  it.'> 

b  See  a  Treatise  *'  De  la  H-elig-ion  dea  Peraes,"  by  the  Abbi  Foucher, 
Hemoifei  de  I'Academie,  torn.  xxxi.  p.  Ai5. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


521 


pur.ir'nmcnts,  botli  from  conscience  and  Divine 
justice,  witli  whicli  impurity,  pride,  and  presump- 
tuous inquiry  into  the  awful  secrets  of  Heaven  are 
sure  to  be  visited.  The  beautiful  story  of  Cupid 
and  Psyche  owes  its  cliief  charm  to  this  sort  of 
"  veiled  meaning,"  and  it  has  been  my  wish  (how- 
ever I  may  liave  failed  in  the  attempt)  to  com- 
municate to  tlie  following  pages  the  same  moral 
interest. 

Among  tlio  doctrines,  or  notions,  derived  by 
Plato  from  the  East,  one  of  tlie  most  natural  and 
sublime  is  tliat  which  inculcates  the  prc-existence 
of  the  soul,  and  its  gradual  descent  into  this  dark 
material  world,  from  that  region  of  spirit  and  light 
which  it  is  supposed  to  have  once  inhabited,  and 
to  which,  after  a  long  lapse  of  purification  and 
trial,  it  will  return.  This  belief,  under  various 
symbolical  forms,  may  be  traced  through  almost 
all  the  Oriental  tlieologies.  The  Chaldeans  repre- 
sent the  Soul  as  originally  endowed  with  wings, 
which  fall  away  when  it  sinks  from  its  native 
element,  and  must  be  reproduced  before  it  can 
hope  to  return.  Some  disciples  of  Zoroaster  once 
inquired  of  him,  "  How  the  wings  of  the  Soul 
might  be  made  to  grow  again  ?" — "  By  sprinkling 
them,"  he  replied,  "  with  the  Waters  of  Life." — 
"  But  where  are  those  Waters  to  be  found  ?"  they 
asked. — "  Iii  the  Garden  of  God,"  replied  Zoro- 
aster. 

The  mythology  of  the  Persians  has  allegorized 
the  same  doctrine,  in  the  history  of  those  genii  of 
light  wlio  strayed  from  their  dwellings  in  the  stars, 
and  obscured  their  original  nature  by  mi.^ture 
with  this  material  sphere  ;  while  the  Egyptians, 
connecting  it  with  the  descent  and  ascent  of  the 
Bim  in  the  zodiac,  considered  Autumn  as  emblem- 
atic of  the  Soul's  decline  towards  darkness,  and 
the  re-appearance  of  Spring  as  its  return  to  life  and 
light. 

Besides  the  chief  spirits  of  the  Mahometan 
heaven,  such  as  Gabriel,  the  angel  of  Revelation, 
Israfil,  by  whom  the  last  trmnpet  is  to  be  sounded, 
and  Azrael,  the  angel  of  death,  there  were  also  a 
number  of  subaltern  intelligences,  of  which  tra- 
dition has  presei-ved  the  names,  appointed  to  pre- 
side over  the  different  stages,  or  ascents,  into 
which  the  celestial  world  was  supposed  to  be 
divided.'  Thus  Kelail  governs  the  fifth  heaven ; 
while  Sadiel,  the  presiding  spirit  of  the  third,  is 
also  employed  in  steadying  the  motions  of  the 
earth,  which  would  be  in  a  constant  state  of 
agitation,  if  tliis  angel  did  not  keep  his  foot  planted 
upon  its  orb." 


1 "  We  adorned  the  lower  heaven  with  lights,  and  placed 
therein  a  guard  of  angels." — Koran^  chap.  xli. 


Among  other  miraculous  interpositions  in  favor 
of  Mahomet,  we  find  commemorated  in  the  pages 
of  the  Koran  the  appearance  of  five  thousand 
angels  on  his  side  at  the  battle  of  Bedr. 

The  ancient  Persians  supposed  that  Ormuzd 
appointed  thirty  angels  to  preside  successively 
over  the  days  of  the  month,  and  twelve  greater 
ones  to  assume  the  govennnent  of  the  months 
themselves ;  among  whom  Bahman  (to  whom 
Ormuzd  committed  the  custody  of  all  animals, 
e.\cept  man)  was  the  greatest.  Mihr,  the  angel 
of  the  7th  month,  was  also  the  spirit  that  watched 
over  the  alTairs  of  friendship  and  love ; — Chflr 
had  the  care  of  the  disk  of  the  sun ; — Mali  was 
agent  for  the  concerns  of  the  moon ; — Isphan- 
dai-maz  (whom  Cazvin  calls  the  Spirit  of  the 
Earth)  was  the  tutelar  genius  of  good  and  virtuous 
women,  &c.  &c.  &c.  For  all  tl^  the  reader  may 
consult  the  19tli  and  20th  chaptere  of  Hyde  de 
Relig.  Vet.  Persai'um,  where  the  names  and  attri- 
butes of  these  daily  and  monthly  angels  are  with 
much  minuteness  and  erudition  explained.  It  ap- 
pears, from  the  Zend-avesta,  that  the  Persians'  had 
a  certain  office  or  prayer  for  every  day  of  the 
mouth,  (addressed  to  the  particular  angel  who  pre- 
sided over  it,)  which  they  called  the  Sirouz^. 

The  Celestial  Hierarchy  of  the  Syrians,  as 
described  by  Kircher,  appears  to  be  the  most  reg- 
ularly graduated  of  any  of  these  systems.  In  the 
sphere  of  the  Moon  they  placed  the  angels,  in  that 
of  Mercury  the  archangels,  Venus  and  the  Sun 
contained  the  Principalities  and  the  Powers  ; — and 
so  on  to  tlie  summit  of  the  planetary  system, 
where,  in  the  sphere  of  Satuni,  the  Thrones  had 
their  station.  Above  this  was  the  habitation  of 
the  Cherubim  in  the  sphere  of  the  fixed  stars ;  and 
still  higher,  in  the  region  of  those  stars  which  are 
so  distant  as  to  be  imperceptible,  the  Seraphim, 
we  are  told,  the  most  perfect  of  all  celestial  crea- 
tures, dwelt. 

The  Sabeans  also  (as  D'Herbelot  tells  us)  had 
their  classes  of  angels,  to  whom  they  prayed  as 
mediators,  or  intercessors ;  and  the  Arabians  wor- 
shipped female  angels,  whom  they  called  Benad 
Hasche,  or,  Daughters  of  God. 


3  See  D'Herbelot,  passim. 


522 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


'TwAs  when  tlie  world  was  in  its  prime, 

When  the  fresh  stars  had  just  begun 
Their  race  of  glorjs  and  young  Time 

Told  his  first  birth-days  by  the  sun ; 
When,  in  the  light  of  Nature's  dawu 

Rejoicing,  men  and  angels  met' 
On  the  high  hill  and  sunny  lawn, — 
Ere  sorrow  came,  or  Sin  had  drawn 

'Twi.xt  man  and  heav'n  her  curtain  yet ! 
When  earth  lay  nearer  to  the  skies 

Than  in  these  days  of  crime  and  wo. 
And  mortals  saw,  witliout  surprise. 
In  tlie  mid-aiAangelic  eyes 

Gazing  upon  this  world  below. 

Alas,  that  Passion  should  profane, 
Ev'n  then,  the  morning  of  the  earth  ! 

That,  sadder  still,  the  fatal  stain 

Should  fall  on  hearts  of  heav'nly  birth — 

And  that  from  Woman's  love  should  fall 

So  dark  a  stain,  inost  sad  of  all ! 

One  cv'uin£r,  in  that  primal  hour, 

On  a  hill's  side,  where  hung  the  ray 
Of  sunset,  brightening  rill  and  bow'r, 

Three  noble  youths  conversing  lay  ; 
And,  as  they  look'd,  from  lime  to  time, 

To  the  far  sky,  where  Daylight  furPd 
His  radiant  wing,  tlieir  brows  sublime 

Bespoke  them  of  that  distant  world — 
Spirits,  who  once,  in  brotherhood 
Of  faith  and  bliss,  near  Alla  stood, 
And  o'er  whose  cheeks  full  oft  had  blown 
The  wind  that  breathes  from  Alla's  tlirone,' 
Creatures  of  hght,  such  as  still  play, 

Like  motes  in  sunshine,  round  the  Lord, 
And  through  their  infinite  array 
Transmit  each  moment,  night  and  day. 

The  echo  of  His  luminous  word  ! 

Of  Heaven  they  spoke,  and,  still  more  oft, 
Of  the  bright  eyes  that  charm'd  them  thence ; 

1  The  Mahometans  believe,  says  D'lTerbcIot,  that  in  that 
early  ppriod  of  the  ifrorUI,  "  les  hfinimes  n'eiirent  qu'une 
seule  religion,  et  furent  souvcnt  visitfes  des  Anges,  qui  leur 
donnoicnt  la  in;iin.'* 

s  "To  which  will  be  joined  the  sound  of  the  bells  hnnging 
on  the  trees,  which  will  be  put  in  motion  by  the  wind  pro- 
ceeding from  the  Throne,  so  often  as  the  Blessed  wish  for 
nuuic."    See  Salens  Koran,  Prelim.  Dissert. 

3  The  ancient  Persians  snpposcd  that  this  Throne  was 
placed  in  the  Sun,  and  that  through  the  stars  were  distributed 
the  various  classes  of  Angels  that  encircled  it. 


Till,  yielding  gradual  to  the  soft 
And  balmy  evening's  influence — 

The  silent  breathing  of  the  flow*rs. 
The  melting  iiglit  that  beam'd  above, 

As  on  their  first,  fond,  erring  hours, 
Each  told  the  story  of  his  love, 

Tlio  history  of  tliat  lioiu:  unblessed, 

When,  like  a  bird,  from  its  high  nest 

Wou  down  by  fascinating  eyes, 

For  Woman's  smile  he  lost  the  skies. 

The  First  who  spoke  was  one,  with  look 

The  least  celestial  of  the  thrce-^ 
A  Spirit  of  light  mould,  that  took 

The  prints  of  earth  most  yieldingly  ; 
Who,  ev'n  in  heav'n,  was  not  of  thoso 

Nearest  the  Throne,^  but  held  a  place 
Far  off',  among  those  shining  rows 

That  circle  out  through  endless  space, 
And  o'er  whose  wings  the  light  from  Hiir 
In  Heaven's  centre  falls  most  dim. 

Still  fair  and  glorious,  he  but  shone 
Among  those  j'ouths  th'  unheavenliesl  one — 
A  creature,  to  whom  light  remain'd 
From  Eden  still,  but  alter'd,  stain'd. 
And  o'er  whose  brow  not  Love  alone 

A  blight  had,  in  his  transit,  cast, 
But  other,  earthlier  joys  had  gone. 

And  left  their  foot-prints  as  they  pass'd. 
Sighing,  as  back  through  ages  flown. 

Like  a  tomb-searcher,  Mern'r}'  ran, 
Lifting  each  shroud  that  Time  had  tliro\vn 

O'er  buried  hopes,  he  thus  began : — 


FIRST  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

"  'TwAs  in  a  land,  that  far  away 

Into  the  golden  orient  lies. 
Where  Nature  knows  not  night's  delay, 
But  springs  to  meet  her  bridegroom,  Day, 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  skies. 
One  mom,  on  earthly  mission  sent,* 

And  midway  choosing  where  to  light, 

The  Basllidians  supposed  that  there  were  three  liundred 
and  sixty-five  orders  of  nngels,  "  dont  la  perfection  iilloii  en 
decroissanl,  a  mesure  qu'ils  s'eioignoicnt  de  la  premiere 
classe  d'esprits  phic6s  d;ins  le  premier  ciel."  See  Dupuis, 
Orig-.  des  Cuites,  toni.  ii.  p.  112, 

<  It  appears  that,  in  most  languages,  the  term  employed 
for  an  anpel  means  also  a  messenger.  Firischteh.  the  Per* 
sian  word  for  angel,  is  derived  (says  D'ilerbelot)  from  the 
verb  Firischtin,  to  send.  The  Hebrew  term,  too,  Melak, 
has  the  same  signification 


A 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


523 


I  saw,  from  tlio  blue  element — 

Oil  beautiful,  but  fatal  sight ! 
One  of  eartli"s  fairest  womankind. 
Half  veil'd  from  view,  or  ratlier  shrined 
In  tlie  clear  crystal  of  a  brook  ; 

Which,  while  it  hid  no  single  gleam 
Of  her  young  beauties,  made  them  look 

More  spirit-like,  as  they  might  seem 

Through  tl'.o  dim  shadowing  of  a  dream. 
Pausing  in  wonder  I  look'd  on, 

While,  playfully  around  her  breaking 
The  watora,  tliat  like  diamonds  shone, 

Slie  moved  in  liglit  of  her  own  making. 
At  length,  as  from  tliat  airy  height 
I  gently  lower'd  my  breatliless  flight, 
Tlie  tremble  of  my  wing  all  o'er 

(For  tlirougli  each  plume  I  felt  the  thrill) 
Startled  her,  as  she  reach'd  the  shore 

Of  that  small  lake — her  mirror  still — 
Above  whose  brink  she  stood,  like  snow 
When  rosy  with  a  sunset  glow. 
Never  shall  I  forget  those  eyes ! — 
The  sliame,  the  innocent  surprise 
Of  that  bright  face,  wlien  in  the  air 
Uplooking,  she  beheld  me  there. 
It  Beem'd  as  if  each  tliouglit,  and  look. 

And  motion,  were  that  minute  chain'd 
Fast  to  the  spot,  sucli  root  she  took, 
And — like  a  sunflower  by  a  brook, 

With  face  upturn'd — so  still  remaiu'd  ! 

In  pity  to  the  woud'ring  maid, 

Tliough  loath  from  such  a  vision  turning, 
Downward  I  bent,  beneath  the  shade 

Of  my  spread  wings  to  hide  the  burning 
Of  glances,  which — I  well  could  feel — 

For  me,  for  her,  too  warmly  shone  ; 
But,  ere  I  could  again  unseal 
My  restles.s  eyes,  or  even  steal 

One  sidelong  look,  the  maid  was  gone — 
Hid  from  mo  in  the  forest  leaves. 

Sudden  as  when,  in  all  her  charms 
Of  full-blown  light,  some  cloud  receives 

The  Moon  into  his  dusky  arms. 

'Tis  not  in  words  to  tell  tlie  power. 
The  despotism  that,  from  that  hour. 
Passion  held  o'er  me. "  Day  and  night 
I  sought  around  each  neighboring  spot ; 

»  The  name  given  by  the  Mahometans  to  the  infernal  re- 
gions, over  which,  Ihey  say.  the  angel  Tabhek  presitles. 

By  the  seven  gales  of  hell,  mentioned  in  the  Koran,  the 
commentators  understand  seven  different  departments  or 
wards,  in  which  seven  different  sorts  of  sinners  are  to  be 
panished.  The  first,  called  Gehennem,  is  for  sinful  Mus- 
snlmans;  the  second,  Ladha,  for  Christian  offenders;  the 


And,  in  the  cliaso  of  this  sweet  light, 

My  task,  and  heaven,  and  all  forgot ; — 
All,  but  tlio  one,  sole,  haunting  dream 
Of  her  I  saw  in  tliat  bright  stream. 

Nor  was  it  long,  ere  by  her  side 

I  found  myself,  whole  happy  days, 
List'ning  to  words,  whose  music  vied 

With  our  own  Eden's  seraph  lays. 
When  seraph  lays  are  warm'd  by  love, 
But,  wanting  thai,  far,  far  above  ! — 
And  looking  into  eyes  where,  blue 
And  beautiful,  like  skies  seen  through 
The  sleeping  wave,  for  me  there  shono 
A  heaven,  more  worshipp'd  than  ray  own. 
Oh  what,  while  I  could  hear  and  see 
Such  words  and  looks,  was  heav'n  to  me  ? 
Though  gross  the  air  on  earth  I  drew, 
'Twas  blessed,  while  she  breathed  it  too  ; 
Though  dark  the  flow'rs,  though  dim  the  sky, 
Love  lent  them  light,  while  she  was  nigh. 
Tliroughont  creation  I  but  knew 
Two  separate  worlds — the  one,  that  small, 

Beloved,  and  consecrated  spot 
Where  Lea  was — the  other,  all 

The  dull,  wide  waste,  where  she  was  not .' 

But  vain  my  suit,  my  madness  vain ; 
Though  gladly,  from  her  eyes  to  gain 

One  earthly  look,  one  stray  desire, 
I  would  have  torn  the  wings,  that  hung 

Fnrl'd  at  my  back,  and  o'er  the  Fire 
In  Geium's'  pit  their  fragments  flung  ; — 
'Twas  hopeless  all — pure  and  unmoved 

She  stood,  as  lilies  in  the  light 

Of  the  hot  noon  but  look  more  white ; 
And  though  she  loved  me,  deeply  loved, 
*Twas  not  as  man,  as  mortal — no. 
Nothing  of  eai-th  was  in  that  glow — 
She  loved  me  but  as  one,  of  race 
Angelic,  from  that  radiant  place 
She  saw  so  oft  in  dreams — tliat  Heaven, 

To  which  her  pr  lyers  at  mora  were  sent, 
And  on  whose  light  the  gazed  at  even, 
Wishing  for  wings,  that  she  might  go 
Out  of  this  shadowy  world  below, 

To  that  free,  glorious  element ! 

Well  X  remember  by  her  side 
Silting  at  rosy  even-tide, 

third,  Ilolhama,  is  appointed  for  Jews;  and  the  fourth  and 
fifih,  called  Sair  and  Sacar.  are  destined  to  receive  the  Sa- 
ba^ans  and  the  worshippers  of  fire:  in  the  sLxtb,  named 
dehim,  those  pagans  and  idolaters  who  admit  a  plurality  of 
gods  are  placed  ;  while  into  the  abyss  uf  the  seventh,  called 
Derk  Asfal,  or  the  Dcopost,  the  hypocritical  canters  of  cU 
religions  are  thrown. 


524 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Wlicn, — turning  to  the  star,  whose  head 
Look'd  out,  as  from  a  bridal  bed, 
At  tliat  mute,  bhishing  hour, — she  said, 
'  Oh  !  that  it  were  my  doom  to  be 

'  The  Spirit  of  yon  beauteous  star, 
'  Dwelling  up  there  in  purity, 

'  Alone,  as  all  such  bright  things  are ; — 
'  My  sole  employ  to  pray  and  shine, 

'  To  light  my  censer  at  the  sun, 
'  And  cast  its  fire  towards  the  shrine 

'  Of  Him  in  heav'n,  th'  Eternal  one !' 

So  innocent  the  maid,  so  free 

From  mortal  taint  in  soul  and  frame, 

Whom  'twas  my  crime — my  destiny — 
To  love,  ay,  buru  for,  with  a  flame. 
To  which  earth's  wildest  fires  are  tame. 

Had  you  but  seen  her  look,  when  first 

From  my  mad  lips  th'  avowal  burst ; 

Not  anger'd — no — the  feeling  came 

From  depths  beyond  mere  anger's  flame 

It  was  a  sorrow,  calm  as  deep, 

A  mournfulness  that  coidd  not  weep. 

So  fill'd  her  heart  was  to  the  brink, 

So  fix'd  and  froz'u  with  grief,  to  think 

That  angel  natures — that  ev'n  I, 

Whose  love  she  clung  to,  as  the  tie 

Between  her  spirit  and  the  sky — 
Should  fall  thus  headlong  from  the  height 
Of  all  that  heav'n  hath  pure  and  bright ! 

That  very  night — my  heart  had  grown 

Impatient  of  its  inward  burning  ; 
The  term,  too,  of  my  stay  was  flown, 
And  the  bright  Watchers  near  the  throne. 
Already,  if  a  meteor  shone 
Between  them  and  this  nether  zone, 

Thought  'twas  their  herald's  wing  returning. 
Oft  did  the  potent  spell-word,  giv'n 

To  Envoys  hither  from  the  skies. 
To  be  pronounced,  when  back  to  heav'n 

It  is  their  time  or  wish  to  rise. 
Come  to  my  lips  that  fatal  day ; 

And  once,  too,  was  so  nearly  spoken, 
That  my  spread  plumage  in  the  ray 
And  breeze  of  heav'n  began  to  play  ; 

When  my  heart  fail'd— the  spell  was  broken- 
Tho  word  unfinish'd  died  away, 
And  my  check'd  plumes,  ready  to  soar, 
Fell  slack  and  lifeless  as  before. 


1  I  h«ve  alrcariy  mentioned  that  some  of  Ihc  circnmslances 
of  chis  storj'  were  sugsesleil  lo  nic  hy  the  eastern  legend  of 
the  two  angels,  Harut  and  Marut,  as  given  by  Mariti,  who 
says  tliat  the  author  of  the  Taalini  founds  upon  it  the  Ma- 
hometan prohibition  of  wine."    I  have  since  found  that 


How  could  I  leave  a  world  which  she, 

Or  lost  or  won,  made  all  to  me? 

No  matter  where  my  vvand'rings  were. 

So  there  she  look'd,  breathed,  moved  about- 
Wo,  ruin,  death,  more  sweet  with  her. 

Than  Paradise  itself,  without ! 

But,  to  return — that  very  day 

A  feast  was  held,  where,  full  of  mirth. 
Came— crowding  thick  as  flow'rs  that  play 
In  summer  winds — the  young  and  gay 

And  beautiful  of  this  bright  earth. 
And  she  was  there,  and  'mid  the  young 

And  beautiful  stood  first,  alone  ; 
Though  on  her  gentle  brow  still  hung 

The  shadow  I  that  morn  had  thrown- 
The  first,  that  ever  shame  or  wo 
Had  cast  upon  its  vernal  snow. 
My  heart  was  madden'd ;— iii  the  flush 

Of  the  wild  revel  I  gave  way 
To  all  that  frantic  mirth — that  rush 

Of  desp'rale  gayety,  which  they. 
Who  never  felt  how  pain's  excess 
Can  break  out  thus,  think  happiness! 
Sad  mimicry  of  mirth  and  life, 
Whoso  flashes  come  but  from  the  strife 
Of  inward  passions — like  the  light 
Struck  out  by  clashing  swords  in  fight 

Then,  too,  that  juice  of  earth.'the  bane 

And  blessing  of  man's  heart  and  brain- 
That  draiiglit  of  sorcery,  which  brines 

Phantoms  of  fair,  forbidden  thinos 

Whose  drops,  like  those  of  rainbows,  smile 

Upon  the  mists  that  circle  man, 
Bright'ning  not  only  Earth,  the  while, 

But  grasping  Heav'n,  too,  in  their  span  !— 
Then  first  the  fatal  wine-cup  rain'd 

Its  dews  of  darkness  through  my  lips,' 
Casting  whate'er  of  light  rcmain'd 

To  my  lost  soul  into  eclipse  ; 
And  filling  it  with  such  wild  dreams. 

Such  fantasies  and  wrong  desires. 
As,  in  the  absence  of  heav'n's  beams. 

Haunt  us  forever— like  wild-fires 

That  walk  this  earth,  when  day  retires. 

Now  hear  the  rest ;— our  banquet  done, 
I  sought  her  in  th'  accustom'd  bow'r, 


Mariti's  version  of  the  tile  (whicli  differs  also  from  that  of 
Dr.  Prideaux.  in  his  Life  of  Mahomet)  is  taken  froni  the 
French  Eacycloptdie.  in  which  worli,  under  the  head  "  Arot 
et  Marot,"  (he  reader  will  find  it. 

o  Tlie  BalmrilanUBh  lelisthe  fable  differently. 


THE  LOVES  OF 

THE  ANGELS.                                   525 

Where  late  :ve  oft,  wlien  day  was  gone, 

'  Already,  see,  my  plumes  have  stirr'd. 

And  tlio  world  liusii'd,  had  met  alone, 

'  And  tremble  for  their  home  on  high. 

At  the  same  silent,  moouhght  hour. 

'  Thus  be  our  parting — cheek  to  cheek — 

Her  eyes,  as  usual,  were  upturn'd 

*  One  minute's  lapse  will  bo  forgiv'u, 

To  her  loved  Star,  whose  histre  burn'd 

*  And  thou,  the  next,  shall  hear  me  speak 

Purer  than  ever  on  that  night ;                           -     ^ 

'  The  spell  that  plumes  my  wing  for  Heav'n  I'  ' 

While  she,  in  looking,  grow  more  bright. 

As  thougli  she  borrow'd  of  its  light 

While  thus  I  spoke,  the  fearful  maid. 

Of  me,  and  of  herself  afraid. 

There  was  a  virtue  in  that  scene, 

Had  shrinking  stood,  like  flow'rs  beneath 

A  spell  of  holiness  around. 

The  scorching  of  the  south-wind's  breath  : 

Which,  had  my  burning  brain  not  been 

But  when  I  named — alas,  too  well. 

Thus  madden'd,  would  have  held  me  bound. 

I  now  recall,  though  '.vilder'd  then, — 

iVs  though  I  trod  celestial  ground. 

Instantly,  when  I  named  the  spell, 

Ev'n  as  it  was,  with  soul  all  flame. 

Her  brow,  her  eyes  uprose  again. 

And  lips  that  burn'd  in  their  own  sighs, 

And,  with  an  eagerness,  that  spoke 

I  stood  to  gaze,  with  awe  and  shame — 

The  sudden  light  that  o'er  her  broke. 

The  memory  of  Eden  came 

*  The  spell,  the  spell  I — oh,  speak  it  now. 

Full  o'er  me  when  I  saw  those  eyes ; 

*  And  I  will  bless  thee  I'  she  exclaim' d — 

-nd  though  too  well  each  glance  of  mine 

Unknowing  what  I  did,  inflamed, 

To  the  pale,  shrinking  maiden  proved 

."Vud  lost  already,  on  her  brow 

How  far,  alas,  from  aught  divine. 

I  stamp'd  one  burning  kiss,  and  named 

Aught  worthy  of  so  pure  a  shrine. 

The  mystic  word,  till  then  ne'er  told 

Was  the  wild  love  with  which  I  loved. 

To  living  creature  of  eartli's  mould  ! 

Vet  must  she,  too,  have  seen — oh  yes. 

Scarce  was  it  said,  when,  quick  as  thought, 

*Tis  soothing  but  to  think  she  saw 

Her  lips  from  mine,  like  echo,  caught 

The  deep,  true,  soul-felt  tenderness. 

The  holy  sound — her  hands  and  eyes 

The  homage  of  an  Angel's  awe 

Wore  instant  lifted  to  the  skies. 

To  her,  a  mortal,  whom  pure  love 

And  thrice  to  heav'n  she  spoke  it  out 

Then  placed  above  him — far  above — 

With  that  triumphant  look  Faith  wears, 

And  all  that  struggle  to  repress 

When  not  a  cloud  of  fear  or  doubt. 

■V  sinful  spirit's  mad  excess. 

A  vapor  from  this  vale  of  tears,                       • 

Which  work'd  within  me  at  that  hour. 

Between  her  and  her  God  appears  I 

When,  with  a  voice,  where  Passion  shed 

• 

Ml  the  deep  sadness  of  her  power. 

That  very  moment  her  whole  frame 

Her  melancholy  power — I  said. 

All  bright  and  glorified  became. 

*  Then  be  it  so  ;  if  back  to  heaven 

And  at  her  back  I  saw  unclose 

'  I  must  unloved,  unpitied  fly, 

Two  wings,  magnificent  as  those 

'  Without  one  blest  memorial  giv'n 

That  sparkle  around  Alla's  Throne, 

'  To  sooth  me  in  that  lonely  sky  ; 

Whose  plumes,  as  buoyantly  she  rose. 

'  One  look,  like  those  the  young  and  fond 

Above  me,  in  the  moonbeam  shone 

'  Give  when  they're  parting — which  would  be, 

With  a  pure  liglit,  which — from  its  hue. 

'  Ev'n  in  remembrance,  far  beyond 

Unknown  upon  this  earth — -I  knew 

'  AU  heav'n  hath  left  of  bliss  for  me  1 

Was  light  from  Eden,  glist'ning  through  1 

Most  holy  vision  !  ne'er  before 

'  Oh,  but  to  see  that  head  reelme 

Did  aught  so  radiant — since  the  day 

*  A  minute  on  this  trembling  arm. 

When  Eblis,  in  his  downfall,  bore 

'  And  those  mild  eyes  look  up  to  mine. 

The  third  of  the  bright  stars  away — 

'  Without  a  dread,  a  thought  of  harm  .' 

Rise,  in  earth's  beauty,  to  repair 

'  To  meet,  but  once,  the  thrilling  touch 

That  loss  of  light  and  glory  there ! 

'  Of  lips  too  purely  fond  to  fear  me — 

'  Or,  if  that  boon  be  all  too  much, 

But  did  I  tamely  view  her  flight  ? 

'  Ev'n  thus  to  bring  their  fragrance  near  me  I 

Did  not  /,  too,  proclaim  out  thrice 

'  Nay,  shrink  not  so — a  look — a  word — 

The  pow'rful  words  that  were,  that  night, — 

'  Give  them  but  kindly  and  I  fly ; 

Oh,  ev'n  for  heaven  too  much  delight  I — 

L 


626                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Again  to  bring  us,  eyes  to  eyes, 

That  holy  Shame,  which  ne'er  forgets 

And  soul  to  soul,  in  Paradise? 

Th'  imblench'd  renown  it  used  to  wear ; 

I  did — I  spoke  it  o'er  and  o'er — 

Whose  blush  remains,  when  Virtue  sets, 

I  pray'd,  I  wept,  but  all  in  vain  ; 

To  show  her  sunshine  lias  been  there. 

For  me  the  spell  had  pow'r  no  more. 

Tliero  seem'd  around  me  some  dark  chain 

Once  only,  wliile  the  tale  he  told. 

Which  still,  as  I  essay'd  to  soar. 

Were  his  eyes  lifted  to  beliold 

Baffled,  alas,  each  wild  endeavor: 

That  happy,  stainless  star,  where  she 

Dead  lay  my  wings,  as  they  have  lain 

Dwelt  in  her  bower  of  purity  ! 

Since  Ihat  sad  hour,  and  will  remain — 

One  minute  did  he  look,  and  then — 

So  wills  th'  offended  God — for  ever  ! 

As  though  he  felt  some  deadly  pain 

From  its  sweet  light  through  heart  and  brain — • 

It  was  to  yonder  star  I  traced 

Slirunk  back,  and  never  look'd  again. 

Herjouniey  up  th'  illumined  waste — 

That  iflo  in  the  blue  firmament, 
To  which  so  oft  her  fancy  went 

In  wishes  and  in  dreams  before, 

And  which  was  now — sucli,  Purity, 

Who  was  the  Second  Spin  ?  ho 

Thy  bless'd  reward — ordaiu'd  to  be 

With  the  proud  front  and  piercing  glajce-          , 

Her  home  of  liglit  for  evermore  ! 

Who  seem'd,  when  viewing  heaven's  expaixe. 

Once — or  did  I  but  fancy  so? — 

As  though  his  far-sent  eye  could  see 

Ev'n  in  her  flight  to  that  fair  sphere. 

On,  on  into  th'  Immensity 

'Mid  all  her  spirit's  new-felt  glow. 

Behind  the  veils  of  that  blue  sky. 

A  pitying  look  she  turn'd  below 

Where  Alla's  grandest  secrets  lie  ? — 

On  him  who  stood  in  darkness  hero  ; 

His  wings,  the  while,  though  day  was  gone, 

Him  v.-hom,  perhaps,  if  vain  regret 

Flashing  with  many  a  various  hue 

Can  dwell  in  heaven,  she  pities  yet ; 

Of  light  they  from  themselves  alone, 

And  oft,  when  looking  to  this  dim 

Instinct  v,'ith  Eden's  brightness,  drew. 

And  distant  world,  remembers  him. 

'Twas  RtiBi — once  among  the  prime 

And  flow'r  of  those  bright  creatures,  naned 

But  soon  that  passing  dream  was  gone  ; 

Spirits  of  Knowledge,'  who  o'er  Time 

Fai-ther  and  farther  olFshe  shone. 

And  Space  and  Thought  an  empire  '.laim'd. 

Till  lesscn'd  to  a  point,  as  small 

Second  alone  to  Him,  wliose  light 

As  are  those  s])ecks  that  yonder  burn, — 

Was,  ev'n  to  theirs,  as  day  to  night ; 

Tiiose  vivid  drops  of  light,  that  fall 

'Twixt  whom  and  them  was  distance  far 

Tiie  last  from  Day's  exJiausted  urn. 

And  wide  as  would  the  journey  be 

And  when  at  length  s!)0  merged,  afar. 

To  reach  from  any  island  star 

Into  her  own  immortal  star. 

The  vague  shores  "^  Infinity  ! 

And  when  at  length  my  straining  sight 

Had  caught  her  wing's  last  fading  ray, 

'Twas  RtjBi,  in  whoso  mournful  eye 

That  minute  from  my  soul  the  light 

Slept  the  dim  light  of  days  gone  by  ; 

Of  heav'u  and  love  both  pass'd  away ; 

Whose  voice,  though  sweet,  fell  on  the  ear 

And  I  forgot  my  home,  my  birth. 

Like  echoes,  in  some  silent  place. 

Profaned  my  .spirit,  sunk  my  brow. 

When  first  awaked  for  many  a  year  ; 

And  rcveU'd  in  gi'oss  joys  of  earth. 

And  when  he  smiled,  if  o'er  his  face 

Till  I  became — what  I  am  now  !" 

Smile  ever  sKone,  'twas  like  the  grace 

Of  moonlight  rainbows,  fair,  but  wan. 

The  Spirit  bow'd  his  head  in  sliamo  ; 

The  sunny  life,  the  glory  gone. 

A  shame,  that  of  itself  would  tell — 

Ev'n  o'er  his  pride,  Ihougli  still  the  same, 

Were  there  not  ev'n  those  breaks  of  flame, 

A  sofl'ning  shade  from  sorrow  came ; 

Celestial,  through  his  clouded  frame — 

And  though  at  times  his  spirit  knew 

How  grand  the  height  from  which  he  fell ! 

The  kindlings  of  disdain  and  ire. 

'  i'he  Keruliiim,  as  the  Mussnimans  anil  them,  are  often 

der  one  common  name  of  Azizil,  hy  which  all  spirits  who 

joined  inUiscrhiiinately  with  the  Asrafil  <ir  Seraphim,  un- 

approach  near  the  throne  of  Alia  arc  designated. 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


527 


Short  was  the  fitful  glare  they  threw — 
Like  tlie  last  flashes,  fierce  but  few, 
Seen  through  some  noble  pile  on  fire  ! 

Such  was  the  Angel,  who  now  broke 

The  silence  that  had  come  o'er  all, 
When  he,  the  Spirit  that  last  spoke, 

Closed  the  sad  iiist'ry  of  his  fall ; 
And,  wliile  a  sacred  lustre,  flown 

For  many  a  day,  relumed  his  cheek — 
Beautiful,  as  in  days  of  old  ; 
And  not  tliose  eloquent  lips  alone 

But  every  feature  seem'd  to  speak — 
Thus  his  eventful  story  told  : — 


SECOND  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

•*  You  both  remember  well  the  day, 

AVhen  unto  Eden's  new-mado  bow'rs, 
Alla  convoked  the  bright  array 

Of  his  supreme  angehc  pow'rs. 
To  witness  the  one  wonder  yet. 

Beyond  man,  angel,  star,  or  sun, 
He  must  achieve,  ere  he  could  set 

tLs  seal  upon  the  world,  as  done — • 
To  see  that  last  perfection  rise, 

That  crowning  of  creation's  birth, 
When,  mid  the  worship  and  surprise 
Of  circling  angels,  Woman's  eyes 

First  open'd  upon  heav'n  and  earth  ; 
And  from  tlieir  lids  a  thrill  was  sent, 
That  through  each  living  spirit  went, 
Like  first  light  through  the  firmament ! 

Can  you  forget  how  gradual  stole 
Tiie  fresh-awaken'd  breath  of  soul 
Througliout  her  perfect  form — which  seem*d 
To  grow  transparent,  as  there  beam'd 
That  dawn  of  Mind  within,  and  caught 
New  loveliness  from  each  new  thought? 
Slow  as  o'er  summer  seas  we  trace 

The  progress  of  the  noontide  air, 
Dimpling  its  bright  and  silent  face 
Eacli  minute  into  some  new  grace, 

And  varying  heav'u's  reflections  there — 
Or,  like  the  light  of  evening,  stealing 

O'er  some  fair  temple,  which  all  d;iy 
Hatli  slept  in  shadow,  slow  revealing 

Its  several  beauties,  ray  by  ray, 
Till  it  shines  out,  a  thing  to  bless, 
Ail  full  of  light  and  loveliness. 

i"C'est  un  fait  inihibitahle  que  la  p!up:irt  des  nnciens 
philosnphes,  soil  Ch:ildeens,  suit  Grecs,  nous  ont  donno  les 
astres  cmiiine  aniiiiL-s.etout^outenuqiie  les  astre:^,qui  nous 
eclaireot,  n'titoteDt  que  ou  les  chars,  ou  mcme  les  navires,  des 


Can  you  forget  her  blush,  when  round 
Through  Eden's  lone,  enchanted  ground 
She  look'd,  and  saw,  the  sea — the  skies — 

And  heard  the  rush  of  many  ^  wing. 

On  high  behests  then  vanishing; 
And  saw  the  last  few  angel  eyes. 
Still  ling'ring — mine  among  the  rest, — • 
Reluctant  leaving  scenes  so  blest  ? 
From  that  miraculous  hour,  the  fiite 

Of  this  new,  glorious  Being  dwelt 
Forever,  with  a  spel  ■  jke  weight, 
Upon  my  spirit — early,  late, 

Whate'cr  I  did,  or  dream'd,  or  felt, 
The  thought  of  what  might  yet  befall 
That  matcliless  creature  mix'd  willi  all. — 
Nor  she  alone,  but  her  whole  race 

Through  ages  yet  to  come — whate'er 

Of  feminine,  and  fond,  and  fair. 
Should  spring  from  that  pure  minti  and  face. 

All  waked  my  soul's  intensest  care  ; 
Their  forms,  souls,  feelings,  still  to  me 
Creation's  strangest  mystery  ! 

It  was  my  doom — ev'n  from  the  first, 
When  witnessing  the  primal  burst 
Of  Nature's  wonders,  I  saw  rise 
Those  bright  creations  in  the  skies, — • 
Tliose  worlds  instinct  with  life  and  light. 
Which  man,- remote,  but  sees  by  niglit, — 
It  was  my  doom  still  to  be  haunted 
By  some  new  wonder,  some  sublime 
And  matchless  work,  that,  for  the  time 
Held  all  my  soul,  enchain'd,  enchanted, 
And  left  me  not  a  thought,  a  dream, 
A  word,  but  ou  that  only  theme  I 

The  wish  to  know — that  endless  thirst, 

AVhich  ev'n  by  quenching  is  awaked. 
And  whicli  becomes  or  bless'd  or  cursed. 

As  is  the  fount  whereat  'tis  slaked — 
Still  urged  me  onward,  with  desire 
Insatiate,  to  explore,  inquire — 
Whate'er  the  wondrous  things  might  be 
That  waked  each  new  idolatry — 

Their  cause,  aim,  source,  wlience-evcr  sprung — 
Their  inmost  pow'rs,  as  thougli  for  me 

Existence  ou  that  knowledge  hung. 

Oh  what  a  vision  were  the  stars, 

When  first  I  saw  them  burn  on  high. 

Rolling  along,  like  living  cars 

Of  light,  for  gods  to  journey  by  !^ 

Tntelligences  qui  les  cnnduisoient.    Pour  le**  C/nirs,  cela  se 
lit  partout;  on  n'.i  qu'ouvrir  Pline,  St.  Cli^inent."  &.c.  &,c. — 
Jilemoirc  Htstoriquc,  sur  Ic  Sabiismc,  piir  M.  Foubmobt. 
A  belief  that  the  stars  are  either  spirits  or  the  vehicles  of 


528                                               MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Tlipy  were  my  heart's  first  passion — days 

Now  bless'd  the  humblest,  meanest  sod 

And  nights,  unwearied,  ill  their  rays 

Of  the  dark  earth  where  Woman  trod  ! 

Have  I  hung  floating,  till  each  sense 

In  vain  my  former  idols  glisteu'd 

Seem'd  full  of  their  bright  influence. 

From  their  far  thrones  ;  in  vain  these  ears 

Innocent  joy  !  alas,  how  much 

To  the  once-thrilling  music  listen'd, 

1            Of  misery  had  I  shunn'd  below. 

That  hymu'd  around  my  favorite  spheres — 

Could  I  have  still  lived  bless'd  with  such  ; 

To  earth,  to  earth  each  thought  was  giv'n. 

Nor,  proud  and  restless,  bum'd  to  know 

That  in  this  half-lost  soul  iiad  birth  ; 

The  knowledge  that  brings  guilt  and  wo. 

Like  some  high  mount,  whose  head's  in  heav'n. 

Often — so  much  I  loved  to  trace 

While  its  whole  shadow  rests  on  earth  I 

The  secrets  of  this  starry  race — 

Have  I. at  morn  and  evening  riui 

Nor  was  it  Love,  ev'n  yet,  that  thralFd 

Along  the  lines  of  radiance  spun 

My  spirit  in  his  bumiug  ties  ; 

Like  webs,  between  them  and  the  sun, 

And  less,  still  less  could  it  be  call'd 

Untwisting  all  the  tangled  ties 

That  grosser  flame,  round  which  Love  flies 

Of  light  into  their  dilFerent  dyes — 

Nearer  and  nearer,  till  he  dies — 

Then  fleetly  wing'd  I  off,  in  quest 

No,  it  was  wonder,  such  as  tliriU'd 

Of  those,  the  farthest,  loneliest. 

At  all  God's  works  my  dazzled  sense  : 

That  watch,  like  winking  sentinels,' 

The  same  rapt  wonder,  only  fill'd 

The  void,  beyond  which  Chaos  dwells  ; 

With  passion,  more  profound,  iutense, — 

And  there,  with  noiseless  i)lume,  pursued 

A  vehement,  but  wand'ring  fire, 

Their  track  through  that  grand  soUtude, 

Which,  though  nor  love,  nor  yet  desire, — 

Asking  intently  all  and  each 

Though  through  all  womankind  it  took 

What  soul  within  their  radiance  dwelt, 

Its  range,  as  lawless  lightuings  run. 

And  wishing  their  sweet  light  were  speech. 

Yet  wanted  but  a  touch,  a  look. 

That  they  might  tell  me  all  they  felt 

To  fix  it  burning  upon  One. 

« 
Nay,  oft,  so  passionate  my  chase 

Then,  too,  the  ever-restless  zeal. 

Of  these  resplendent  heirs  of  space. 

Th'  uisatiate  curiosity 

Oft  did  I  follow— lest  a  ray 

To  know  how  shapes,  so  fair,  must  feel — 

Should  'scape  me  in  the  farthest  night — 

To  look,  but  once,  beueath  the  seal 

Some  pilgrim  Comet,  on  his  way 

Of  so  mucji  loveliness,  and  see 

To  visit  distant  slirines  of  light, 

What  souls  belong'd  to  such  bright  eyes — 

And  well  remember  how  I  sung 

Whether,  as  sunbeams  find  their  way 

Exnltingly,  when  on  my  sight 

Into  the  gem  that  hidden  lies. 

New  worlds  of  stars,  all  fresh  and  young, 

Those  looks  could  inward  turn  their  ray. 

As  if  just  born  of  darkness,  sprung! 

And  make  the  soul  as  bright  as  they : 

All  this  impcU'd  my  anxious  chase, 

Such  was  my  pure  ambition  then, 

And  still  the  more  I  saw  and  knew 

My  sinless  transport,  night  and  morn  : 

Of  Woman's  fond,  weak,  conqu'ring  race. 

Ere  yet  tliis  newer  world  of  men, 

Th'  intenser  still  ray  wonder  grew. 

And  that  most  fair  of  stars  was  born 

Whicli  I,  in  fatal  hour,  saw  rise 

I  had  beheld  their  First,  their  Eve, 

Among  the  flow'rs  of  Paradise  ! 

Bom  in  that  splendid  Paradise, 

Thenceforth  my  nature  all  was  changed. 

Which  sprung  there  solely  to  receive 

My  heart,  soul,  senses  turu'd  below  ; 

The  first  light  of  her  waking  eyes. 

And  he,  who  but  so  lately  ranged 

I  had  seen  purest  angels  lean 

Yon  wonderful  expanse,  where  glow 

In  worship  o'er  her  from  above ; 

Worlds  upon  worlds, — yet  found  his  mind 

And  man — oh  yes,  had  envying  seen 

Ev'n  m  that  luminous  range  confined, — 

Proud  man  possess'd  of  all  her  love. 

spirits,  was  common  to  all  the  religions  and  heresies  of  the 

the  heavens,  to  watch  over  the  other  fixed  stars,  and  super- 

Enst. Kircher  has  given  the  names  and  stations  of  the  seven 

intend  the  planets  in  their  course.    The  names  of  these  fmir 

archangels,  who  were  by  the  Cabala  of  the  Jews  distributed 

sentinel  stars  are,  according  to  the  Boundesh,  Taschtcr,  fur  ^ 

through  the  planets. 

the  east ;  Satevis.  for  the  west ;  Vcnand,  for  the  south  ;  and 

»  According  to  the  cosmogony  of  the  ancient  Persians, 

Hanorang,  for  the  north. 

there  were  four  stars  set  its  sentinels  in  the  four  quarters  of 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


529 


I  Baw  their  happinuss,  so  brief. 

So  exquisite, — her  error,  too, 
Tliat  easy  trust,  tliat  prompt  belief 

In  what  tlie  warm  heart  wishes  true ; 
That  faitli  iu  words,  wlieu  kindly  said. 
By  which  the  whole  fond  sex  is  led — 
Mingled  with — what  I  durst  not  blame. 

For  'tis  my  own — that  zeal  to  knoiv^ 
Sad,  fatal  zeal,  so  sure  of  wo ; 
Which,  though  from  heav'n  all  pure  it  carae, 
Yet  staiu'd,  misused,  brought  sin  and  shame 

On  her,  on  me,  on  all  below  I 

I  had  seen  this ;  had  seen  Man,  arm"d, 

As  his  soul  is,  with  strongth  and  sense, 
By  her  f.rst  words  to  ruin  chann'd ; 

His  vaunted  reason's  cold  defence, 
Like  an  ice-barrier  iu  the  ray 
Of  melting  summer,  smiled  away 
Nay,  stranger  yet,  spite  of  all  this — 

Though  by  her  counsels  taught  to  err. 

Though  driy'n  from  Paradise  for  her, 
(And  wilh  her — that,  at  least,  was  bliss,) 
Had  I  not  heard  him,  ere  he  cross'd 

The  threshold  of  that  earthly  heav'n. 
Which  by  her  wildering  smile  he  lost — 

So  quickly  was  the  wrong  forgiv'u  I — 
Had  I  not  heard  him,  as  he  press'd 
The  frail,  fond  trembler  to  a  breast 
Which  slie  had  doom'd  to  sin  and  strife, 
Call  her — ev'n  then — his  Life  !  his  Life  !' 
Yes,  such  the  love-taught  name,  tlie  fii'st. 

That  ruin'd  Man  to  Woman  gave, 
Kv'n  in  his  outcast  hour,  when  cursed 
By  lier  fond  witchery,  with  that  worst 

And  earliest  boon  of  love,  the  grave  I 
She,  who  brought  death  into  the  world. 

There  stood  before  him,  with  the  light 

Of  their  lost  Paradise  still  bright 
Upon  those  sunny  locks,  that  curl'd 
Down  her  white  shouldei-s  to  her  feet — 
So  beautiful  in  form,  so  sweet 
In  heart  and  voice,  as  to  redeem 

The  loss,  the  death  of  all  things  dear, 
K.'icept  herself — and  make  it  seem 

Life,  endless  Life,  while  she  was  near ! 
Could  I  help  wond'ring  at  a  creatiue, 

Thus  circled  round  with  spells  so  strong — 
One,  to  whose  ev'ry  thought,  word,  feature. 

In  joy  and  wo,  through  right  and  wrong, 
Such  sweet  omnipotence  heaven  gave, 
To  bless  or  ruin,  curse  or  save  ? 


*  Cbavah,  or,  as  it  is  in  Arabic,  ilavah,  (the  name  by 
which  Adam  called  Ihe  woman  after  their  transgression,) 
means  "  Life." 


Nor  did  the  marvel  cease  with  her — 

New  Eves  in  all  her  daughters  came, 
As  strong  to  charm,  as  weak  to  err, 

As  sure  of  man  through  praise  and  blame, 

Whato'er  tliey  brought  him,  pride  or  shame. 
He  still  th'  unreasoning  worshipper. 

And  they,  throughout  all  time,  the  same, 

Enchantresses  of  soul  and  frame. 
Into  whose  hands,  from  first  to  last, 

This  world  with  ail  its  destinies, 
Devotedly  by  heav'n  seems  cast. 

To  save  or  ruin,  as  they  please  I 
Oh,  'tis  not  to  be  told  how  long. 

How  restlessly  I  sigh'd  to  find 
Some  one,  from  out  that  witching  throng, 

Some  abstract  of  the  form  and  mind 
Of  the  whole  matchless  sex,  from  which 

In  my  own  arms  beheld,  possess'd, 
I  might  learn  all  the  powers  to  witch. 

To  warm,  and  (if  my  fate  unbless'd 

Would  have  it)  ruin,  of  the  rest ! 
Into  whose  inward  soul  and  sense 

I  might  descend,  as  doth  the  bee 
Into  the  flower's  deep  heart,  and  thence 

Rifle,  in  all  its  purity, 
The  prime,  the  quintessence,  the  whole 
Of  wondrous  Woman's  frame  and  soul ! 


At  length,  my  burning  wish,  my  prayer — 
(For  such — oh  what  will  tongues  not  dare, 
When  hearts  go  wrong  ? — this  lip  preferr'd)- 
At  length  my  ominous  prayer  was  heard — 
But  whether  heard  in  heaven  or  liell. 
Listen — and  thou  wilt  know  too  well. 

There  was  a  maid,  of  all  who  move 

Like  visions  o'er  this  orb,  most  fit 
To  be  a  bright  young  angel's  love. 

Herself  so  bright,  so  exquisite ! 
The  pride,  too,  of  her  step,  as  light 

Along  th'  unconscious  earth  she  went, 
Seem'd  that  of  one,  bom  with  a  right 

To  walk  some  heavenlier  element. 
And  tread  in  places  where  her  feet 
A  star  at  ev'ry  step  should  meet. 
'Twas  not  alone  that  loveliness 

By  which  tlie  wilder'd  sense  is  caught — 
Of  Ups,  whose  very  breath  could  bless ; 

Of  playful  blushes,  that  seem'd  naught 

But  luminous  escapes  of  thought ; 
Of  eyes  tliat,  when  by  anger  stirr'd. 
Were  fire  itself,  but,  at  a  word 

Of  tenderness,  all  soft  became 
As  though  they  could,  like  the  sun's  bird. 

Dissolve  away  in  their  own  flame — 


530                                              MOORE'S  WORKS. 

Of  form,  as  pliant  as  the  shoots 

Vague  wishes,  fond  imaginings. 

Of  a  young  tree,  in  vernal  flower  ; 

Love-dreams,  as  yet  no  object  knowing — 

Yet  round  and  glowing  as  the  fruits, 

Light,  winged  hopes,  that  come  when  bid. 

That  drop  from  it  in  summer's  hour  ;— 

And  rainbow  joys  that  end  in  weeping  ; 

'Twas  not  alone  this  loveliness 

And  passions,  among  pure  thoughts  hid, 

That  falls  to  loveliest  women's  share, 

Like  serpents  under  flowerets  sleeping : — 

Though,  even  here,  her  form  could  spare 

'Mong  all  these  feelings — felt  where'er 

From  its  own  heauty's  rich  excess 

Young  heai-ts  are  beating — I  saw  there 

Enough  to  make  ev'n  them  more  fair — 

Proud  thoughts,  aspirings  high — beyond 

But  'twas  the  Mind,  outshining  clear 

Whate'er  yet  dwelt  in  soul  so  fond — 

Through  her  whole  frame — the  soul,  still  near, 
To  liglit  each  charm,  yet  independent 
Of  what  it  lighted,  as  the  sun 

Glimpses  of  glory,  far  away 

Into  the  bright,  vague  future  given ; 
And  fancies,  free  and  grand,  whose  play. 

That  shines  on  flowers,  would  bo  resplendent 
Were  there  no  flowers  to  shine  upon — 

Like  that  of  eaglets,  is  near  heaven  ! 
AVith  this,  too — what  a  soul  and  heart 

'Twas  this,  all  this,  in  one  combined — 

To  fall  beneath  the  tempter's  art ! — 

Th'  unuumber'd  looks  and  arts  that  form 

A  zeal  for  knowledge,  such  as  ne'er 

The  glory  of  young  woman-kind. 

Enshrined  itself  in  form  so  fair. 

Taken,  in  their  perfection,  warm. 
Ere  time  had  chiii'd  a  single  charm, 

Since  that  first,  fatal  hour,  when  Ev3 
With  every  fruit  of  Eden  bless'd. 

And  stamp'd  with  such  a  seal  of  Mind, 

Save  one  alone — rather  than  leave 

As  gave  to  beauties,  tliat  might  be 

That  one  unreach'd,  lost  all  the  rest. 

Too  sensual  else,  too  unrefined. 

The  impress  of  Divinity ! 

It  was  iu  dreams  that  firet  I  stole 

'Twas  this — a  union,  which  the  hand 

With  gentle  mastery  o'er  her  mind — 
In  that  rich  twilight  of  the  soul. 

Of  Nature  kept  for  her  alone, 

When  reason's  beam,  half  hid  behind 

Of  every  thing  most  playful,  bland. 
Voluptuous,  spiritual,  grand. 

In  angel-natures  and  her  own — 
Oh  this  it  was  that  drew  me  nigh 

The  clouds  of  sleep,  obscurely  gilds 
Each  shadowy  shape  the  Fancy  builds — 
'Twas  then,  by  that  soft  light,  I  brouglit 
Vague,  glimmering  visions  to  her  view  ; — 

One,  who  seem'd  kin  to  heaven  as  I, 

Catches  of  radiance,  lost  when  caught. 

A  bright  twin-sister  from  on  high — 
One,  in  whose  love,  I  felt,  were  given 

Bright  labyrinths,  that  led  to  naught, 

And  vistas,  with  no  pathway  through  ; — 

The  mix'd  delights  of  either  sphere, 

Dwellings  of  bliss,  that  opening  shone, 

All  that  the  spirit  seeks  in  heaven, 

Tiien  closed,  dissolved,  and  left  no  trace — 

And  all  the  senses  burn  'or  here. 

All  that,  in  short,  could  tempt  Hope  on. 

But  give  her  wiug  no  resting-place  ; 

Had  we — but  hold — hear  eve/j'  part 
Of  our  sad  tale — spite  of  the  pain 

Myself  the  while,  with  brow,  as  yet, 
Pure  as  the  young  moon's  coronet. 

Remembrance  gives,  when  the  fix'd  dart 

Through  every  dream  still  in  her  sight. 

Is  stirr'd  thus  in  the  wound  again — 

Th'  enchanter  of  each  mocking  scene. 

Hear  every  step,  so  full  of  bliss, 

And  yet  so  ruinous,  that  led 

Down  to  the  last,  dark  precipice. 

Who  gave  the  hope,  then  brought  the  blight, 
Who  said,  '  Behold  you  world  of  light,' 
Then  sudden  dropp'd  a  veil  between ! 

Where  perish'd  both — the  fallen,  the  dead  ! 

At  length,  when  I  perceived  each  thought. 

From  the  firet  hour  she  caught  my  sight, 
I  never  left  her — day  and  night 

Waking  or  sleeping,  fix'd  on  naught 
But  these  illusive  scenes,  and  mc — 

Hovering  unseen  around  her  way, 

The  phantom,  who  thus  came  and  went. 

And  'mid  her  loneliest  musings  near. 

In  half  revealmenls  only  meant 

I  soon  could  track  each  thought  that  lay, 

To  madden  curiosity — 

Gleaming  witiiin  her  heart,  as  clear 

When  by  such  various  arts  I  found 

As  peobles  within  brooks  appear  ; 

Her  fancy  to  its  utmost  wound. 

And  there,  among  the  countless  things 
That  keep  young  hearts  fwever  glowing, 

One  night — 'twas  iu  a  holy  spot, 
Which  she  for  prayer  had  chosen — a  grot 

THE  LOVES  OF 

THE  ANGELS.                                 531 

Of  purest  marble,  built  below 

'  By  those  ethereal  wings,  whose  way 

Her  garden  beds,  through  which  a  glow 

'  Lies  through  an  element,  so  fraught 

From  lamps  invisible  then  stole, 

'With  living  Mind,  that,  as  they  play, 

Brightly  pervading  all  the  place — 

'  Their  every  movement  is  a  thought! 

Like  that  mysterious  light  the  soul, 

Itself  unseen,  sheds  through  the  face 

'  By  that  bright,  wreathed  hair,  between 

There,  at  her  altar,  while  she  knelt, 

'  Whoso  sunny  clusters  the  sweet  winO 

And  all  that  woman  ever  felt. 

'  Of  Paradise  so  late  hath  been. 

When  God  and  man  both  claimM  her  sighs — 

'  And  left  its  fragrant  soul  behind  ! 

Every  warm  thought,  that  ever  dwelt, 

LJie  summer  clouds,  'twixt  earth  and  skies, 

'  By  those  impassion'd  eyes,  that  melt 

Too  pure  to  fall,  too  gross  to  rise, 

*  Their  light  into  the  inmost  heart ; 

Spoke  in  her  gestures,  tones,  and  eyes — 

*  Like  sunset  in  the  waters,  felt 

Then,  as  the  mystic  light's  soft  ray 

'  As  molten  fire  through  every  part — 

Grew  softer  still,  as  though  its  ray 

Was  breathed  from  her,  I  heard  her  say  : — 

'  I  do  implore  thee,  oh  most  bright 

'  And  worshipp'd  Spirit,  shine  but  o'er      . 

'  Oh  idol  of  my  dreams  !  whate'er 
*  Thy  nature  be — human,  divine, 

'  My  waking,  wondering  eyes  this  night, 

'  This  one  blest  night — I  ask  no  more !' 

'  Or  but  half  heav'niy — still  too  fair, 

Exhausted,  breathless,  as  she  said 

'  Too  heavenly  to  be  ever  mine ! 

These  burning  words,  her  languid  head 

'  Wonderful  Spirit,  who  dost  make 

Upon  the  altar's  steps  she  cast, 

As  if  that  brain-throb  were  its  last — 

'  Slumber  so  lovely  that  it  seems 

'  No  longer  life  to  live  awake, 

Till,  startled  by  the  breathing,  nigh. 

*  Since  heaven  itself  descends  in  dreams. 

Of  lips,  that  echoed  back  her  sigh, 

Sudden  her  brow  again  she  raised  ; 

'  Why  do  I  ever  lose  thee  ?  why 

And  there,  just  lighted  on  the  shrine. 
Beheld  me — not  as  I  had  blazed 

*  When  on  thy  realms  and  thee  I  gaze 

'  Still  drops  that  veil,  which  I  could  die. 

Around  her,  full  of  light  divine. 

'  Oh  gladly,  but  one  horn  to  raise  ^ 

In  her  late  dreams,  but  soften'd  down 

Into  more  mortal  grace  ; — my  crown 

'  Long  ere  such  miracles  as  thou 

Of  flowei-s,  too  radiant  for  this  worid. 

'  And  thine  came  o'er  my  thoughts,  a  thust 

Left  hanging  on  yon  starry  steep  ; 

For  light  was  in  this  soul,  which  now 

My  wings  shut  up,  like  banners  fin-l'd. 

'  Thy  looks  have  into  passion  nursed. 

When  Peace  hath  put  their  pomp  to  sleep ; 

Or  like  autumnal  clouds,  that  keep 

'  There's  nothing  bright  above,  helow. 

Their  lightnings  sheath'd,  rather  than  mar 

'  In  sky — earth — ocean,  that  this  breast 

The  dawning  hour  of  some  young  star  ; 

'  Doth  not  intensely  bum  to  know. 

And  nothing  left,  but  what  beseem'd                ^ 

'  And  thee,  thee,  thee,  o'er  all  the  rest ! 

Th'  accessible,  though  glorious  mate 

Of  mortal  woman — whose  eyes  beam'd 

'  Then  come,  oh  Spirit,  from  behind 

Back  upon  hers,  as  passionate  ; 

'  The  curtains  of  thy  radiant  home. 

Whose  ready  heart  brought  flame  for  flame, 

'  If  thou  wonldst  be  as  angel  shrined. 

Whose  sin,  whose  madness  was  the  same  ; 

'  Or  loved  and  clasp'd  as  mortal,  come ! 

And  whoso  soul  lost,  in  that  one  hour. 

For  her  and  for  her  love — oh  more 

'  Bring  all  thy  dazzling  wonders  here. 

Of  heaven's  liglit  than  ev'n  the  power 

'  That  I  may,  waking,  know  and  see  ; 

Of  heav'n  itself  could  now  restore ! 

'  Or  waft  me  hence  to  thy  own  sphere. 

'  Thy  heaven,  or — ay,  even  that  with  thee ! 
*  Demon  or  God,  who  hold'st  the  book 

The  Spirit  here 

'  Of  knowledge  spread  beneath  thine  eye, 

Stopp'd  in  his  utterance,  as  if  words 

'  Give  me,  with  thee,  but  one  bright  look 

Gave  way  beneath  the  wild  career 

'  Into  its  leaves,  and  let  me  die ! 

Of  his  then  rushing  thoughts— like  chords, 

532 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Midway  in  some  enthusiast's  sonfr, 
Breaking  beneath  a  touch  too  strong; 
While  the  clench'd  hand  upon  the  brow 
Told  how  remembrance  throbb'd  there  now ! 
But  soon  'twas  o'er — tliat  casual  blaze 
From  the  sunk  fire  of  other  days — 
That  relic  of  a  flame,  whoso  burnintj 

Had  been  too  fierce  to  bu  rcUmied 
Soon  pass'd  away,  and  the  youth,  turning 

To  his  bright  listeners,  thus  resinned  : — 

"  Days,  months  elapsed,  and,  though  what  most 

On  earth  I  sigh'd  for  was  mine,  all — 
Yet — was  I  happy?     God,  thou  know'st, 
Howe'er  tliey  smile,  and  feign,  and  bo'ist, 

What  happiness  is  tlieirs,  who  fall ! 
'Twas  bitterest  anguisli — made  more  keen 
Ev'n  by  the  love,  the  bliss,  between 
Whose  throbs  it  camo,  like  gleams  of  hell 

In  agonizing  cross-light  given 
Athwart  the  glimpses,  they  who  dwell 

In  purgatory^  catch  of  licaveii  I 
The  only  feeling  that  to  me 

Seem'd  joy — or  rather  my  sole  rest 
From  aching  miserj- — was  to  see 

My  young,  proud,  blooming  Lilis  blest. 
She,  the  fau"  fountain  of  all  ill 

To  my  lost  soul — whom  yet  its  thu^t 
Fervidly  panted  after  still, 

And  found  the  charm  fresh  as  at  first — 
To  see  her  happy — to  reflect 

Whatever  beams  still  round  me  play'd 
Of  former  pride,  of  glory  wrecked, 

On  her,  my  Moon,  wliosc  light  I  made, 

And  whose  soul  worshipp'd  even  my  shade — 
This  was,  I  own,  enjoyment — this 
My  sole,  last  lingering  glimpse  of  bliss. 
And  proud  she  was,  fair  creature  I — proud, 

Beyond  what  ev'n  most  queenly  stirs 
In  woman's  heart,  nor  would  have  bow'd 
J,  That  beautiful  young  brow  of  hers 
To  aught  beneath  the  First  above, 
So  high  she  deemM  her  Cherub's  love ! 

Then,  too,  that  passion,  hourly  growing 
Stronger  and  stronger — to  which  even 

» CallefJ  by  the  Mussulmans  Al  Araf— a  sort  of  wall  or 
partition  which,  according  to  the  7th  ch;ipler  of  the  Koran, 
separates  hell  from  paradise,  and  where  they,  who  have ; 
not  merits  siifiicienl  to  gain  them  immediate  aihuittance  in- 
tn  heaven  are  supposed  to  stand  for  a  certiiin  period,  alter- 
nately tantalized  and  tormented  by  the  sights  that  are  on 
either  side  presented  to  them. 

Manes,  who  borrowed  in  many  instances  tmm  the  Plato- 
nists,  placed  his  purgatories,  or  places  of  purification,  in  the 
Sun  and  Moun. — Bcausobrc,  liv.  iii.,  chap.  8. 

a  '*  Ciuelques  gnomes  d6sireu.v  de  devenir  immortels,  av- 
oient  voultt  gapner  les  bonnes  graces  de  nos  tilles,  et  Icur 


Her  love,  at  times,  gave  way — of  Itnowing 

Every  tiling  strange  in  earth  and  lieaven ; 
Not  only  all  that,  full  reveal'd, 

Th'  eternal  Alla  loves  to  sliow, 
But  all  that  He  hath  wisely  seal'd 

In  darkness,  for  man  not  to  know — 
Ev'n  this  desu-e,  alas,  ill-starr'd 

And  fatal  as  it  was,  I  sought 
To  feed  each  minute,  and  unbarr'd 

Such  realms  of  wonder  on  her  thought, 
As  ne'er,  till  then,  had  let  their  light 
Escapo  on  any  mortal's  sight ! 
In  the  deep  earth — beneath  the  sea — 

Through  caves  of  fire — through  wilds  of  air- 
Wherever  sleeping  Mystery 

Had  spread  lijer  curtain,  we  were  there — 
Love  still  beside  us,  as  wc  went. 
At  home  in  each  new  element. 

And  sure  of  worship  everywhere  I 

Then  first  was  Nature  tauglit  to  lay 

The  wealth  of  all  her  kingdoms  down 
At  woman's  worsliipp'd  feet,  and  say, 

'  Bright  creature,  this  is  all  thine  own  V 
Then  first  were  diamonds,  from  tho  night^ 
Of  earth's  deep  centre  brought  to  light, 
And  made  to  grace  the  couquering  way 
Of  proud  young  beauty  with  their  ray. 

Then,  too,  the  pearl  from  out  its  shell 

Unsightly,  in  the  sunless  sea, 
(As  'twere  a  spirit,  forced  to  dwell 

In  form  unlovely,)  was  set  free, 
And  round  the  neck  of  woman  threw 
A  light  it  lent  and  borrow'd  too. 
For  never  did  this  maid — whate'er 

Th'  ambition  of  the  hour — forget 
Her  sex's  pride  in  being  fair  ; 
Nor  that  adornment,  tasteful,  rare, 
Which  makes  the  mighty  magnet,  set 
In  Woman's  form,  more  mighty  yet. 
Nor  was  there  aught  witiiin  the  range 

Of  my  swift  wing  in  sea  or  air, 
Of  beautiful,  or  grand,  or  strange. 
That,  quickly  as  her  wisli  could  change, 

I  did  not  seek,  with  such  fond  care, 

avoient  apportfi  des  picrreries  dont  ils  sont  gardiens  natureii 
et  ces  auteurs  out  cru,  s'appuyant  sur  le  livre  d'Euoch  mal 
entendu,  que  c'ttoicnt  des  picges  que  les  angcs  amoureux," 
fitc.  &c. — Comtc  dc  Gabalis. 

As  the  fiction  of  the  loves  of  angels  with  women  gave 
birth  to  the  fanciful  world  of  sylphs  and  gnomes,  so  we 
oxve  to  it  also  the  invention  of  those  beautiful  Genii  ar.d 
Peris,  which  embellish  so  much  the  mythology  of  the  East ; 
for  in  the  fabulous  histories  of  Caiuumaraih,  of  Thanm- 
rath,  &c.,  these  spiritual  creatures  arc  always  represented 
as  the  descendants  of  Scth,  and  called  the  Bani  Alginn,  or 
children  of  Giann. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


533 


That  when  I've  seen  her  look  above 

At  some  bright  star  admiringly, 
I've  saiil,  '  Nay,  look  not  there,  my  love, 

'Alas,  I  C'i'inot  give  it  thee  I' 

But  no*,  alone  the  wonders  fomid 

Through  Nature's  realm — th'  uuveil'd,  material, 
Visible  glories,  that  abound. 
Through  all  her  vast,  enchanted  ground — 

But  whatsoe'er  unseen,  ethereal. 
Dwells  far  away  from  human  sense, 
Wrapp'd  in  its  own  intelligence — 
The  mystery  of  tliat  Fountain-head, 

From  which  all  vital  spirit  runs, 
All  breath  of  Life,  where'er  'tis  spread 

Through  men  or  angels,  flowers  or  suns — 
The  workings  of  th'  Almighty  Mind, 
When  first  o'er  Chaos  he  design'd 
The  outlines  of  this  world  ;  and  through 

That  dcpUi  of  darkness, — like  the  bow, 
Call'd  out  of  rain-clouds,  hue  by  hue' — 

Saw  the  grand,  gradual  picture  grow  ; — 
The  covenant  with  human  kind 

By  Alla  made' — the  chains  of  Fate 
He  round  himself  and  them  hatli  twined, 

Till  his  high  task  he  consummate  j-— 

Till  good  from  evil,  love  from  hate, 
Shall  be  work'd  out  through  sin  and  pain. 
And  Fate  shall  loose  her  iron  chain, 
And  all  be  free,  be  bright  again ! 

Such  were  the  deep-drawn  m5'steries, 

And  some,  ev'n  more  obscure,  profound, 
And  wildering  to  the  mind  than  these. 

Which — far  as  woman's  thought  could  sound, 
Or  a  fall'n,  outlaw'd  spirit  reach — 
She  dared  to  learn,  and  I  to  teach. 
Till — fiU'd  with  such  unearthly  lore. 

And  mingling  the  pure  light  it  brings 
With  much  tiiat  fancy  had,  before. 

Shed  in  false,  tinted  glimmerings — 
Th'  enthusiast  girl  spoke  out,  as  one 

Inspired,  among  her  own  dark  race. 
Who  from  their  ancient  shrines  would  run. 
Leaving  their  holy  rites  undone. 

To  gaze  upon  her  holier  face. 
And,  though  but  wild  the  things  she  spoke, 
Yet,  'mid  that  play  of  error's  smoke 

Into  fair  shapes  by  fancy  curl'd, 

1  r  am  aware  that  this  happy  saying  of  Lord  Allcinarle's 
loses  much  of  its  grace  and  playfulness,  by  being  put  into 
the  month  of  any  but  a  human  lover. 

S  ,\ccording  to  Whitehurst's  theory,  the  mention  of  rain- 
bows by  an  antediluvian  angel  is  an  anaclironisin  ;  ns  he 
says,  "  There  was  no  rain  before  the  flood,  and  cnnseqaentty 
DO  rainbow,  which  accounts  for  the  novelty  of  this  sight 
after  the  Deluge '" 


Some  gleams  of  pure  religion  broke — 
Glimpses,  that  h.avo  not  yet  awoke, 

But  startl'.d  the  still  dreaming  world  ! 
Oh,  many  a  truth,  remote,  sublime. 

Which  Heav'n  would  from  the  minds  of  men 
Have  kept  coiiceal'd,  till  its  own  time, 

Stole  out  in  these  reveahnents  then — 
Revcalments  dim,  that  have  forerun. 
By  ages,  the  great,  Sealing  One  I* 
Lilie  that  imperfect  dawn,  or  light' 

Escaping  from  the  Zodiac's  signs, 
Which  makes  the  doubtful  east  half  brigt.  , 

Before  the  real  morniu'X  shines ' 

Thus  did  some  moons  of  i)Iiss  go  by — 

Of  bliss  to  her,  who  saw  but  love 
And  knowledge  ihroiigl.out  earth  and  sky  ; 
To  whose  enamor'd  soul  and  eye, 
I  seem'd — as  is  the  sun  on  high — 

The  light  of  all  below,  above. 
The  spirit  of  sea,  and  land,  and  air. 
Whose  influence,  felt  everywhere, 
Spread  from  its  centre,  her  own  heart, 
Ev'n  to  the  world's  extremest  part ' 
While  through  that  world  her  r'ailess  mind 

Had  now  career'd  so  fast  and  far, 
That  earth  itself  seem'd  left  behind. 
And  her  proud  fancy,  unconfined. 

Already  saw  Heaven's  gates  ajar! 

Happy  enthusiast!  still,  oh,  still 
Spite  of  my  own  heart's  mortal  chill. 
Spite  of  that  double-fronted  sorrow. 

Which  looks  at  once  before  and  back, 
Beholds  the  yesterday,  the  morrow. 

And  sees  both  comfortless,  both  black — 
Spite  of  all  this,  I  cotdd  have  still 
In  her  delight  forgot  all  ill ; 
Or,  if  pain  would  not  he  forgot, 
At  least  have  borne  and  murmur'd  not. 
When  thought.s  of  an  otTended  heaven, 

Of  sinfulness,  which  I — ev'n  I, 
While  down  its  steep  most  headlong  driven — 
Well  knew  could  never  be  forgiven. 

Came  o'er  me  with  an  agony 
Beyond  all  reach  of  mortal  wo — 
A  torture  kept  for  those  who  know. 
Know  every  thing,  and — worst  of  all — 
Know  and  love  Virtue  while  they  fall ! 

3  For  the  terms  of  this  compact,  of  which  the  angels  were 
supposed  to  be  witnesses,  see  the  chapter  of  the  Koran,  en- 
titled Al  Araf  and  the  article  "  Adnni"  in  D'Herbelot. 

4  In  acknowledging  the  aulliorily  of  the  great  Prophets 
who  had  preceded  him,  Mahomet  represented  his  own 
mission  as  the  final  "  Seal"  or  consummation  of  them  all. 

s  The  Zodiacal  Light. 


534 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Even  then,  her  presence  had  the  power 

To  sooth,  to  warm — nay,  even  to  bless — 
If  ever  bliss  could  graft  its  flower 

On  stem  so  full  of  bitterness — 
Even  then  her  glorious  smile  to  me 

Brouglit  warmth  and  radiance,  if  not  balm  ; 
Like  moonlight  o'er  a  troubled  sea. 

Brightening  the  storm  it  cannot  calm. 

Oft,  too,  when  that  disheartening  fear. 

Which  all  who  love,  beneatli  yon  sky, 
Feel,  when  they  gaze  on  what  is  dear — 

The  dreadful  thought  that  it  must  die ! 
That  desolating  thought,  which  comes 
Into  men's  happiest  hours  and  homes ; 
Whose  melancholy  boding  flings 
Death's  shadow  o'er  the  brightest  things, 
Sicklies  the  infant's  bloom,  and  spreads 
The  grave  beneath  young  lovers'  heads ! 
This  fear,  so  sad  to  all — to  me 

Most  full  of  sadness,  from  the  thought 
That  I  must  still  live  on,'  when  she 
Would,  like  the  snow  that  on  the  sea 

Fell  yesterday,  in  vain  be  sought ; 
That  heaven  to  me  this  final  seal 

Of  all  earth's  sorrow  would  deny, 
And  I  eternally  must  feel 

The  death-pang,  without  power  to  die  ! 
Ev'n  this,  her  fond  endearments — fond 
As  ever  cherish'd  the  sweet  bond 
'Twixt  heart  and  heart — could  chann  away  ; 
Before  her  look  no  clouds  would  stay. 
Or,  if  they  did,  their  gloom  was  gone. 
Their  darkness  put  a  glory  on  ! 
But  'tis  not,  'tis  not  for  the  wrong, 
The  guilty,  to  be  happy  long ; 
And  she,  too,  now,  had  sunk  within 
The  shadow  of  her  tempter's  sin. 
Too  deep  for  ev'n  Omnipotence 
To  snatch  the  fated  victim  thence ! 

Listen,  and,  if  a  tear  there  be 
Left  in  your  hearts,  weep  it  for  me. 

'Twas  on  the  evening  of  a  day. 
Which  we  in  love  had  dreamt  away  ; 
In  that  same  garden,  where — the  pride 
Of  seraph  splendor  laid  aside. 
And  those  wings  furl'd,  whose  open  light 
For  mortal  gaze  were  else  too  bright — 
I  first  had  stood  before  her  sight. 
And  found  myself — oh,  ecstasy. 

Which  even  in  pain  I  ne'er  forget — 


1  Pococke,  however,  gives  It  as  the  opinion  of  the  Maho- 
nietau  doctors,  that  all  souls,  not  only  of  men  and  of  animals, 


Worshipp'd  as  only  God  should  be. 
And  loved  as  never  man  was  yet  I 

In  that  same  garden  were  we  now, 
Thoughtfully  side  by  side  reclining, 

H^r  eyes  tuni'd  upward,  and  her  brow 
With  its  own  silent  fancies  shining. 

It  was  an  evening  bright  and  still 

As  ever  blush'd  on  wave  or  bower, 
Smiling  from  heaven,  as  if  naught  ill 

Could  happen  in  so  sweet  an  hour. 
Yet,  I  remember,  both  grew  sad 

In  looking  at  that  light— even  she. 
Of  heart  so  fresh,  and  brow  so  glad, 

Felt  the  still  hour's  solemnity, 
And  thought  she  saw,  in  that  repose, 

The  death-hour  not  alone  of  light, 
But  of  this  whole  fair  world — the  close 

Of  all  things  beautiful  and  bright — 
The  last,  grand  sunset,  in  whose  ray 
Nature  herself  died  calm  away ! 

At  length,  as  though  some  livelier  thought 
Had  suddenly  her  fancy  caught, 
She  turn'd  upon  me  her  dark  eyes, 

Dilated  into  that  full  shape 
They  took  in  joy,  reproach,  surprise, 

As  'twere  to  let  more  soul  escape, 
And,  playfully  as  on  my  head 
Her  white  hand  rested,  smiled  and  said  : — 

*  I  had,  last  night,  a  dream  of  tl>ee, 
'  Resembling  those  divine  ones,  given, 

'  Like  preludes  to  sweet  minstrelsy, 

*  Before  thou  cam'st,  tliyseif  froin  heaven. 

'  The  same  rich  wreath  was  on  thy  brow, 
'  Dazzling  as  if  of  starlight  made  ; 

'  And  these  wings,  lying  darkly  now, 

'  Like  meteors  round  thee  flash'd  and  play'd. 

'  Thou  stood'st  all  bright,  as  in  those  dreams, 

'  As  if  just  wafted  from  above  ; 
'  Mingling  earth's  warmth  with  heaven's  beams, 

'  A  creature  to  adore  and  love. 

'  Sudden  I  felt  thee  draw  me  near 

'  To  thy  pure  heart,  where,  fondly  placed, 

'  I  seem'd  within  the  atmui-phcre 
'  Of  that  exlialiug  light  embraced ; 

'  And  felt,  melhought,  th'  ethereal  flame 
'  Pass  from  thy  purer  soul  to  mine ; 


livin:;  either  on  land  or  in  the  sea,  but  of  the  angels  also 
must  necessarily  taste  of  death. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


535 


*  Till — oh,  too  blissful — I  becumc, 

*  Tjike  lliee,  all  spirit,  all  divino  ! 

*  Say,  why  did  dream  so  bless'd  come  o'er  me, 

'  If,  now  I  waUe,  'tis  faded,  gone  ? 
*AVhen  will  my  Cherub  sliiuo  before  me 

*  Thus  radiant,  as  iii  heaven  he  shone  ? 

*  When  shall  I,  waking,  be  allow'd 

*  To  gaze  upon  those  perfect  charms, 

*  And  clasp  thee  once,  without  a  cloud, 

*  A  chill  of  earth,  within  these  arms  ? 

'Oh  what  a  pride  to  say,  this,  this 

*  Is  my  own  Angel — all  divine, 

*  And  pure,  and  dazzling  as  he  is, 

*  And  fresh  from  heaven— he's  mine,  he's  mine  i 

*  Think'st  tliou,  were  Lilis  in  thy  place, 

'  A  creature  of  yon  lofty  skies, 
*She  would  have  hid  one  single  grace, 
'  One  glory  from  her  lover's  eyes? 

*  No,  no — then,  if  thou  lov'st  like  me, 

*  Shine  out,  young  Spirit,  in  the  blaze 

*  Of  thy  most  proud  divinity, 

*  Nor  think  thou'lt  wound  this  mortal  gaze. 

*  Too  long  and  oft  I've  look'd  upon 

*  Those  ardent  eyes,  intense  ev'n  thus — 
*Too  near  the  stars  themselves  have  gone, 

*  To  fear  aught  grand  or  luminous. 

*  Then  doubt  mc  not — oh,  who  can  say 

'  But  that  this  dream  may  yet  come  true, 

*  And  my  bless'd  spirit  drink  thy  ray, 

'  Till  it  becomes  all  heavenly  too  ? 

*  Let  me  this  once  but  feel  the  flame 

*  Of  those  spread  wings,  the  very  pride 

*  Will  change  my  nature,  and  this  frame 

'  By  the  mere  touch  be  deified  I' 

Thus  spoke  the  maid,  as  one,  not  used 
To  be  by  earth  or  heaven  refused — 
As  one,  who  knew  her  influence  o'er 

All  creatures,  whatsoe'er  they  were, 
And,  though  to  heaven  she  could  not  soar, 

At  least  would  bring  down  heaven  to  her. 


1  The  Dove,  or  pifjeon  which  nttended  Mahomel  as  his 
Familiar,  art' "^as  frequently  seen  to  whisper  in  liisear,  was, 
if  I  recoliec  right,  one  of  that  select  number  of  animals  (in- 
cluding also  the  ant  of  Solomon,  the  dog  of  the  Seven 
Sleepers.  &c.)  which  were  thought  by  the  Prophet  worthy 
of  admission  into  Paradise. 

"The  Moslems  have  a  tradition  that  Mahomel  was  saved 


Little  did  she,  aUiS,  or  I — 

Ev'n  I,  whose  soul,  but  half-way  yet 
Iramerged  in  sin's  obsciu'ity 
Was  as  the  earth  whereon  wo  lic,^ 

O'er  half  whose  disk  the  sun  is  set — 
Little  did  we  foresee  the  fate, 

The  dreadful — how  can  it  be  told? 
Such  pain,  such  anguisli  to  relate 

Is  o'er  again  to  feel,  behold  ! 
But,  charged  as  'tis,  my  heart  must  speak 
Its  sorrow  out,  or  it  will  break  ! 
Some  dark  misgivings  had,  I  own, 

Pass'd  for  a  moment  through  my  breast- 
Fears  of  some  danger,  vague,  unknown. 

To  one,  or  both — something  unbless'd 

To  happen  from  this  proud  request 
But  soon  these  boding  fancies  fled  ; 

Nor  saw  I  aught  that  could  forbid 
IMy  full  revealment,  save  the  dread 

Of  that  first  dazzle,  when,  unhid, 

Such  light  should  burst  upon  a  lid 
Ne'er  tried  in  heaven  ; — and  even  tliis  glare 
She  might,  by  love's  own  nursing  care, 
Be,  like  young  eagles,  taught  t:  bear. 
For  well  I  knew,  the  lustre  shec 
From  Cherub  wings,  when  proudlierg  spread, 
W^as,  in  its  nature,  lambent,  pure, 

And  innocent  as  is  the  light 
The  glow-worm  hangs  out  to  aUure 

Her  mate  to  her  green  bower  at  night. 
Oft  had  I,  in  the  mid-air,  swept 
Through  clouds  in  which  the  lightning  slept, 
As  in  its  lair,  ready  to  spring, 
Yet  waked  it  not — though  from  my  wing 
A  thousand  sparks  fell  glittering  ! 
Oft  too  when  round  me  from  above 

The  feather'd  snow,  in  all  its  whiteness. 
Fell,  like  the  moultings  of  heaven's  Dove,' — ■ 

So  harmless,  thougli  so  full  of  briglitness, 
Was  my  brow's  wreath,  that  it  would  shake 
From  off  its  flowers  each  downy  flake 
As  delicate,  unmelted,  fair, 
And  cool  as  they  had  lighted  there. 

Nay  ev'n- with  Lilis — had  I  not 

Ai'ound  her  sleep  all  radiant  beam'd, 

Hung  o'er  her  slumbci"3,  nor  forgot 
To  kiss  her  eyelids,  as  she  dream'd? 


(when  he  hid  himself  in  a  cave  in  Mount  Shur)  by  his  pur- 
suers finding  the  mouth  of  the  cave  covered  by  a  spider's  web, 
and  a  nest  built  by  two  pigeons  at  the  entrance,  with  two 
eggs  unbroken  in  it,  which  made  them  think  no  one  could 
have  entered  it.  In  const-qtience  of  this,  they  say,  Slahomel 
enjoined  his  followers  to  look  upon  pigeons  as  sarred,  and 
never  to  kill  a  spider."— Jl/frfcrn   UAi'versat  History,  vo)  f. 


536 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  yet,  at  morn,  from  that  repose. 

Had  she  not  waked,  unscathed  and  bright, 

As  dotli  tiio  pure,  unconscious  rose. 
Though  by  the  fire-fly  kiss'd  all  night  ? 

Thus  having — as,  alas,  deceived 

By  my  sin's  blindness,  I  believed — 

No  cause  for  dread,  and  those  dark  eyes 

Now  fix'd  upon  me,  eagerly 
As  though  th'  unlocking  of  the  skies 

Then  waited  but  a  sign  from  me— 
How  could  I  pause  ?  how  ev'n  let  fall 

A  word,  a  whisper  that  could  stir 
In  her  proud  heart  a  doubt,  that  all 

I  brought  from  heaven  belong'd  to  her. 
Slow  from  her  side  I  rose,  while  she 
Arose,  loo,  mutely,  tremblingly. 
But  not  with  fear — all  hope,  and  pride, 

She  waited  for  the  awful  boon. 
Like  priestesses,  at  eventide. 

Watching  the  rise  of  the  full  moon, 
Whose  light,  when  once  its  orb  hath  shone, 
'Twill  madden  them  to  look  upon ! 

Of  all  my  glories,  the  bright  crown. 

Which,  when  I  last  from  heaven  came  down, 

Was  left  behind  me,  in  yon  star 

That  shines  from  out  those  clouds  afar, — 

Where,  relic  sad,  'tis  treasured  yet. 

The  dowufallen  angel's  coronet ! — 

Of  all  my  glories,  this  alone 

AVas  wanting ; — but  th'  illumined  brow. 

The  sun-bright  locks,  the  eyes  that  now 
Had  love's  spell  added  to  their  own, 
And  pour'd  a  light  till  then  unknown  ;— 

Th'  unfolded  wings,  that,  in  their  play. 
Shed  sparkles  bright  as  Alla's  throne  ; 

All  I  could  bring  of  heaven's  array. 

Of  that  rich  panoply  of  charms 
A  Cherub  moves  in,  on  the  day 
Of  his  best  pomp,  I  now  put  on  ; 
And,  proud  that  in  her  eyes  I  shone 

Thus  glorious,  glided  to  her  arms  ; 
Which  still  (though,  at  a  siglit  so  splendid, 

Her  dazzled  brow  had,  instantly. 
Sunk  on  her  breast)  were  wide  extended 

To  clasp  the  form  slio  duret  not  see  !' 
Great  Heaven  !  how  could  thy  vengeance  light 
So  bitterly  on  one  so  bright  ? 
How  could  the  hand,  that  gave  such  charms. 
Blast  them  again,  in  love's  own  arms  ? 
Scarce  had  I  touch'd  her  shrinking  frame 

When — oh  most  horrible  ! — I  felt 

>  '•Mohammed,  (says  Sale,)  though  a  prophet,  was  not 
able  to  bear  the  sight  of  Gabrit-I,  wlicn  he  appeared  in  his 
proper  forio,  mud.  ess  would  others  be  al>le  to  support  it." 


That  every  spark  of  that  pure  flame — 

Pure,  while  among  the  stars  I  dwelt — 
Was  now,  by  my  transgression,  turu'd 
Into  gross,  earthly  fire,  which  burn'd, 
Buru'd  all  it  touch'd,  as  fast  as  eye 

Could  follow  the  fierce,  ravening  flashes  ; 
Till  there — oh  God,  I  still  ask  wliy 
Such  doom  was  hers  ? — I  saw  her  lie 

Blackening  within  my  arms  to  ashes  ! 
That  brow,  a  glory  but  to  see — 

Those  lips,  whose  touch  was  what  the  first 
Fresh  cup  of  immortality 

Is  to  a  new-made  angel's  thirst ! 
Those  clasping  arms,  within  whose  round — 
My  heart's  horizon — the  whc>3  bound 
Of  its  hope,  prospect,  heaver  "vas  found ! 
Which,  even  in  this  dread  moment,  fond 

As  when  they  first  were  round  me  cast, 
Loosed  not  iu  death  the  fatal  bond. 

But,  burning,  held  me  to  the  last  I 
All,  all,  that,  but  that  morn,  had  seem'd 
As  if  Love's  self  there  breathed  and  beam'c 
Now,  parch'd  and  black,  before  me  lay, 
Withering  in  agony  away  ; 
And  mine,  oh  misery  I  mine  the  flame. 
From  which  this  desolation  came  ; — 
I,  the  cursed  spirit,  whose  caress 
Had  blasted  all  that  loveliness ! 

'Twas  maddening  '. — but  now  hear  even  w.Tse- 

Had  death,  death  only,  been  the  curse 

I  brought  upon  her — had  the  doom 

But  ended  here,  when  her  young  bloom 

Lay  in  the  dust — and  did  the  spirit 

No  part  of  that  fell  curse  inherit, 

'Twcro  not  so  dreadful — but,  come  near — 

Too  shocking  'tis  for  earth  to  hear — 

Just  when  her  eyes,  iu  fading,  took 

Their  last,  keen,  agonized  farewell, 
And  look'd  in  mine  with — oh,  that  look  ! 

Great  vengeful  Power,  whate'er  the  hell 
Thou  mayst  to  human  souls  assign. 
The  memory  of  that  look  is  mine  ! — 

In  her  last  struggle,  on  my  brow 

Her  ashy  lips  a  kiss  impress'd. 
So  withering  I — I  feel  it  now — 

'Twas  fire — but  fire,  ev'n  more  unbless'd 
Than  was  my  own,  and  like  that  flame. 
The  angels  shudder  but  to  name, 
Hell's  everlasting  element ! 

Deep,  deep  it  pierced  into  my  brain, 
Madd'ning  and  torturing  as  it  went ; 

And  here — mark  here,  the  brand,  the  stain 
It  left  upon  my  front — burnt  in 
By  that  last  kiss  of  love  and  sin — 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


537 


A  brand,  which  all  the  pomp  and  prido 
Of  a  fallen  Spirit  cannot  hide  ! 

Fut  is  it  thus,  dread  Providence — 

Can  it,  indeed,  be  thus,  that  she, 
Who,  (but  for  one  proud,  fond  otTenno,) 

Had  iionor'd  heaven  itself,  should  be 
Now  dooni'd — I  cannot  speak  it — no. 
Merciful  All.v  !  ^tis  not  so — ■ 
Never  could  lips  divine  have  said 
The  Iiat  of  a  fate  so  dread. 
And  yet,  that  look — so  deeply  frauglit 

With  more  than  anguish,  with  despair — 
That  new,  fierce  fire,  resembling  naught 

In  heaven  or  earth — this  scorch  I  bear  I — 
Oh — for  the  first  time  that  these  knees 

Have  bent  before  thee  since  my  fall. 
Great  Power,  if  ever  thy  decrees 

Thou  couldst  for  prayer  like  mine  recall. 
Pardon  that  spirit,  and  on  me. 

On  me,  who  taught  her  prido  to  err, 
Shed  out  each  drop  of  agony 

Thy  biu'ning  vial  keeps  for  her ! 
See,  too,  where  low  beside  me  kneel 

Two  other  outcasts,  who,  though  gone 
And  lost  themselves,  yet  dare  to  feel 

And  pray  for  that  poor  mortal  one. 
Alas,  too  well,  too  well  they  linow 
The  pain,  the  penitence,  the  wo 
That  Passion  brings  upon  the  best, 
The  wisest,  and  the  loveliest. — 
Oh,  who  is  to  be  saved,  if  such 

Briglit,  erring  souls  are  not  forgiven ; 
So  loath  they  wander,  and  so  much  f 

Their  very  wand'rings  lean  towards  heaven  I 
Again,  I  cry,  Jusi  Power,  transfer 

That  creature's  sufTerings  all  to  me — 

Mine,  mine  the  guilt,  the  torment  be, 
To  save  one  minute's  pain  to  her. 

Let  mine  last  all  eternity!" 

He  paused,  and  to  the  earth  bent  down 

His  throbbing  head ;  while  they,  who  felt 
That  agony  as  'twere  their  own, 

Those  angel  youths,  beside  him  knelt, 
And,  in  the  night's  still  silence  there, 
Wiile  moiu-nfully  each  wand'ring  air 
Play'd  in  those  plumes,  that  never  more 
To  their  lost  home  in  heaven  must  soar, 
Breathed  inwardly  the  voiceless  prayer. 
Unheard  by  all  but  Mercy's  ear — 
And  wliich  if  Mercy  did  not  hear, 
Oh,  God  would  not  be  what  this  bright 

And  glorious  universe  of  His, 
Tliis  world  of  beauty,  goodness,  light. 

And  endless  love,  proclaims  He  'S  .' 


Not  long  they  knelt,  when,  from  a  wood 
That  crown'd  that  airy  solitude, 
They  heard  a  low,  uncertain  sound. 
As  from  a  lule,  that  just  had  found 
Some  happy  theme,  and  murmur'd  round 
The  new-born  fancy,  with  fond  tone, 
Scarce  thinking  auglit  so  sweet  its  own  ! 
Till  soon  a  voice,  that  matcli'd  as  well 

That  gentle  instrument,  as  suits 
The  sea-air  to  an  ocean-shell, 

(So  kin  its  spirit  to  the  lute's,) 
Tremblingly  follow'd  the  soft  strain, 
Interpretmg  its  joy,  its  pain. 

And  lending  the  light  wings  of  words 
To  many  a  thought,  that  else  had  lain 

Unfledged  and  mute  among  the  chord's. 

All  started  at  the  sound — but  chief 

The  third  young  Angel,  in  whose  face, 
Tiiough  faded  like  the  others,  grief 

Had  left  a  gentler,  holier  trace  ; 
As  if,  even  yet,  tlirough  pain  and  ill, 
Hope  had  not  fled  him — as  if  still 
Her  precious  pearl,  in  sorrow's  cup, 

Uumelted  at  the  bottom  lay. 
To  shine  again,  when,  all  drunk  up. 

The  bitterness  should  pass  away. 
Chiefly  did  he,  tliough  in  his  eyes 
There  shone  more  pleasure  than  sui-prise, 
Turn  to  the  wood,  from  whence  that  sound 

Of  solitary  sweetness  broke  : 
Then,  listening,  look  delighted  round 

To  his  bright  peers,  while  thus  it  spoke : — 
"  Come,  pray  with  me,  my  seraph  love, 

"  IMy  angel-lord,  come  pray  with  me ; 
"  In  vain  to-night  riy  lip  liath  strove 
"  To  send  one  holy  pr?.yer  above — 
"  The  knee  may  bend,  the  lip  may  move, 

'*  But  pray  I  cannot,  without  thee  I 
'*  Pve  fed  the  altar  in  my  bower 

*'  With  droppings  from  the  incense  tree  ; 
"  I've  shelter'd  it  from  wind  and  shower, 
"  But  dim  it  bums  the  livelong  hour, 
*'  As  if,  like  me,  it  had  no  power 

"  Of  Ufe  or  lustre,  without  thee  ! 

"  A  boat  at  midnight  sent  alone 
"  To  drift  upon  the  mojnle«  sea, 

"  A  lute,  whoso  leading  chord  is  gone, 

"  A  wounded  bird,  that  liatli  but  one 

"  Imperfect  wing  to  soar  upon, 

"  Are  like  what  I  am,  without  thee ! 

*'  Then  ne'er,  my  spirit-love,  divide, 
"  In  life  or  death,  thyself  from  me  ; 


538 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  But  wheu  again,  in  sunny  pride, 
"  Tliou  walk'st  through  Eden,  let  me  glide, 
"  A  prostrate  shadow,  by  thy  side — 
"  Oh  happier  thus  than  without  thee  !" 

The  song  had  ceased,  when,  from  the  wood 

Which,  sweeping  down  that  airy  lieight, 
Reach'd  the  lone  spot  wliereoii  thoy  stood — 

There  suddenly  shone  out  a  hglit 
From  a  clear  lamp,  which,  as  it  bla/ed, 
Across  the  brow  of  one,  wlio  raised 
Its  flame  aloft,  (as  if  to  throw 
Tlie  liglit  upon  tliat  group  below,) 
Displayed  two  eyes,  sparkling  between 
The  dusky  leaves,  such  as  are  seen 
By  fancy  only,  in  those  faces, 

That  haunt  a  poet's  walk  at  even, 
Looking  from  out  their  leafy  places 

Upon  his  dreams  of  love  and  heaven. 
'Twas  but  a  moment — the  blush,  brought 
O'er  all  her  features  at  the  thought 

Of  being  seen  thus,  late,  alone, 
By  any  but  the  eyes  she  sought, 

Had  scarcely  for  an  instant  shone 

Tiirough  the  dark  leaves,  when  she  was  gone — 
Gone,  like  a  meteor  that  overhead 
Suddenly  shines,  and,  ere  we've  said, 
"  Behold,  how  beautiful !" — 'tis  fled. 

Yet,  ere  she  went,  the  words,  "  I  come, 

"  I  come,  my  Naaia,"  reach'd  her  ear, 

In  that  kind  voice,  familiar,  dear, 
Whicli  tells  of  confidence,  of  home, — 

Of  habit,  that  hath  drawn  hearts  near, 
Till  they  grow  otie, — of  faith  sincere, 
And  ail  that  Love  most  loves  to  hear  ; 
A  music,  l>rcathing  of  the  past. 

The  present,  and  the  time  to  be, 
Where  Hope  and  Memory,  to  the  last. 

Lengthen  out  Hfe's  true  harmony  ! 

I  Seth  is  a  favorite  personage  among  the  Orientals,  and 
ucts  a  conspiruous  part  in  many  of  their  most  extravagant 
romances.  The  Syrians  pretended  to  have  a  Testament  of 
this  Patriarch  in  their  possession,  in  which  was  explained 
tlie  whole  theology  of  angels,  their  diflerent  orders,  &c.  &:c. 
The  Curds,  too,  (as  Ilyde  mentions  in  his  Appendix,)  have  a 
book,  wliich  contains  all  the  rites  of  their  religion,  and  which 
they  call  Sohuph  fiheit,  or  the  Book  of  Seth. 

In  the  same  manner  that  Seth  and  Oiain  are  supposed  to 
have  preserved  lliese  memorials  of  anlcdiluvian  knowledge, 
Xixuthrus  is  said  in  Chalda;an  fable  to  have  deposited  in 
Siparis,  the  city  of  the  Sun,  those  monuments  of  science 
which  he  had  saved  out  of  the  waters  of  a  deluge. — See 
Jahlnnski's  learned  remarks  upon  those  columns  or  talitets 
of  Seth,  which  he  supposes  to  be  the  same  with  the  pillars 
of  Mercury,  or  the  Egj'ptian  Thoth. — Pantheon.  Egypt.  Uh. 
v.,  cap,  5. 

»  The  Mussulmans,  says  D'llerbelot,  apply  the  g;eneral 
name,  i\Ioc:irroljoun,  to  all  those  Spirits  "  qui  approchent  le 
plus  pr-s  le  Trone."    Of  this  number  are  Mikail  and  Gebrail. 


Nor  long  did  he,  whom  call  so  kind 
Sumraon'd  away,  remain  behind  ; 
Nor  did  there  need  much  time  to  tell 

What  they — alas,  more  full'n  than  ht 
From  happiness  and  iicaveu — knew  well, 

His  gentler  love's  sliort  history  1 

Thus  did  it  run — not  as  he  told 

The  tale  himself,  but  as  'tis  graved 
Upon  the  tablets  that,  of  old, 

By  Setu'  were  from  the  deluge  saved, 
All  written  over  with  sublime 

And  sadd'ning  legends  of  th'  tmbless'd, 
But  glorious  SjAr-ts  of  tht.'  time, 

And  this  young  Angel's  'mong  the  rest 


THIRD  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

AfiiONG  the  Spu-its,  of  pure  flame. 

That  in  th*  eternal  heavens  abide — 
Circles  of  light,  that  from  the  same 

Unclouded  centre  sweeping  wide, 

Carry  its  beams  on  every  side — 
Like  spheres  of  air  that  waft  around 
The  undulations  of  rich  sound. 
Till  the  far-circling  radiance  bo 
Diffused  into  infinity ! 
First  and  immediate  near  the  Throne 
1^  Of  Alla,^  as  if  most  his  own, 
"  The  Seraphs  stand^ — this  burning  sign 
Traced  on  tiieir  banner,  "  L^ove  divine  I" 
Their  rank,  their  honors,  far  above 

Ev"n  those  to  higli-brow'd  Cherubs  given, 
Tliough  knowing  all  ; — so  mucli  doth  love 

Transcend  all  Knowledge,  ev'n  in  heaven ! 

3  The  Seraphim,  or  Spirits  of  Divine  Love. 

Tliere  appears  to  be,  among  writers  on  the  East,  as  well 
among  the  Orientals  themselves,  considerable  indecision  with 
regard  lo  the  respective  claims  of  Seraphim  and  Cherubim 
to  the  highest  rank  in  the  celestial  hierarcliy.  The  deriva- 
tion which  Hyde  assigns  to  the  word  CArrafi  seems  to  deter- 
mine the  precedence  in  favor  of  that  order  of  spirits 
•'Cherubim,  i.  e.  Propinqui  Angeli,  qui  sc.  Deo  proprius 
quam  alii  accedunt ;  nam  Charab  est  i.  q.  Karab,  apprnpin- 
qitare."  (P.  2G3.)  A\  Beidawi,  too,  one  of  tiie  conniienlators 
of  the  Koran,  on  that  passage,  "  the  angels,  m  ho  bear  the 
throne,  and  those  who  stand  about  it,"  (chap,  xl.)  says, 
"These  are  the  Cherubim,  the  highest  order  of  angels." 
On  the  other  hand,  we  have  seen,  in  a  preceding  note,  that 
the  Syrians  place  the  sphere  in  which  the  Scniphs  dwell  at 
the  very  summit  of  all  the  celestial  systems;  and  even,  among 
Mahometans,  the  words  Azazil  and  Mocarreboun  (which 
mean  the  i^pirits  that  stand  nearest  to  the  throne  of  Alia 
are  indiscriminately  applied  to  both  Seraphim  and  Chcru 
bim. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


539 


'Mong  these  was  Zaraph  once — and  none 

E'er  felt  affection's  holy  fire, 
Or  yearn'd  towards  th'  Eternal  One, 

Willi  half  such  longing,  deep  desire. 
Love  was  to  his  impassion'd  soul 

Not,  as  with  others,  a  mere  part 
Of  its  existence,  but  the  whole — 

The  very  life-breatli  of  his  heart  I 
Oft,  when  from  Alla's  lifted  brow 

A  lustre  came,  too  bright  to  bear, 
And  all  the  seraph  ranks  would  bow, 

To  shade  their  dazzled  sight,  nor  dare 

To  look  upon  th'  clFulgeuce  there — 
This  Spirit's  eyes  would  court  the  blaze, 

(Such  pride  he  in  adoring  took,) 
And  rather  lose,  in  that  one  gaze, 

The  power  of  looking,  than  not  look  ! 
Then,  too,  when  angel  voices  sung 
The  mercy  of  their  God,  and  strung 
Their  harps  to  hail,  with  welcome  sweet. 

That  moment,  watch'd  for  by  all  eyes, 
When  some  repentant  sinner's  feet 

First  touch'd  the  threshold  of  the  skies, 
Oh  then  how  clearly  did  the  voice 
Of  Zaraph  above  all  rejoice  ! 
Love  was  in  ev'ry  buoyant  tone — 

Such  love,  as  only  coidd  belong 
To  the  blest  angels,  and  alone 

Could,  ev'u  from  angels,  bring  such  song  .' 

Alos,  that  it  should  e'er  have  beeu 

In  heav'n  as  'tis  too  often  here. 
Where  nothing  fond  or  bright  is  seen, 

But  it  hath  pain  and  peril  near ; — 
W^hero  right  and  wrong  so  close  resemble, 

That  what  we  take  for  virtue's  tluill 
Is  often  the  first  downward  tremble 

Of  the  heart's  balance  unto  ill ; 
Where  Love  hath  not  a  shrine  so  pure. 

So  holy,  but  the  serpent.  Sin, 
In  moments,  ev'u  the  most  secure. 

Beneath  his  altar  may  glide  in  ! 

So  was  it  with  that  Angel — such 

The  charm,  that  sloped  his  fall  along, 
From  good  to  ill,  from  loving  much. 

Too  easy  lapse,  to  loving  wrong. — 
Ev'n  BO  that  amoroiLS  Spirit,  bound 
By  beauty's  spell,  where'er  'twas  found, 
From  the  bright  things  above  tlie  moon 

Down  to  earth's  beaming  eyes  desceaded, 
Till  lo\e  for  the  Creator  soon 

In  passion  for  the  creature  ended. 

'1  was  first  at  twilight,  on  the  shore 
Of  the  smooth  sea,  he  heard  the  lute 


And  voice  of  her  he  loved  steal  o'er 

The  silver  waters,  that  lay  muto. 
As  loath,  by  even  a  breath,  to  stay 
The  pilgrimage  of  that  sweet  lay. 
Whose  echoes  still  went  on  and  on. 
Till  lost  among  the  light  that  shone 
Far  olf,  beyond  the  ocean's  brim — 

There,  where  the  ricii  cascade  of  day 
Had  o'er  th'  horizon's  golden  rim. 

Into  Elysium  roll'd  away  ! 
Of  God  she  sung,  and  of  the  mild 

Attendant  Mercy,  that  beside 
His  awful  throne  forever  smiled. 

Ready,  with  her  white  hand,  to  guide 
His  bolts  of  vengeance  to  their  prey — 
That  she  might  quench  them  on  the  way! 
Of  Peace — of  that  Atoning  Love, 
Upon  whose  star,  shining  above 
This  twilight  world  of  hope  and  fear. 

The  weeping  eyes  of  Faith  are  fix'd 
So  fond,  that  with  her  every  tear 

The  light  of  that  love-star  is  mix'd  I — 
All  this  she  sung,  and  such  a  soul 

Of  piety  was  in  that  song. 
That  the  charm'd  Angel,  as  it  stole 

Tenderly  to  his  ear,  along 
Those  lulling  waters  where  he  lay. 
Watching  the  daylight's  dying  ray. 
Thought  'twas  a  voice  from  out  the  wave, 
An  echo,  that  some  sea-nymph  gave 
To  Eden's  distant  harmony. 
Heard  faint  and  sweet  beneath  the  sea ! 

Quickly,  however,  to  its  source. 
Tracing  that  music's  melting  course. 
He  saw,  upon  the  golden  sand 
Of  the  sea-shore,  a  maiden  stand. 
Before  whose  feet  th'  expuing  waves 

Flung  their  last  offering  with  a  sigh — 
As,  in  the  East,  exhausted  slaves 

Lay  down  the  far-brought  gift,  and  die — 
And,  while  Iter  lute  hung  by  her,  hush'd. 

As  if  unequal  to  the  tide 
Of  song,  that  from  her  lips  still  gush'd. 

She  raised,  like  one  beatified. 
Those  eyes,  whose  light  seem'd  rather  given 

To  be  adored  than  to  adore — 
Such  eyes,  as  may  have  look'd /lom  heaveu, 

But  ne'er  were  raised  to  it  before ! 

Oh  Love,  Religion,  Music' — all 
That's  left  of  Eden  upon  earth — 


I  "Les  Eg^'pUens  disent  que  la  Musiquc  est  Saurdela 
Rdigion.**^Voya_^cs  dc  Pythugore,  torn,  i.,  p.  4','2. 


540 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  only  blessings,  since  the  fall 
Of  our  weak  souls,  tliat  still  recall 

A  trace  of  their  high,  glorious  birth — 
How  kindred  are  the  dreams  you  bring! 

How  Love,  though  unto  earth  so  prone, 
Delights  to  take  religion's  wing, 

When  time  or  grief  hath  stain'd  his  own  ! 
How  near  to  Love's  beguiling  brink, 

Too  oft,  entranced  Religion  lies .' 
Wliile  Music,  Music  is  the  link 

They  holh  still  hold  by  to  the  skies. 
The  language  of  their  native  sphere. 
Which  they  had  else  forgotten  here. 

How  then  could  Zarafii  fail  to  feel 

That  moment's  witcheries? — one,  so  fair. 

Breathing  out  music,  that  might  steal 
Heaven  from  itself,  and  rapt  in  prayer 
That  seraphs  might  be  proud  to  share ! 

Oh,  ho  did  feel  it,  all  too  well — 

With  warmth,  that  far  too  dearly  cost — 

Nor  knew  he,  when  at  last  he  fell, 

To  whicli  attraction,  to  which  spell, 

liOvo,  Music,  or  Pevotion,  most 

His  soul  in  that  sweet  hour  was  lost. 

Sweet  was  the  honr,  though  dearly  won. 

And  pure,  as  aught  of  earth  could  be 
l**or  tiien  first  did  the  glorious  sun 

Before  religion's  altar  see 
Two  hearts  in  wedlock's  golden  tie 
Self-pledged,  in  love  to  live  and  die. 
Blest  union  I  by  that  Angel  wove. 

And  worthy  from  such  hands  to  come  : 
Safe,  sole  asylum,  in  which  Love, 
When  fall'n  or  exiled  from  above, 

In  this  dark  world  can  find  a  liome. 

And,  though  the  Spirit  had  transgress'd. 
Had,  from  his  station  'mong  tho  bless'd 
Won  down  by  woman's  smile,  allow'd 

Terrestrial  passion  to  breathe  o'er 
The  mirror  of  his  heart,  and  cloud 

God's  image,  there  so  bright  before — 
Yet  never  did  that  Power  look  down 

On  error  with  a  brow  so  mild  ; 
Never  did  Justice  wear  a  frown, 

Through  which  so  gently  Mercy  smiled. 
For  humble  was  their  love — with  awe 

And  trembling  like  some  treasure  kept, 


'  Sara. 

3  An  allusion  lo  the  Sephirollis  or  Splendors  of  Iho  Jew- 
ish Cabli.-ilii,  represented  as  a  tree,  of  which  God  is  the 
crown  or  summit. 

The  Sepliinitlis  are  the  higher  orders  of  emannlive  licings 
in  the  slntnge  and  incoinpreliensil>Ie  system  of  the  Jewish 


That  was  not  theirs  by  holy  law — 
Whose  beauty  with  remorse  they  saw, 

And  o'er  whose  preciousness  they  wept 
Humility,  that  low,  sweet  root, 
From  which  all  heavenly  virtues  shoot, 
Was  in  the  hearts  of  both — but  most 

In  Nama's  heart,  by  whom  alone 
Those  cliamis  for  which  a  heaven  was  lost, 

Seem'd  all  unvalued  and  unknown  ; 
And  when  her  seraph's  eyes  she  caught. 

And  bid  hers  glowing  on  his  brcas-t, 
Even  bliss  was  humbled  by  the  thought — 

"  What  claim  have  I  to  be  so  bless'd  ?" 
Still  less  could  maid,  -x  meek,  have  nursed 
Desire  of  knowledge — that  vain  thirst. 
With  which  the  sci  hath  all  been  cursed, 
From  luckless  Eve  to  her,  who  near 
The  Tabernacle  stole  to  hear 
The  secrets  of  the  angels:'  no — 

To  love  as  her  own  Seraph  loved, 
With  Faith,  the  same  through  bliss  and  wo- 

Faith,  that,  were  even  its  ligiit  removed, 
Coidd,  like  the  dial,  lix'd  remain. 
And  wait  till  it  shone  out  again  ; 
With  Patience  that,  though  often  bow'd 

By  the  rude  storm,  can  rise  anew  ; 
And  Hope  that,  even  from  Evil's  cloud, 

Sees  sunny  Good  half  breaking  tlirough  ! 
This  deep,  relying  Love,  worth  more 
In  heaven  than  all  a  Cherub's  lore — 
This  Faith,  more  sure  than  aught  beside. 
Was  the  solo  joy,  ambition,  pride 
Of  her  fond  heart — th'  unreasoning  scope 

Of  all  its  viev.'s,  above,  below — 
So  true  she  felt  it  that  to  liopc, 

To  trust,  is  happier  than  to  know. 
And  thus  in  humbleness  they  trod. 
Abash 'd,  but  pure  before  their  God ; 
Nor  e'er  did  earth  behold  a  sight 

So  meekly  heaulifid  as  they, 
When,  witli  the  altar's  holy  light 

Full  on  Iheir  brows,  they  knelt  to  pray, 
Hand  within  hand,  and  side  by  side, 
Two  links  of  love,  awliile  untied 
From  the  great  chain  above,  but  fast 
Holding  tngcther  to  the  last  I — 
Tv,'0  fallen  Sjjlendors,'  from  that  tree, 
Which  buds  with  such  eternally,^ 
Shaken  to  earth,  yet  keeping  all 
Their  light  and  fi  eshness  in  tho  fail. 


Cabbala.  They  are  called  by  various  names,  Pity,  Beamy, 
&c.  &.C. ;  and  tlicir  inttuenccs  are  supposed  to  act  through 
certain  canals,  whicli  communicate  with  each  other. 

3  Tlic  reader  may  judge  of  the  rationality  of  this  Jewish 
system  by  the  following  explanation  of  pari  of  the  ncichinory : 
— "  Les  canaux  qui  sortcnt  de  la  Mis6ricorde  et  de  la  Force, 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


541 


Tlieir  only  punishment,  (as  wron^, 

However  sweet,  must  bear  its  brand,) 
Tlieir  only  doom  was  this — that,  long 

As  the  green  earth  and  ocean  stand, 
They  botii  shall  wander  here — tho  same, 
Throughout  all  time,  in  heart  and  frame — 
Still  looking  to  that  goal  sublime, 

Whose  light  remote,  but  sure,  they  see  ; 
Pilgrims  of  Love,  whose  way  is  Time, 

Whoso  homo  is  in  Eternity  ! 
Subject,  the  while,  to  all  the  strife, 
True  Lovo  encounters  in  this  life — - 
Tho  wishes,  hopes,  he  breathes  in  vain  ; 

Tlie  chill,  that  turns  his  warmest  sighs 

To  earthly  vapor,  ere  they  rise  ; 
The  doubt  he  feeds  on,  and  the  pain 

That  in  his  very  sweetness  lies : — 
Still  worse,  th'  illusions  that  betray 

His  footsteps  to  their  shining  brink  ; 
That  tempt  him,  on  his  desert  way 

Tlirough  the  bleak  world,  to  bend  and  drink, 
Where  nothing  meets  his  lips,  alas, — 
But  he  again  must  sighing  pass 
On  to  that  far-off  home  of  peace, 
In  which  alone  his  thirst  will  cease. 

All  this  they  bear,  but,  not  the  less. 
Have  mon.vi.-t3  rich  in  happiness — 
Bless'd  meetings,  after  many  a  day 
Of  widowhood  pass'd  far  away, 
Wheu  the  loved  face  again  is  seen 
Close,  close,  with  not  a  tear  between — 
Confidiugs  frank,  without  control, 
Pourd  mutually  from  soul  to  soul ; 
As  free  from  any  fear  or  doubt 

As  is  that  light  from  chill  or  stain, 
The  sun  into  tho  stars  sheds  out. 

To  be  by  them  shed  back  again  I— 
Tliat  happy  minglement  of  hearts. 

Where,  changed  as  chymic  compounds  are, 
Each  with  its  own  existence  parts. 

To  find  a  new  one,  happier  far  I 

et  qui  vonl  abontir  a  la  Beaul^,  sont  charges  d'un  grand 
noinbre  d'Anges.  11  y  en  a  trente-cinq  sur  le  caniil  de  la 
MisiJricorde,  qui  reconipensent  et  qui  couronnent  la  veriu 
des  Saints,"  &c..  &c. — For  a  concise  account  of  the  Caba- 
listic Piiilosophy,  aeo  Entield's  very  useful  conipeiidium  of 


Such  are  their  joys — and,  crowning  all. 

That  blessed  hope  of  the  bright  hour, 
When,  luijjpy  and  no  more  to  fall, 

Their  spirits  shall,  with  freslieu'd  power, 
Rise  up  rewarded  for  their  trust 

In  Him,  from  whom  all  goodness  springs. 
And,  shaking  off  earth's  soiling  dust 

From  their  emancipated  wings, 
Wander  forever  through  those  skies 
Of  radiance,  where  Lovo  never  dies  ! 

In  what  lone  region  of  the  earth 

These  Pilgrims  now  may  roam  or  dwell, 
God  and  the  Angels,  who  look  forth 

To  watch  their  steps,  alone  can  tell. 
But  should  we,  in  our  wanderings, 

Meet  a  young  pair,  whose  beauty  wants 
But  tho  adornment  of  bright  wings, 

To  look  like  heaven's  inhabitants — 
Who  shine  where'er  they  tread,  and  yet 

Are  humble  in  their  earthly  lot, 
As  is  the  wayside  violet, 

That  shines  unseen,  and  were  it  not 

For  its  sweet  breath  would  be  forgot — 
Whose  hearts,  in  every  thought,  are  one, 

Whose  voices  utter  the  same  wills — 
Answering,  as  Echo  doth  some  tone 

Of  fairy  music  'mong  the  hills, 
So  like  itself,  we  seek  in  vain 
Which  is  tho  echo,  which  tho  strain — 
Whoso  piety  is  love,  whose  love, 

Though  close  as  'twere  their  souls'  embrace, 
Is  not  of  earth, ^it  from  above — 

Like  two  fair  mirrors,  faco  to  face. 
Whose  light,  from  one  to  th'  other  thrown. 
Is  heaven's  reflection,  not  their  own — 
Should  we  e'er  meet  with  aught  so  pure, 
So  perfect  here,  we  may  be  sure 

'Tis  Zarapii  and  his  bride  wo  see  ; 
And  call  young  lovers  round,  to  view 
The  pilgrim  pair,  as  they  pursue 

Their  patliway  towards  eternity. 

"On  les  repril-sente  quelquefois  sous  la  figure  d'un  arbre 
.  .  .  .  TEnsuph  qu'on  met  au-dessusde  Tarbre  Scphimtiquo 
ou  des  Splendeurs  divins,  est  I'lnfiiii." — VHiatoire  des 
Juifsy  liv.  ix.  11, 


542 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


SKEPTICISM. 

Ere  Psyche  drank  llie  eiip,  that  shed 

Immortal  Life  into  licr  soul, 
Some  evil  spirit  pourM,  'tis  said, 

One  drop  of  Uoubt  into  the  bowl — 

Which,  mingling  darkly  with  the  stream, 
To  Psyche's  lips — she  knew  not  why — 

Made  even  that  blessed  nectar  seem 
As  though  its  sweetness  soon  would  die. 

Oft,  in  the  very  arms  of  Love, 

A  chill  came  o'er  her  heart — a  fear 

That  Death  might,  even  yet,  remove 
Her  spirit  from  that  happy  sphere. 

"  Tliose  sunny  ringlets,"  she  e.xclaim'd, 
"  Twining  them  round  lier  snowy  fingers  ; 

"  That  forehead,  where  a  light,  unnamed, 
"  Unknown  on  earth,  forever  lingers  ; 

"  Those  lips,  through  which  Weel  tlie  breath 
"  Of  Heaven  itself,  whene'er  they  sever — 

"  Say,  are  they  mine,  beyond  all  death, 
"  My  own,  hereafter,  and  forever? 

"  Smile  not — I  know  that  staiTy  brow, 
"  Tliose  ringlets,  and  bright  lips  of  thine, 

"  Will  always  shine,  as  they  do  now — 
"  But  shall  /  live  to  see  them  shine?" 

In  vain  did  Love  say,  "  Turn  thine  eyes 
"  On  all  that  sparkles  round  thee  here — 

"  Thou'rt  now  in  heaven,  where  nothing  dies, 
"  And  in  these  arms — what  canst  thou  fear  ?" 

In  vain — the  fatal  drop,  that  stole 
Into  that  cup's  immortal  treasure. 

Had  lodged  its  bitter  near  her  soul. 
And  gave  a  tinge  to  every  pleasure. 

And,  though  there  ne'er  was  transport  given 
Like  Psyclie's  with  that  radiant  boy, 

Hei-s  is  the  only  face  in  heaven. 
That  wears  a  cloud  amid  its  joy. 


A  JOKE  VERSIFIED. 

"  Co:\iE,  come,"  said  Tom's  father,  "  at  your  time  of 

life, 

"  There's  no  longer  excuse  for  thus  playing  the 

rake — 

"  It  is  time  you  should  think,  boy,  of  taking  ;  vrife" — 

"  Why,  so  it  is,  father — whose  -/tie  shall  I  take  ?" 


I 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND. 

Pure  as  the  mantle,  which,  o'er  him  who  stood 

By  Jordan's  stream,  descended  from  the  sky, 
Is  that  remembrance,  which  the  wise  and  good 

Leave  in  the  hearts  that  love  them,  when  they 
die. 
So  pure,  so  precious  shall  the  memory  be, 
Bequeath'd,  in  dying,  to  our  souls  by  thee — 
So  shall  the  love  we  bore  thee,  cherish'd  warm 

Within  our  souls  through   grief,   and  pain, 
strife. 
Be,  like  Elisiia's  cruise,  a  holy  charm, 

Wherewith  to  *'  heal  the  waters"  of  this  life  ! 


and 


TO  JAMES  COBRY,  ESQ., 

OS  niS  MAKING  ME  A  PRESENT  OF  A  WINS  STRAINER. 

Brighton.  June,  1825. 
Tins  life,  dear  Corry,  who  can  doubt? — ■ 

Resembles  much  friend  Ewart's'  wine, 
When.//js;  tlie  rosy  drops  come  out, 

How  beautiful,  how  clear  they  shine  I 

And  thus  awhile  they  keep  their  tint, 
So  free  from  even  a  shade  with  some, 

That  they  would  smile,  did  \uu  but  hint, 
That  darker  drops  would  ere?'  come. 

1  A  wine-inorchanl 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


543 


But  soon  llie  ruby  tide  runs  short, 

Each  minute  malies  the  sad  trutli  plainer, 

Till  life,  lilic  old  and  crusty  port, 

Wiicn  near  its  close,  requires  a  strainer. 

T/iiS  friendship  can  alone  confer. 
Alone  can  teach  the  drops  to  pass. 

If  not  as  brifjlit  as  once  they  were, 
At  least  unclouded,  through  the  glass. 

Nor,  Corry,  could  a  boon  be  mine, 

Of  which  tliis  heart  were  fonder,  vainer, 

Tlian  thus,  if  life  grow  like  old  wine, 
To  have  tliij  friendship  for  its  strainer. 


FRAGMENT  OF  A  CHARACTER. 

Here  lies  Factotum  Ned  at  last ; 

Long  as  he  breathed  the  vital  air, 
Nothing  througliout  all  Europe  pass'd. 

In  whicli  Ned  hadn't  some  small  sliare. 

Whoe'er  was  in,  whoe'er  was  out, 
Whatever  statesmen  did  or  said, 

If  not  e.iaclly  brought  about, 

'Twas  all,  at  least,  contrived  by  Ned. 

With  Nap,  if  Russia  went  to  war, 
'Twas  owing,  under  Providence, 

To  certain  hints  Ned  gave  the  Czar — ■ 
(Vide  his  pamphlet — price,  si.xpence.) 

Tf  France  was  beat  at  Waterloo — 

As  all  but  Freuclimen  think  she  was — 

To  Ned,  as  Wellington  well  knew, 
Was  owing  half  that  day's  applause. 

Then  for  his  news — no  envoy's  bag 

E'er  pass'd  so  many  secrets  through  it ; 

Scarcely  a  telefi-aph  could  wag 
Its  wooden  finger,  but  Ned  knew  it. 

Such  tales  he  had  of  foreign  plots, 

AV'itli  foreign  names,  one's  ear  to  buzz  in ! 

From  Russia,  chefs  and  ofs  in  lots, 
From  Poland,  owskis  by  the  dozen. 

When  George,  alarm'd  for  England's  creed, 
Turu'd  out  tlie  last  Whig  ministry, 

And  men  asU'd — who  advised  the  deed? 
Ned  modestly  confess'd  'twas  he. 

For  tliough,  by  some  unlucky  miss. 
Ho  had  not  downright  seen  the  King, 


He  sent  such  hints  through  Viscount  This, 
To  Marquis  That,  as  clench'd  the  thing. 

The  same  it  was  in  science,  arts. 

The  Drama,  Books,  fllS.  and  printed — 

Koan  learn'd  from  Ned  his  cleverest  parts, 
And  Scott's  last  work  by  him  was  hinted 

Childe  Harold  in  the  proofs  he  read. 

And,  hero  and  there,  infused  some  soul  in't- 

Nay,  Davy's  Lamp,  till  seen  ^y  Ned, 

Had — odd  enough — an  awkward  hole  in't. 

'Twas  thus,  all-doing  and  all-knowiuj, 
Wit,  statesman,  boxer,  chymist,  singer. 

Whatever  was  the  best  pie  gomg, 

lu  that  Ned — trust  him — had  his  finger. 


WHAT  SHALL  I  SING  THEE? 


What  shall  I  sing  thee  ?  Shall  I  tell 
Of  tliat  bright  Iiour,  remember'd  well 
As  though  it  shone  but  yesterday, 
When,  loitering  idly  in  the  ray 
Of  a  spring-sun,  I  heard,  o'erhead. 
My  name  as  by  some  spirit  said. 
And,  looking  up,  saw  two  bright  eyes 

Above  me  from  a  casement  shine. 
Dazzling  my  mind  with  such  surprise 

As  they,  who  sail  beyond  the  Line, 
Feel  when  new  stars  above  them  rise  ; — 
And  it  was  thine,  tlie  voice  that  spoke, 

Like  Ariel's,  in  the  mid-air  then  ; 
And  thine  the  eye,  whose  lustre  broke— 

Never  to  bo  forgot  again  ! 

What  shall  I  sing  thee?  Shall  I  weave 
A  song  of  that  sweet  summer-eve, 
(Scnnmor,  of  %vhich  the  sunniest  part 
Was  that  we,  each,  had  in  the  heart,) 
When  thou  and  I,  and  one  like  tliee. 

In  life  and  beauty,  to  the  sound 
Of  our  own  breatliless  minstrel.'^y. 

Danced  till  the  sunlight  faded  round, 
Ourselves  the  whole  ideal  Ball, 
Lights,  music,  company,  and  all  I 
Oh,  'tis  not  in  the  languid  strain 

Of  lute  like  mine,  whose  day  is  past, 
To  call  up  even  a  dream  again 

Of  the  fresh  light  those  moments  cast. 


544 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


COUNTRY  DANCE  AND  QUADRILLE. 

One  night  the  nymnli  call'd  CouNTr.v  Dance — 
(Whom  folks,  of  late,  have  used  so  ill, 

Preferring  a  coquette  from  France, 

That  mincing  thing,  Mamselle  Quadrille) — 

Having  heeu  chased  from  London  down 

To  tiiat  most  humble  haunt  of  all 
Slie  used  to  grace — a  Coiuitry  Town — 

Went  smiling  to  the  New-Year's  Ball. 

"  Here,  here,  at  least,"  she  cried,  "  though  driven 
"  From  London's  gay  and  shining  tracks — 

*'  Though,  like  a  Peri  cast  from  heaven, 
"  Fve  lost,  forever  lost,  Almack's — 

"  Though  not  a  Loudon  I^Iiss  alive 

"  Would  now  for  her  acquaintance  own  me  ; 
'•■  And  spinsters,  even,  of  forty-five, 

"  Upon  their  honore  ne'er  Iiave  known  mo ; 

'•  Here,  here,  at  least,  I  triumph  still, 

•'  And — spite  of  some  few  dandy  Lancers, 

*'  Who  vainly  try  to  preach  Quadrille — 

"  See  naught  but  tnic-lliie  Country  Dancers. 

"  Here  still  I  reign,  and,  fresh  in  charms, 
"  I\Iy  throne,  like  Magna  Charta,  raise 

"  'Mong  sturdy,  freehorn  legs  and  arms, 

"  That  scorn  the  threaten'd  ckainc  Anglaisc." 

'Twas  thus  she  said,  as  'mid  the  din 

Of  footmen,  and  the  town  sedan, 
&he  lighted  at  the  King's  Head  Inn, 

And  up  the  staire  triumphant  ran. 

The  Squires  and  their  Squiresses  all, 
With  young  Squirinas,  just  come  out, 

And  my  Lord's  daughter  from  the  Hall, 
(Quadrillers,  in  tlieir  hearts,  no  doubt,) — 

All  these,  as  light  she  tripp'd  up  stairs, 

Were  in  the  cloak-room  seen  assembling — 

When,  hark !  some  new,  outlandish  airs, 
From  the  Firet  Fiddle,  set  her  trembling. 

She  stops — she  listens — can  it  be  ? 

Alas,  in  vain  her  ears  would  'scape  it — 
It  is  "  Di  tanti  palpiti" 

As  plain  as  English  bow  can  scrape  it 

"  Courage  !"  however — in  she  goes, 

Witli  her  best;  sweeping  country  grace  ; 

When,  ah  too  true,  her  worst  of  foes, 

QuADuiLLE,  there  meets  her,  face  to  face. 


Oh  for  the  lyre,  or  violin. 

Or  kit  of  that  gay  Muse,  Terpsichore, 
To  sing  the  rage  these  nymphs  were  in, 

Tiieir  looks  and  language,  airs  and  trickery 

There  stood  Quadrille,  with  cat-like  face, 
(The  beau-ideal  of  French  beauty,) 

A  bandbo.\  thing,  all  art  and  lace 

Down  from  her  nose-tip  to  her  shoe-tie. 

Her  flounces,  fresh  from  Victorine — 
From  Hippolyte,  her  rouge  and  hair — 

Her  poetry,  from  Lamartine — 

Her  morals,  from — the  Lord  knows  where. 

And,  when  slio  danced — so  slidingly, 
So  near  the  ground  she  plied  her  art. 

You'd  swear  her  mother-earth  and  she 
Had  made  a  compact  ne'er  to  part. 

Her  face  too,  all  the  while,  sedate, 
No  signs  of  life  or  motion  showing. 

Like  a  bright  penduWs  dial-plate — 
So  still,  you'd  hardly  think  'twas  going. 

Full  fronting  her  stood  Country  Dance — 

A  fresh,  frank  nymph,  whom  you  would  know 

For  English,  at  a  single  glance — 
English  all  o'er,  from  top  to  toe. 

A  little  gauche,  'tis  fair  to  own, 

Aud  rather  given  to  skips  and  bounces ; 

Endangering  thereby  many  a  gown. 

And  playing,  oft,  the  devil  with  flounceB. 

Unlike  Mamselle — who  would  prefer 

(As  morally  a  lesser  ill) 
A  thousand  flaws  of  character, 

To  one  vile  rumple  of  a  frill. 

No  rouge  did  she  of  Albion  wear  : 
Let  her  but  run  that  two-heat  race 

She  calls  a  Set,  not  Dian  e'er  * 
Came  rosier  from  the  woodland  chase. 

Such  was  the  nymph,  whose  soul  had  in't 
Such  anger  now — whose  eyes  of  blue 

(E3'es  of  tha^  bright,  victorious  tint, 
AVhich  Euglisli  maids  call  Waterloo") 

Like  summer  lightnings,  in  the  dusk 
Of  a  warm  evening,  fla-shing  broke. 

While — to  the  tune  of  "  Mouey  Musk,'" 
Which  struck  up  now — she  proudly  spoke  : — 

1  An  old  English  Counlry  Dance. 


I 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


545 


"  Heard  you  that  strain — that  joyous  strain  ? 

"  'Twas  such  as  England  loved  to  hear, 
"  Ere  thou,  and  all  thy  frippery  train, 

"  Corrupted  both  her  foot  and  ear — 

"  Ero  Waltz,  that  rake  from  foreign  lauds, 
"  Presumed,  in  sight  of  all  beholders, 

"  To  lay  his  rude,  liceutious  hands 

"  On  virtuous  English  backs  and  shoulders — 

"  Ere  times  and  morals  both  grew  bad, 

"  And,  yet  unfleeced  by  funding  blockheads, 

"  Happy  John  Bull  not  only  had, 

"  But  danced  to,  '  Money  in  both  pockets.' 

"  Alas,  the  change  ! — Oh,  L — d — y, 

"  Where  is  the  laud  could  'scape  disasters, 

"  With  such  a  Foreign  Secretary, 

"Aided  by  Foreign  Dancing  ]Masters? 

*'  Wo  to  ye,  men  of  ships  and  sliops  ! 

"  Rulers  of  day-books  and  of  waves  ! 
**  Quadrill'd,  on  one  side,  into  fops, 

"  And  driU'd,  on  t'other,  into  slaves  I 

"  Ye,  too,  ye  lovely  victims,  seen, 
"  Like  pigeons,  truss'd  for  e.xliibition, 

"  With  elbows,  a  la  crapaudine, 

"  And  feet  in — God  knows  what  position ; 

"  Hemm'd  iu  by  watchful  chaperons, 
"  Inspectors  of  your  aire  and  graces, 

"  Who  intercept  all  whisper'd  tones, 
"  And  read  your  telegrapliic  faces  ; 

"  Unable  with  the  youth  adored, 
*'  In  that  grim  cordon  of  Mammas, 

"  To  intercliange  one  tender  word, 

"  Though  whisper'd  but  in  queue  de  chats. 

"  Ah  did  you  know  how  bless'd  we  ranged, 
"  Ere  vile  Quadrille  usurp'd  the  fiddle— 

"  What  looIiB  in  setting  were  exchanged, 
"  What  tender  words  iu  down  the  middle 

"  How  many  a  couple,  like  the  wind, 
"  Which  nothing  in  its  course  controls, 

"  Left  time  and  chaperons  far  behind, 
"  And  gave  a  loose  to  legs  and  souls ; 

"  How  matrimony  throve — ere  stopp'd 
"  By  this  cold,  silent,  foot-coquetting — 

*'  Hew  charmingly  one's  partner  popp'd 
"  Th'  important  question  iu  poussetting. 


3S 


"  While  now,  alas — no  fcly  advances — 
"  No  marriage  hints — all  goes  on  badly — 

"  'Twixt  Parson  Malthus  and  French  Uauces, 
**  We,  girls,  are  at  a  discount  sadly. 

"  Sir  William  Scott  (now  Baron  Stowell) 
"  Declares  not  half  so  much  is  made 

"  By  Licenses — and  he  must  know  well — 
"  Since  vile  Quadrilling  spoil'd  the  trade." 

She  ceased — tears  fell  from  every  Miss — 
She  now  had  touch'd  the  true  pathetic : — 

One  such  authentic  fact  as  this 
Is  worth  whole  volumes  theoretic. 

Instant  the  cry  was  "  Country  Dance  I" 
And  the  maid  saw,  with  brightening  face. 

The  Steward  of  the  night  advance, 
And  lead  her  to  her  birthright  place. 

The  fiddles,  which  awhile  had  ceased. 
Now  tuned  again  their  summons  sweet, 

And,  for  one  happy  night,  at  least. 
Old  England's  triumph  was  complete. 


GAZEL. 


Haste,  Maami,  the  spring  is  nigh  ; 

Already,  in  th'  unopen'd  flowers 
That  sleep  around  us.  Fancy's  eye 

Can  see  the  blush  of  future  bowers  ; 
And  joy  it  brings  to  thee  and  me. 
My  own  beloved  Maami ! 

The  streamlet  frozen  on  its  way. 
To  feed  tho  marble  Founts  of  Kings, 

Now,  loosen'd  by  the  vernal  ray. 
Upon  its  path  exulting  springs — • 

As  doth  this  bounding  heart  to  thee. 

My  ever  blissful  Maami ! 

Such  bright  hours  were  not  made  to  stay ; 

Enough  if  they  a  while  remain, 
Like  Irem's  bowers,  that  fade  away. 

From  time  to  time,  and  come  again 
And  life  shall  all  one  Irem  be 
For  us,  my 'gentle  Maami. 

O  haste,  for  this  impatient  heart, 
Is  like  the  rose  in  Yemen's  vale. 

That  rends  its  inmost  leaves  apart 
With  passion  for  the  nightuigale  ; 

So  languishes  this  soul  for  thee. 

My  bright  and  blushing  Maami ! 


546 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


LINES 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF 

JOSEPH  ATKINSON,  ESQ.,  OF  DUBLIN. 

If  ever  life  was  prosperously  cast. 

If  ever  life  was  like  tlio  lengtheu'd  flow 

Of  some  sweet  music,  sweetness  to  the  last, 

'Twas  his  wlio,  mourn'd  by  many,  sleeps  below. 

The  sunny  temper,  bright  where  all  is  strife, 
Tile  simple  heart  above  all  worldly  wiles ; 

Light  wit  tiiat  plays  along  the  calm  of  life, 
And  stirs  its  languid  surface  into  smiles  ; 

Pure  charity,  that  comes  not  in  a  shower. 
Sudden  and  loud,  oppressing  wliat  it  feeds, 

But,  like  the  dew,  with  gradual  silent  power. 
Felt  in  the  bloom  it  leaves  along  the  meads ; 

The  happy  grateful  spirit,  that  improves 
And  brightens  every  gift  by  fortune  given  ; 

That,  wander  where  it  will  with  those  it  loves. 
Makes  every  place  a  home,  and  home  a  heaven : 

All    these  were    his. — Oh,    thou   who  read'st   this 
stone, 

When  for  thyself,  thy  children,  to  the  sky 
Thou  humbly  prayest,  ask  this  boon  alone. 

That  ye  lilie  him  may  live,  like  him  may  die  I 


GENIUS  AND  CRITICISM. 

Scripsit  quidein  fata,  sed  sequitur. 

Senecv. 

Of  old,  the  Sultan  Genius  reign'd, 
As  Nature  meant,  supreme,  alone ; 

With  mind  uncheck'd,  and  hands  unchain'd. 
His  views,  his  conquests  were  his  own. 

But  power  like  his,  that  digs  its  grave 
With  its  own  sceptre,  could  not  last ; 

So  Genius'  self  became  the  slave 
Of  laws  that  Genius'  self  had  pass'd. 

As  Jove,  who  forged  the  chain  of  Fate, 
Was,  ever  after,  doom'd  to  wear  it ; 

His  nods,  his  struggles  all  too  late — 
"  Qui  semel  jusslt,  semper  paret.^* 


To  check  young  Genius'  proud  career, 
The  slaves,  who  now  his  throne  invaded. 

Made  Criticism  his  prime  Vizir, 

And  from  that  hour  his  glories  faded. 

Tied  down  in  Legislation's  school, 

Afraid  of  even  his  own  ambition, 
His  very  victories  were  by  rule, 

And  he  was  great  but  by  permission. 

His  most  heroic  deeds — the  same. 

That  dazzled,  when  spontaneous  actions — 

Now,  done  by  law,  seem'd  cold  and  tame. 
And  sliorn  of  all  theu:  first  attractions. 

If  he  but  stirr'd  to  take  the  air. 

Instant,  the  Vizirs  Council  sat — 
"  Good  Lord,  your  Highness  can't  go  there — 

"  Bless  me,  your  Highness  can't  do  that." 

If,  loving  pomp,  he  chose  to  buy 

Rich  jewels  for  his  diadem, 
"  The  taste  was  bad,  the  price  was  high — 

"  A  flower  were  simpler  tlian  a  gem." 

To  please  them  if  he  took  to  flowers — 
"  What  trifling,  what  unmeaning  things ! 

'*  Fit  for  a  woman's  toilet  hours, 

"  But  not  at  all  the  style  for  Kings." 

If,  fond  of  his  domestic  sphere, 

He  play'd  no  more  the  rambling  comet — 
"  A  dull,  good  sort  of  man,  'twas  clear, 

"  But,  as  for  great  or  brave,  far  from  it." 

Did  he  then  lonk  o'er  distant  oceans, 

For  realms  more  worthy  to  enthrone  him  ? 

"  Saint  Aristotle,  what  wild  notions  I 
"  Servo  a  '  ne  exeat  regno'  ou  him." 

At  length,  their  last  and  worst  to  do. 

They  round  liim  placed  a  guard  of  watchmen. 

Reviewers,  knaves  in  brown,  or  blue 

Tum'd  up  with  yellow — chiefly  Scotchmen  ; 

To  dog  his  footsteps  all  about, 

Like  those  in  Longwood's  prison  grounds, 
Who  at  Napoleon's  heels  rode  out, 

For  fear  the  Conqueror  should  break  bounds. 

Oh  for  some  Champion  of  his  power. 

Some  Ultra  spirit,  to  set  free, 
As  erst  in  Shakspeare's  sov'reign  hour, 

The  thunders  of  his  Royalty  I — 


J 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS.                           547 

To  vindicate  his  ancient  line, 
The  first,  tlie  true,  the  only  one, 

Of  Right  eternal  and  divine, 
Tliat  rules  beneath  the  blessed  sun. 

J 

So  might  I  shun  the  shame  and  pain, 
That  o'er  mo  at  tliis  instant  come, 
When  Beauty,  seeking  Wit  in  vain. 
Knocks  at  the  portal  of  my  brain. 

And  gets,  for  answer,  "  Not  at  home !" 

A'crcmftcr,  1828. 

1 

I                       TO  LADY  J''R**Y, 

ON    BCISO   ASKED  TO    WRITE    SOMETHINO    IN    HER    ALBUM. 

Written  at  Middleton. 

Oh  albums,  albums,  how  I  dread, 
Your  everlasting  scrap  and  scrawl ! 

How  often  wish  that  from  the  dead, 
1           Old  Omar  would  pop  forth  his  head, 
And  make  a  bonfire  of  you  all '. 

So  might  I  'scape  the  spinster  band. 

The  blushless  blues,  who,  day  and  night. 
Like  duns  in  doorways,  take  their  stand, 
j           To  waylay  bards,  with  book  in  hand, 
Crying  forever,  "  Write,  sir,  write  !" 

I 

1 

TO  THE  SAME. 

ON    LOOKING    TUROOGH    HER    ALBUM. 

No  wonder  bards,  both  high  and  low. 
From  Byron  down  to  *  *  *  *  *  and  me. 

Should  seek  the  fame,  which  all  bestow 
On  him  whose  task  is  praising  thee. 

Let  but  the  theme  bo  J  *  r  *  *  y's  eyes, 
At  once  all  errors  are  forgiven  ; 

As  ev'n  old  Sternhold  still  we  prize. 

Because,  though  dull,  he  s.ugs  of  heaven. 

1 

1               SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 

1 

1 

The   following   trifles,  having  enjoyed,  in   their 
circulation    through   the   newspapers,    all    the   ce- 
lebrity and  length  of  life  to  which  they  were  en- 
titled, would    have    been    suffered  to    pass    quietly 
into    oblivion   without   pretending   to    any    further 
distinction,  had    they  not    already  been  published, 
in    a    collective  form,  both    in    London    and  Paris, 
and,  in  each  case,  been  mixed  up  with  a  number  of 
other  productions,  to  which,  whatever  may  be  their 
merit,   the  author  of  the    following    pages    has  uo 
claim.     A  natural  desire  to  separate  his  own  prop- 
erty, worthless  as  it  is,  from  that  of  others,  is,  he 
begs  to  say,  the  cliief  motive  of  the  publication  of 
this  volume. 

SATIRICAL   AND  HUMOROUS 
POEMS. 

TO  SIR  HUDSON  LOWE. 

Eflhre  causam  nmninis, 
Ulnimne  mores  hoc  tui 
Nunien  dedere.  iin  noiuen  hoc 
Secutainoruin  regtila.                  AusoNtus. 

1816. 
Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  Sir  Hudson  Low, 
(By  name,  and  all  1  by  nature  so,) 

As  thou  art  fond  of  persecutions, 
Perhaps  thou'st  read,  or  heard  repeated. 
How  Captain  Gulliver  was  treated. 

When  thrown  among  the  Lilliputians. 

548                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

They  tied  him  down — these  little  men  did — 

Propagation  in  reason — a  small  child  or  two — 

And  having  valiunlly  ascended 

Even  Reverend  Mallhus  himself  is  a  friend  to  ; 

Upon  the  Mighty  Man's  protuberance, 

The  issue  of  some  folks  is  moderate  and  few — 

They  did  so  strut ! — upon  my  soul, 

But  ours,  my  dear  corporate  Bank,  there's  uo  end 

It  must  have  been  extremely  droll 

to! 

To  see  their  pigmy  pride's  exuberance  ! 

So — hard  though  it  bo  on  a  pair,  who've  already 

And  how  the  doughty  maunikins 

Disposed  of  so  many  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence ; 

Amused  themselves  with  sticking  pins, 

And,  in  spite  of  that  pink  of  prosperity,  Freddy,' 

And  needles  in  the  great  man's  breeches : 

So  lavish  of  cash  and  so  sparing  of  sense— 

And  how  some  very  little  things, 

That  pass'd  for  Lords,  on  scaffoldings 

The  day  is  at  hand,  my  Papyria'  Venus, 

Got  np,  and  worried  liim  with  speecies. 

When — high    as    we    once    jsed   to   carry    our 

capers — 

Alas,  alas!  that  it  should  happen 

Those  soft  billet-doux  we're  now  passing  between  us, 

To  mighty  men  to  be  caught  napping  I — 

Will  serve  but  to  keep  Mrs.  Contts  in  curl-papers : 

Though  different,  too,  these  persecutions ; 

For  Gulliver,  there,  took  the  nap, 

And  when — if  we  still  must  continue  our  love. 

While,  here  the  Nap,  oh  sad  mishap, 

(After  all  that  has  pass'd,) — our  amour,  it  is  clear. 

Is  taken  by  the  Lilliputians ! 

Like  that  which  Miss  Daniio  managed  with  Jove, 

Must  all  be  transacted  in  bullion,  my  dear  ! 

Felmtari/.  1S'2I>. 

AMATORY  COLLOQUY  BETWEEN  BANK 

AND  GOVERNMENT. 

DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  A  SOVEREIGN 

1826. 

AND  A  ONE  POUND  NOTE. 

Bank. 

"  0  ego  non  felix,  quam  tu  fugis,  ut  pavet  acres 

I-s  all  then  forgotten  ?  those  amorous  pranks 

Agna  Inpos,  capreicquc  leones."                      Hon. 

You  and  I,  in  our  youth,  my  dear  Government, 

play'd  ; 

Said  a  Sov'reign  to  a  Note, 

When  you  call'd  me  the  fondest,  the  truest  of  Banks, 

In  the  pocket  of  my  coat, 

And  enjoy'd  the  endearing  advances  I  made ! 

Where  they  met  in  a  neat  purse  of  leather, 

"  How  happens  it,  I  prithee. 

When  left  to  ourselves,  unmolested  and  free. 

"  That,  though  I'm  wedded  with  thee, 

To  do  all  that  a  dashing  young  couple  should  do. 

"  Fair  Pound,  we  can  never  hve  together  ? 

A  law  against  paying  was  laid  upon  me. 

But  none  against  owing,  dear  helpmate,  on  you. 

"  Like  your  sex,  fond  of  change. 

"  With  silver  you  can  range, 

And  is  it  then  vanish'd  ? — that  "  hour  (as  Othello 

"  And  of  lots  of  young  sLxpences  be  mother  ; 

So  happily  calls  it)  of  Love  and  Direction  ?"' 

"  While  with  fne — upon  my  word. 

And  must  we,  like  other  fond  doves,  my  dear  fellow. 

"  Not  my  Lady  and  my  Lord 

Grow  good  in  our  old  ago,  and  cut  the  connection? 

*'  Of  W — stm — th  see  so  littlo  of  each  other  I" 

Government. 

Tho  indignant  Note  replied. 

Even  so,  my  beloved  Mrs.  Bank,  it  must  be  ; 

(Lying  crumpled  by  his  side.) 

Tills  paying  iu  cash  plays  the  devil  with  wooing  :" 

*'  Shame,  shame,  it  is  yourself  that  roam.  Sir — 

We've  both  had  our  swing,  but  I  plainly  foresee 

"  One  cannot  look  askance. 

There  must  soon  be   a  slop  to  our  bill-'mg  and 

"  But,  whip !  you're  off  to  France, 

COOUlg. 

"  Leaving  nothing  but  old  rags  at  home.  Sir. 

...... 

"  linem,  specie  Cffileste  rcaumtd, 

Luctibus  iiiiposuit,  veiiitque  salutifer  urbi." 

Of  love,  ol  worldly  matter  and  direction." 

Jllet.  1.  XV.  v.  7«. 

i  U  nppear?,  however,  that  Ovid  was  a  friend  to  the  re- 

3  Honorable  Frederick  R— b— ns— n. 

sunipli  m  of  inij-ment  in  specie  :— 

4  So  called,  to  distmgutsh  her  from  tho  "  Aurea  '  or  Qotdct 

Venus. 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


549   I 


"  Your  scampering  began 

"  From  the  moment  Parson  Van, 
"  Poor  man,  made  us  one  in  Love's  fetter  ; 

" '  For  better  or  for  worse' 

"  Is  tbe  usual  marriage  curse, 
"  But  ours  is  all '  worse'  aud  uo  '  better.' 

"  In  vain  are  laws  pass'd, 

"  Tliere's  nothing  holds  you  fast, 
'*  Tho'  you  know,  sweet  Sovereign,  I  adore  you — 

"  At  tho  smallest  hint  in  life, 

"  You  forsake  your  lawful  wife, 
"  As  other  Sovereigns  did  before  you. 

"  I  6irt  with  Silver,  true — 

*'  But  what  can  ladies  do, 
"  When  disown'd  by  their  natural  protectors  ? 

"  And  as  to  falsehood,  stuff ! 

"  I  shall  soon  be  false  enough, 
"  When  I  get  among  those  wicked  Bank  Direc- 
tors." 

Tho  Sovereign,  smiling  on  her, 

Now  swore,  upon  his  honor. 
To  be  henceforth  domestic  and  loyal ; 

But,  within  an  hour  or  two, 

Why — I  sold  him  to  a  Jew, 
And  he's  now  at  No.  10  Palais  RoyaL 


AN  EXPOSTULATION  TO  LORD  KING. 

"  Qucm  das  finem,  Rex  magDC,  laborum  1"         Virgil. 

1820. 

How  can  you,  my  Lord,  thus  delight  to  torment  all 
The  Peers  of  the  realm  about  cheapening  their 
com,* 

When  yon  know,  if  one  hasn't  a  very  high  rental, 
'Tis  hardly  worth  while  being  very  high  bom  1 

Why  bore  them  so  rudely,  each  night  of  your  life, 
On  a  question,  my  Lord,  there's  so  mucli  to  abhor 
in? 
A    question — like    asking    one,    "  How    is     your 
wife  ?'" — 
At  once  so  confounded  domestic  andfoirign. 


I  See  Ihe  proceedings  of  the  Lords,  Wednesday,  March  1 
1820,  when  Lord  King  was  severely  reproved  by  stveral  of 
the  noble  Peers,  for  making  so  many  speeches  agfi last  the 
Com  Laws. 

a  This  nnl,lo  Earl  said,  thai  "when  he  heard  the  petition 
rauie  fmrn  ladies'  boot  and  shoemakers,  lie  fhoupht  it  nmst 
be  against  the  'corns'  which  they  inflicted  on  the  fair  sei." 


As  to  weavers,  no  matter  how  poorly  they  feast ; 

But  Peers,  and  sucli  animals,  fed  up  for  show, 
(Like  tho  well-physick'd  elephant,  lately  deceased,) 

Take  a  wonderful   quantum  of  cramming,  you 
know. 

You  might  see,  my  dear  Baron,  how  bored  and  dis- 
tress'd 
Were  their  high  noble  hearts  by  your  merciless 
tale. 
When  the  force  of  the  agony  wrung  even  a  jest 
From     the     frugal    SL:otch    wit    of    my    Lord 
Ir-d-d-le  !^ 

Bright  peer !    to  whom    Nature    and  Berwickshire 
gave 
A  humor,  endow'd  wilh  effects  so  provoising, 
That,  when  the  v-hoie  House  looks  unusually  grave. 
You  may  always  conclude  that  Lord  L-d-d-le's 
joking  I 

And  then,  those  unfortunate  weavers  c<  Perth — 
Not    to    know    the    vast    difference    Providence 
dooms 
Between  weavers  of  Perth  and  Peers  of  high  birtli, 
'Twixt   those  who   have   keirAooms,  and    those 
who've  but  looms  I 

"  To    talk    now    of   starving  !" — as   great    Ath — 1 
said' — 
(And  tho  nobles  all  cheer'd,  and  the  bishops  all 
wonder'd,) 
"  When,  some  years  ago,  he  and  others  had  fed 
"  Of  these  same  hungry  devils  about  fifteen  hun- 
dred I" 

It  follows  from  hence — and  the  Duke's  very  words 
Should  be  piiblish'd  wherever  poor  rogues  of  this 
craft  are — 

That  weavers,  ojtce  rescued  from  starving  by  Lords, 
Are  bound  to  be  starved  by  said  Lords  ever  after. 

When    Rome   was  uproarious,  her  knowing  patri- 
cians 
Made  "  Bread  and  the  Circus"  a  cure  for  each 
row  ; 
But  not  so  the  plan  of  our  noble  physicians, 

'•  No   Bread  and  the  Tread-mill's"  the  regimen 
now. 


5  The  Duke  of  Athol  said,  that  "  at  a  former  period,  when 
these  weavers  were  in  great  <lislress,  tbe  landed  interest  of 
Perth  had  snpimrted  1,500  of  them,  II  was  a  pnnr  return  for 
these  very  men  now  to  petition  against  the  persons  who  had 
fed  them," 


550                                              MOORE'S   WORKS. 

So  cease,  my  dear  Baron  of  Ockliam,  your  prose, 

Whoever  will  bring 

As  I  shall  my  poetry — jicither  convinces  ; 

This  aforesaid  thing 

And  all  we  have  spoken  and  WTitten  but  shows, 

To  the  well-known  house  of  Robinson  and  Jeukin, 

When  you  tread  on  a  nobleman's  corn,'  how  he 

Shall  be  paid,  with  thanks. 

winces. 

In  the  notes  of  banks. 

Whose  Funds  have  all  learn'd  "  the  Art  of  Sinking." 
O  .yes  !  O  yes  ! 

Can  anybody  guess 

THE  SINKING  FUND  CRIED. 

What  the  devil  has  become  of  this  Treasury  won- 

der? 

"Now  what,  we  ask,  is  become  of  this  Sinking  Funii — 

It  has  Pitt's  name  on't, 

these  eight  niillinns  of  surplus  above  expenditure,  which 

were  to  reduce  the  interest  of  the  national  debt  by  the 

All  brass,  m  the  front, 

anuiuntof  four  hundred  Ihuusaiul  pounds  annually  1  Where, 

And   R— b — ns — n's,  scrawl'd  with   a  goose-quill, 

indeed,  is  the  Sinking  Fund  itself  V'—Thc  T.ma. 

under. 

Take  your  bell,  take  your  bell, 

Good  Crier,  and  tell 

To   the    Bulls   and   the    Bears,  till    their  ears  are 
stnnn'd. 

That,  lost  or  stolen, 

Or  fall'n  through  a  hole  in 

The  Treasury  floor,  is  the  Sinking  Fund ! 

ODE  TO  THE  GODDESS  CERES. 

0  yes  !  O  yes ! 

BY  SIR  Tit M S    L TUBE — E. 

Can  anybody  guess 

What  the  deuce  has  become  of  this  Treasury  won- 

"Legifcrx Cereri  Phabnque."            Virgil. 

der? 

It  has  Pitt's  name  ou't, 

Dear  Goddess  of  Corn,  whom   the  ancients,  we 

All  brass,  in  the  front. 

know, 

And  R — b — ns — n's,   scrawl'd  with   a   goose-quill. 

(Among  other  odd  whims  of  those  comical  bodies,) 

under. 

Adorn'd  with  somniferous  poppies,  to  show 

Thou  wert  alwaj's  a  true   Couutry-geiitlcman's 

Folks  well  knew  what 

Goddess. 

Would  soon  be  its  lot. 

When  Frederick  and  Jenky  set  hob-nobbing,' 

Behold,  in  his  best  shooting-jacket,  before  thee, 

And  said  to  each  other. 

An  eloquent  'Squire,  who  most  humbly  beseeches. 

"  Suppose,  dear  brother. 

Great  Queen  of  I\Iark-lane,  (if  the  thing  doesn't 

"  Wo  make  this  fuimy  old  Fund  worth  robbing." 

bore  thee,) 

Thou'lt    read    o'er   the    last    of   his — nf co-last 

We  are  come,  alas  ! 

speeches. 

To  a  very  pretty  pass — 

Eight  Hundred  Millions  of  score,  to  pay, 

Ah  !  Ceres,  thou  know'st  not  the  slander  and  scorn 

With  but  Five  in  the  till, 

Now    heap'd    upon    England's   'Squirearchy,    so 

To  discharge  the  bill. 

boasted ; 

And  even  that  Five,  too,  whipp'd  away  ! 

Improving  on  Hunt,'  'tis  no  longer  the  Corn, 

'Tis  the  growers  of  Corn   that   arc  now,  alas  ! 

Stop  thief !  stop  tliief  !— 

roasted. 

From  the  Sub  to  the  Chief, 

These  Gemmen  of  Finance  are  plundering  cattle — 

In  speeches,  in  books,  in  all  shapes  they  attack  us — • 

Call  the  watch — call  Brougham, 

Reviewers,  economists — fellows,  no  doubt. 

Tell  Joseph  Hume, 

That  you,  my  dear  Ceres,  and  Venus,  and  Bacchus, 

That  best  of  Charleys,  to  spring  his  rattle. 

And  Gods  of  high  fashion  know  little  about. 

1  An  iniprnvement,  we  flatter  ourselves,  on  Lord  L.'sjoke. 

3  A  sort  of  "  breakftst-powder,"  compo-^ed  of  roasted  corn, 

5  In  18-i4.  when  the  Sinking  Fund  was  raised  by  the  iui 

was  about  this  time  introduced  by  Mr.  Hunt,  m  a  substitute 

jiosition  of  new  taxes  to  the  sum  of  five  millions. 

for  cotTee. 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


551 


There's  B — iitli — m,  whoso  English  is  all  his  owu 
making, — 
Who  thinks  jnst  as  little  of  settling  a  nation 
As  he  would  ot"  smoking  his  pipe,  or  of  taking 
(What  he,  himself,  calls)  liis  "  post-praiidial  vi- 
bration."' 

There  are  two  Mr.  M Us,  too,  whom  those  that 

lovo  reading 
Through  all  that's  unreadable,  call  very  clever ; — 

And,  whereas  M 11  Senior  makes  war  ou  good 

breeding, 
M 11  Junior  makes  war  ou  all  breeding  what- 
ever I 

In  short,  my  dear  Goddess,  Old  England's  divided 

Between  ultra  blockheads  and  superfine  sages  ; — 
With  which  of  these   classes  we,  landlords,   have 
sided 
Thou'lt  find  in  my  Speech,  if  thon'lt  read  a  few 
pages. 

For  therein  I've  proved,  to  my  owu  satisfaction, 
Aud  that  of  all  'Squires  I've  the  honor  of  meet- 
ing. 
That  'tis  the  most  senseless  and  foul-mouth'd  de- 
traction 
To  say  that  poor  people  are  fond  of  cheap  eating. 

On  the  contrary,  such  th.e  **  chaste  notions"^  of  food 
That  dwell  in  each  pale  manufacturer's  heart, 

They  would  scorn  any  law,  be  it  ever  so  good. 
That  would  make  thee,  dear  Goddess,  less  dear 
thau  thou  art ! 

And,  oil !  for  Monopoly  what  a  blest  day, 

When  the  Laud  and  the  Silk^  shall,  in  fond  com- 
bination, 
(Like  Sulky  and  Silky,  that  pair  in  the  play,') 
Cry  out,  with  one   voice,  for    High   Rents    aud 
Starvation ! 

Long  life  to  the  Minister ! — no  matter  who. 

Or  how  dull-  he  may  be,  if,  with  dignified  spurit, 
he 
Keeps   the   ports  shut — aud  the  people's    mouths, 
too, — 
We  shall  all  have  a  long  run  of  Freddy's  pros- 
perity. 

1  The  venerable  Jeremy's  phrase  for  his  after-dinner  walk. 

3  A  phrase  in  one  of  Sir  T — ni — s's  last  speeches. 

3  Great  elTorts  were,  at  that  time,  making  for  the  e.xclusion 
of  foreign  silk. 

*  '■  Road  to  Rnin." 

6  This  is  meant  not  so  mnch  for  a  pun,  as  in  aUusion  to 
the  natural  history  ot"  the  Unicorn,  which  is  supposed  to  be 
something  between  the  Bos  and  the  Asinus,  and,  as  Rees's 


And,  as  for  myself,  wlio've,  like  Hannibal,  sworn 
To  hato  the  whole  crew  who  would  take  our 
rents  from  us. 
Had  England  but  One  to  stand  by  thee.  Dear  Cora, 
That    last,    honest    Uni-Coru'    would    bo    Sir 
Th— m— B ! 


A  HYMN  OF  WELCOME  AFTER  THE 
RECESS. 

"Animas  sapicnliorcs  fieri  quiescendo." 

And  now — cross-buns  and  pancakes  o'er — 
Hail,  Lords  and  Gentlemen,  once  more  ! 

Thrice  hail  and  welcome.  Houses  Twain  . 
The  short  eclipse  of  April-Day  ' 

Having  (God  grant  it !)  pass'd  away, 

Collective  Wisdom,  shine  again  ! 

Come,  Ayes  and  Noes,  through  thick  and  thin,— 
With  Paddy  H — Imes  for  whipper-in, — 

Whate'er  the  job,  prepared  to  back  it ; 
Come,  voters  of  Supplies — bestowers 
Of  jackets  upon  trumpet-blowers. 

At  eighty  mortal  pounds  the  jacket !' 

Come — free,  at  length,  from  Joint-Stock  cares — 
Ye  Senators  of  many  Shares, 

Whose  dreams  of  premiimr  knew  no  boimdary  ; 
So  fond  of  auglit  like  Company, 
That  you  would  even  have  taken  tea 

(Had  you  been  ask'd)  with  Mr.  Goundry.' 

Come,  matchless  countrj' -gentlemen  ; 
Come,  wise  Sir  Thomas — wisest  then, 

When  creeds  and  corn-laws  are  debated  ; 
Come,  rival  even  the  Harlot  Red, 
Aud  show  how  wholly  into  bread 

A  'Squire  is  transubstantiated. 

Come,  L — derd — e,  and  tell  the  world, 
That — surely  as  thy  scratch  is  curl'd, 

As  never  scratch  was  curl'd  before — 
Cheap  eating  does  more  harm  than  good, 
Aud  working-people,  spoii'd  by  food, 

The  less  they  eat,  will  work  the  more. 

Cyclopedia  assures  us,  has  a  particular  liking  iui  every 
thing  "chaste." 

^  An  item  of  expense  which  Mr.  Hume  in  vain  ondeavur- 
ed  to  get  rid  of: — trumpeters,  it  appears,  like  the  men  of 
All-Souls,  must  be  "bene  vestiti." 

'  The  gentleman,  lately  before  the  public,  wlio  kept  his 
Jumt-Stock  Tea  Company  all  to  himself,  singing  "  Te  solo 
adoro." 


553 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Come,  G — lb — m,  with  thy  glib  defence 
(Which  thou'dst  have  made  for  Peter's  Pence) 

Of  Church-Rates,  worthy  of  a  halter  ; 
Two  pipes  of  port  [old  port,  'twas  said 
By  honest  Netcport')  bought  and  paid 

By  Papists  for  the  Orange  Altar  !^ 

Come,  H — rt — n,  with  thy  plan,  so  merry, 
For  peopling  Canada  from  Kerry — 

Not  so  much  rendering  Ireland  quiet, 
As  grafting  on  the  dull  Canadians 
That  liveliest  of  eartli's  contagions, 

The  bull-pock  of  Hibernian  riot ! 

Come  all,  in  short,  ye  wondrous  men 
Of  wit  and  wisdom,  come  again  ; 

Though  short  your  absence,  all  deplore  it — 
Oh,  come  and  show,  whate'er  men  say, 
That  you  can,  after  April-Day, 

Be  just  as — sapient  as  before  it. 


MEMORABILIA  OF  LAST  WEEK. 

MONnAY,    MARCH    13,    182G. 

The  Budget — quite  charming  and  witty — no  hear- 
ing. 
For  plaudits  and  laughs,  the  good  things  that 
were  in  it ; — 
Great   comfort   to   find,   though   the  Speech   isn't 
cheering, 
That  all  its  gay  auditors  were,  every  minute. 

What,  still  more  prosperity  ! — mercy  upon  us, 
"  Tliis  boy'U  be  the  death  of  me" — oft  as,  al- 
ready. 

Such  smooth  Budgeteers  have  genteelly  undone  us. 
For  Ruin  made  easy  there's  no  one  like  Freddy. 

TUESDAY. 

Much  grave  apprehension  express'd  by  the  Peers, 
Lest  —  calling    to    life    the    old    Peachums    and 
Lockitts — 
The  large  stock  of  gold  we're   to  have  in  three 
years. 
Should  all  fmd  its  way  into  highwaymen's  pock- 
ets !' 


1  Sir  John  Newport. 

3  This  I'harge  nf  two  pipes  of  port  for  the  sacramental  wine 
Is  a  precious  specimen  of  the  sort  of  rates  levied  upon  their 
Catholi:  fellow-parishinners  by  the  Irish  Protestants. 
"The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 
Doth  ask  a  drink  divine." 


WEDNESDAY. 

Little  doing — for  sacred,  oh  Wednesday,  thou  art 
To  the  seven-o'clock  joys  of  full  many  a  table — 

Wlien  the  Members  all  meet,  to  make  much  of  that 
part, 
With  which  they  so  rashly  fell  out,  in  the  Fable. 

It  appear'd,  though,  to-night,  that — as  church-war- 
dens, yearly. 
Eat  up  a  small  baby — those  cormorant  sinners, 
The  Bankrupt-Commissioners,  bolt  very  nearly 
A  moderate-sized  bankrupt,  tout  chaud,  for  their 
dinners!' 
Nota  bene — a  rumor  to-day,  in  the  City, 
"Mr.    R — b — as — n    just   has   resign'd" — what   a 

pity! 
The  Bulls  and  llie  Bears  all  fell  a  sobbing. 
When  they  heard  of  the  fate  of  poor  Cock  Robin; 
While  thus,  to  the  nursery  tune,  so  pretty, 
A  murmuring  <S(oci-dove  breathed  her  ditty : — 

Alas,  poor  Robin,  he  crow'd  as  long 

And  as  sweet  as  a  prosperous  Cock  could  crow  ; 
But  his  note  was  small,  and  the  gold-HacWs  song 

Was  a  pitch  too  high  for  Robin  to  go. 

Who'll  make  his  shroud  ? 

"  I,"  said  the  Bank,  "  though  he  play'd  me  a  prank, 
"  While  I  have  a  rag,  poor  Rob  shall  be  roU'd 
in't, 

"  With  many  a  pound  I'll  paper  him  round, 

"  Like  a  plump  rouleau — without  the  gold  in't" 


ALL  IN  THE  FAMILY  WAY. 

A    NEW    PASTORAL   BALLAD. 

(sung  in   the    character   OF   BRITANNIA.) 

"The  Public  Debt  is  due  from  ourselves  to  ourselves,  and 
resolves  itself  into  a  Family  Accotmt." — Sir  Robert  Peel's 
Letter- 

Tunc — Jifij  banks  are  all  fumish'd  with  bees. 

My  banks  are  all  fumish'd  with  rags, 
So  thick,  even  Freddy  can't  tliin  'em ; 

I've  torn  up  my  old  money-bags, 

Having  little  or  naught  to  put  in  'em. 

3  "  Another  objection  to  a  metallic  currency  was,  that  it 
produced  a  greater  number  of  highway  robberies." — Debate 
in  the  Lords. 

*  Mr.  Abercromhy's  statement  of  the  enormous  tavern 
bills  of  the  Commissioners  of  Bankrupts. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


553 


My  U'adesmca  are  smashing  by  dozens, 

Bnt  this  is  all  nothing,  they  say  ; 
For  bankrujits,  since  Adam,  are  cousins, — 

So,  it's  all  in  tlie  family  way. 

My  Debt  not  a  penny  takes  from  me. 

As  sages  the  matter  explain  ; — • 
Bob  owe-;  it  to  Tom,  and  then  Tommy 

Just  owes  it  to  Bob  back  again. 
Since  all  have  thus  taken  to  owing, 

Tliero's  nobody  loft  that  can  pay ; 
And  this  is  the  way  to  keep  going, — 

All  quito  in  the  family  way. 

My  senators  vote  away  millions, 

To  put  in  Prosperity's  budget ; 
And  though  it  were  billions  or  trillions. 

The  generous  rogues  wouldn't  grudge  it. 
'Tis  all  but  a  family  hop, 

'Twas  Pitt  began  dancing  the  hay  ; 
Hands  round  ! — why  the  deuce  should  we  stop  ? 

'Tis  all  in  the  family  way. 

My  laborers  used  to  eat  mutton. 

As  any  great  man  of  the  State  does ; 
And  now  the  poor  devils  are  put  on 

Small  rations  of  tea  and  potatoes. 
But  cheer  up,  John,  Sawney,  and  Paddy, 

The  Kitg  is  your  father,  they  say ; 
So,  ev'n  if  you  starve  for  your  Daddy, 

'Tis  all  in  the  family  way. 

My  rich  manufacturers  tumble. 

My  poor  ones  have  nothing  to  chew  ; 
And,  even  if  themselves  do  not  grumble. 

Their  stomachs  undoubtedly  do. 
But  coolly  to  fast  en  famille. 

Is  as  good  for  the  soul  as  to  pray ; 
And  famine  itself  is  genteel. 

When  one  staiTes  in  a  family  way. 

I  have  found  out  a  secret  for  Freddy, 

A  secret  for  next  Budget  day ; 
Though,  perhaps,  he  may  know  it  already, 

As  he,  too,  's  a  sage  iu  his  way. 
When  ne.\t  for  the  Treasury  scene  he 

Announces  "  the  Devil  to  pay," 
Let  him  write  on  the  bills,  "  Nota  bene, 

"  'Tis  all  iu  the  family  way." 


BALLAD  FOR  THE  CAMBRIDGE 
ELECTION. 

"  I  authorizod  my  Conimitlee  to  take  the  step  which  they 
did,  of  projio^ing  u  fair  cojnpurison  of  strength,  updii  llic  un- 
dcrsUindinp  Ihnt  w/ncficvcr  of  the  itco  shott/d  prime  U  It  tht 
weakest,  should  give  Wiiy  to  tlic  other." — Extract  Jrom 
Mr.  IV.  J.  B—kcs's  J^eltcT  to  Mr.  G—lb—n. 

1!  —  !CKS  is  weak,  and  G — lb — n  too, 

No  one  e'er  the  fact  denied  ; — 
Which  is  "  weakest"  of  the  two, 

Cambridge  can  alone  decide. 
Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 
Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

G — lb — n  of  the  Pope  afraid  is, 

B — kes,  as  much  afraid  as  he  ; 
Never  yet  did  two  old  ladies 

On  this  point  so  well  agree. 
Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray. 
Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Each  a  different  mode  pursues, 

Each  the  same  conclusion  reaches ; 

B — kes  is  foolish  in  Reviews, 
G — lb — n,  foolish  in  his  speeches. 

Cliooso  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Each  a  different  foe  doth  damn. 

When  his  own  affairs  have  gone  ill ; 

B — kes  he  damneth  Buckingham, 
G — lb — n  damneth  Dan  O'Conuell. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Once,  we  know,  a  horse's  neigh 

Fix'd  th'  election  to  a  throne. 
So,  whichever  first  shall  braij. 

Choose  him,  Cambridge,  for  thy  own. 
Clioose  him,  choose  him  by  his  bray. 
Thus  elect  him,  Cambridge,  pray. 
June,  1626. 


MR.  ROGER  DODSWORTH. 


1826. 


TO   THE    EDITOR    OF  THE    TIMES. 


Sir,— Having  just  heard  of  the  wonderful  resurrection  ol 
Mr.  Roger  Dodsworth  from  under  an  avalanche,  wliere  he 
had  remained.  Men  frappe,  it  seems,  for  the  last  166  years.  I 
hiisten  to  imparl  to  you  a  few  reflections  on  the  suhject. — 
Yours,  &c.  LiDDATOtt  Te.mporis  Acti. 

WiUT   a.  lucky  turn  up  I— just  as  Eld— n's  with- 
drawing. 
To  find  thus  a  gentleman,  froz'n  in  the  year 


554 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Sixteen  hundred  sflid  sixty,  wlio  only  wants  thaw- 

i"g. 
To  serve    for   our   times   quite    as .  well    as   the 
Peer  ;— 

To  bring  thus  to  light,  not  tlie  Wisdom  alone 

Of   our   Ancestors,   such   as   'tis   found   on   our 
shelves, 

But,  in  perfect  condition,  full-wigg'd  and  full-grown. 
To  shovel  up  one  of  those  wise  bucks  themselves ! 

Oh  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworth,  and  scud  him  safe  home — 
Let   him   learn   nothing   useful   or  new  on  the 
way  ; 
With  his  wisdom  kept  snug  from  the  light  let  him 
come. 
And  our  Tories  will  hail  him  with  "Hear!"  and 
"  Hurra !" 

What  a  God-send  to  them .' — a  good,  obsolete  man, 
Wiio  has  never   of  Locke    or-  Voltaire    been    a 
reader ; — 
Oh  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworth  as  fast  as  yon  can. 

And  the  L — usd — les  and  II — rtf — rds  shall  choose 
him  for  leader. 

Yes,  sleeper  of  ages,  thou  shalt  bo  their  chosen  ; 

And   deeply  with   thee  will   they  sorrow,  good 
men. 
To  think  that  all  Europe  has,  since  thou  wert  frozen, 

So  alter'd,  thou  hardly  wilt  know  it  again. 

And  Eld — n  will  weep  o'er  each  sad  iimovatiou 
Such  oceans  of  tears,  thou  wilt  fancy  that  he 

Has  been  also  laid  up  in  a  long  congelation. 

And  is  only  now  thawing,  dear  Roger,  like  thee. 


COPY  OF  AN  INTERCEPTED  DISPATCH. 

FROM  HIS  EXCELLENCY  DON  STKEPITOSO  DIABOLO, 
ENVOY  EXTRAORDL\.\RY  TO  HIS  S.VTANIC  MA- 
JESTY. 

St.  James's  .=trcet,  July  3,  IHG. 
Great  Sir,  having  just  had  the  good  luck  to  catch 

An  official  young  Demon,  preparing  to  go, 
Ready  booted  and  spurr'd,\vith  a  blacU-Icg  dispatch, 
From  the  Hell  here,  at  Cr — ckf — rd"s,  to  our  Hell, 
below — 

I  write  these  few  lines  to  your  Highness  Satanic, 
To  say  that,  first  having  obey'd  your  directions, 

And  done  all  tlio  mischief  I  could  in  "  the  Panic," 
My  next  special  caro  was  to  help  the  Elections. 


Well   knowing  how  dear  were  those  times  to  thy 
soul, 
When  ever}'  good  Christian  tormented  his    bro- 
ther. 
And  caused,  in  thy  realm,  sueh  a  saving  of  coal. 
From   all  coming  down,  ready   grill'd   by   each 
other ; 

Rememb'ring,  besides,  how  it  pain'd  thee  to  part 
AVith  the  Old  Penal  Code — l<!iat  c/icf-d'ceuvrc  of 
Law, 
In  which  (though  to  own  it  too  modest  thou  art) 
We  could  plainly  perceive  the  6ne  touch  of  thy 
claw ; 

I  thought,  as  we  ne'er  can  those  gooc  umes  revive, 
(Though  Eld — n,  with  help  from  your  Highness 
would  trj',) 

'T would  still  keep  a  taste  for  Hell's  music  alive. 
Could  we  get  up  a  tliund'ring  No-Popery  cry  ; — 

That  yell  which,  when  chorus'd  &■*  'i.ics  and  clerics. 

So  like  is  to  ours,  in  its  spirit  aua  tone, 
That  I  often  nigh  laugh  myself  into  hysterics, 

To  think  that  Religion  should  make  it  her  own. 

So,  having  sent  down  for  th'  original  notes 

Of  the  chorus,  as  sung  by  your  Majesty's  choir, 

With  a  few  pmts  of  lava,  to  gargle  the  tliroats 
Of  myself  and  some  others,  who  sing  it  "  with 
fire,'" 

Thought  I,  "  if  the  Mareeilloie  Hynm  could  com- 
mand 
"  Such  audience,  though  yell'd  by  a  Sans-culottc 
crew, 
"  What   wonders  shall  we  do,  who've  men  iu  our 
band, 
"  That   not   ouly   wear   breeches,  but  petticoats 
too." 

Such  then  were  my  hopes;  but,  with  sorrow,  yoar 
Highness, 
I'm  forced  to  confess — be  the  cause  what  it  will, 
Whether  fewness  of  voices,  or  hoarseness,  or  shy- 
ness,— 
Our  Beelzebub  chorus  has  gone  off  but  ill. 

The  tnith  is,  no  placeman  now  kno%vs  his  right  key, 
Tlie  Treasury  pitch-pipe  of  late  is  so  various  ; 

And  certain  base  voices,  that  look'd  for  a  fee 

At  the  York  music-meeting,  now  think  it  pre- 
carious. 


'  Conftioco — a  music-tjook  direction 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


555 


Even  some   of  our   Reverends    might    liave    been 
warmer, — 
Thougli  one  or  two  capital  roarers  we've  had  ; 
Doctor   Wise'   is,   for   instauce,   a   charming   per- 
former, 
And  Huntingdon  Maberley's  yell  was  not  bad ! 

Altogether,  however,  the  thing  was  not  hearty  ; — 
Even  Eld — n  allows  we  got  on  but  so  so  ; 

And  when  next  wo  attempt  a  No-Popery  party, 
Wo  must,  please  your    Higlmess,   recruit  from 
below. 

But,  hark,  the    young    Black-leg  is  cracking   his 
whip — 
Excuse  me,  Great  Sir — there's   no  time  to  be 
civil ; — 
The  next  opportunity  shan't  be  let  slip. 
But,  till  then, 

I'm,  in  haste,  your  most  dutiful 

Devil. 
Julr/,  1826. 


THE  MILLENNIUM. 

SUGGESTED    BY    THE    LATE    WORK    OF   THE     REVEREND 

MR.    IRV NG    "  ON    PROPIIECV." 

J820. 

A  Millennium  at  hand '. — I'm  delighted  to  hear 
it — 

As  matters,  both  public  and  private,  now  go, 
With  multitudes  round  us  all  starving,  or  near  it, 

A  good  ricli  Millennium  will  come  d  propos. 

Only  think.  Master  Fred,  what  delight  to  behold, 
Instead  of  thy  bankrupt  old  C.ty  of  Rags, 

A  bran-new  Jerusalem,  built  all  of  gold, 

Sound  bullion  throughout,  from  the  roof  to  the 
flags — 

A  City,  where  wine  and  cheap  corn'  shall  abound — 

A  celestial  Cocaignc,  on  whose  buttery  shelves 
We  may  swear  the  best  things  of  this  world  will 
be  found. 
As  your  Saints  seldom  fail  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves ! 

I  This  reverend  gentleman  distinguished  himself  at  the 
Re-idini?  election. 

4  "  A  measure  of  wheat  for  a  penny,  and  three  measures 
of  barley  for  a  penny." — Rev.  vi. 

3  See  the  oration  of  this  reverend  pentleman,  where  he 
descrihei  the  connulMal  joys  of  Paradise,  and  paints  the 
angels  hovering Tonnil  "each  happy  fair." 

*  When  Whiston  presented  to  Prince  Eugene  the  Essay  in 
which  he  altenijited  to  connect  his  victories  over  the  Turks 


iil 


Thanks,  reverend  expounder  of  rapture;;  Elysian,' 
Divine  Squiutil'obus,  who,  placed  within  reach 

Of  two  opposite  worlds,  by  a  twist  of  your  vision. 
Can  cast,  at  the  same  time,  a  sly  look  at  each  ; — 

Thanks,  thanks  for  the  hopes  thou  affbrdest,  that  we 
May,  ev'n  in  our  own  times,  a  Jubilee  share. 

Which  so  long  has  been  promised  by  prophets  .like 
thee. 
And  so  often  postponed,  we  began  to  despair. 

There  was  AVhiston,*   who  learnedly  took   Prince 
Eugene 
For  the  man  who    must   bring   the  Millennium 
about ; 
There's  Faber,  whose  pious  productions  have  been 
All  belied,  ere  his  book's  first  edition  was  out ; — 

There  was  Counsellor  Dobbs,  too,  an  Irish  M.  P., 
Who  discoursed  on  the  subject  with  signal  eclut. 

And,  each  day  of  his  life,  sat  expecting  to  see 

A    Millennium    break    out    in  the   town  of   Ar- 
magh I^ 

There  was  also — but  why  should  I  burden  my  lay 
With   your   Brotherses,   Southcotcs,   and   names 
less  deserving, 
When   all   past    Millenniums  henceforth  must  give 
way 
To  the  last  new  Millennium  of  Orator  Irv — ug. 

Go  on,  mighty  man, — doom  them  all  to  the  shelf, — 
And  when  next  thou  with  Prophecy  tioublest  thy 
sconce. 
Oh  forget  not,  I  pray  thee,  to  prove  that  thyself 
Art  tlio  Beast  (Chapter  iv.)  that  sees  nine  ways  at 
once. 


1826. 


THE  THREE  DOCTORS. 

Diictorilus  IcElamur  tribiis. 

TnouKH  miuiy  great  Doctors  there  be, 
Tiiero  are  three  that  all  Doctors  out-top, 

Doctor  Eady,  that  famous  M.  D., 

Doctor  S — th — y,  and  dear  Doctor  Slop.® 


with  Revelalion,  the  Prince  is  said  to  have  replied,  that 
*'  he  was  nnt  aware  he  had  ever  had  the  lionor  of  being 
known  tn  St.  John." 

6  Mr.  Dobbs  was  a  member  of  the  Irish  ParlianicnI.  and, 
on  all  other  subjects  but  the  Millennium,  a  very  sensible 
person:  he  chose  Armagh  as  the  ?ccne  of  his  Millennium, 
on  account  of  the  name  Armageddon,  mentioned  in  Ueve- 
lation. 

6  The  edilor  of  the  Morning  Herald,  so  nicknamed. 


556 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  purger — the  proser — the  bard — 

All  quacks  in  a  different  style  ; 
Doctor  S — th — -y  writes  books  by  the  yard, 

Doctor  Eady  writes  puffs  by  tlie  mile  I' 

Doctor  Slop,  ill  no  merit  outdone 

By  his  scribblinnr  or  pliysicking  brother. 

Can  dose  lis  with  stuff  like  the  one, 

Ay,  and  doze  us  with  stuff  like  the  other. 

Doctor  Eady  good  company  keeps 
With  "  No  Popery"  scribes  on  the  walls ; 

Doctor  S — th — y  as  gloriously  sleeps 

With  "  No  Popery"  scribes,  on  the  stalls. 

Doctor  Slop,  upon  subjects  divine, 

Such  bedlamite  slaver  lets  drop. 
That,  if  Eady  should  take  the  mad  line, 

He'll  be  sure  of  a  patient  in  Slop. 

Seven  millions  of  Papists,  no  less. 

Doctor  S — th — y  attacks,  like  a  Turk ;' 

Doctor  Eady,  le(«  bold,  I  confess. 
Attacks  but  his  maid-of-all-work.° 

Doctor  S — ^tli — y,  for  his  grand  attack, 
Botli  a  laureate  and  pensioner  is  ; 

While  poor  Doctor  Eady,  alack, 

Has  been  had  vp  to  Bow-street,  for  his! 

And  truly,  'hn  law  does  so  blunder, 

That,  though  little  blood  has  been  spill'd,  he 

May  probably  suffer  as,  under 

The  Chalking  Act,  known  to  be  guilty. 

So  much  for  the  merits  sublime 

(With  wliose  catalogue  ne'er  should  I  stop) 
Of  the  three  greatest  lights  of  our  time, 

Doctor  Eady,  and  S — th — y,  aud  Slop  I 

Should  you  ask  me,  to  which  of  the  three 
Great  Doctors  the  preference  should  fall. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  I  agree 

Doctor  Eady  must  go  to  Uic  wall. 

But  as  S — th — y  with  laurels  is  crown'd. 
And  Slop  with  a  wig  and  a  tail  is. 

Let  Eady's  bright  temples  be  bound 

With  a  swingeing  "  Corona  Muralis ."" 


1  Alluding  to  the  display  of  this  doctor's  name,  in  chalk, 
on  hI!  the  walls  round  the  inclropnlis. 

a  This  seraphic  doctor,  in  the  preface  to  his  last  work, 
(Vindiciis  Ecdpxi(t  JJnfflican<t,)  is  pleased  to  anathematize 
not  only  all  Catholics,  Imt  all  ailvocutcs  of  Catholics: — 
"They  have  for  their  immediate  allies  (he  says)  everj'  fac- 
tion that  is  banded  against  the  State,  every  demagogue, 
every  irreligious  and  seditious  journalist,  every  open  and 
every  insidious  enemy  to  Monarchy  and  to  Christianity." 

3  See  the  late  accounts  in  the  newspapers  of  the  appear- 


EPITAPH  ON  A  TUFT-HUNTEU. 

Lament,  lament,  Sir  Isaac  Heard, 

Put  mouniing  round  thy  page,  Debrett, 
For  here  lies  one,  wlio  ne'er  preferred 
A  Viscount  to  a  Marquis  yet. 

Beside  him  place  the  God  of  Wit, 

Before  him  Beauty's  rosiest  girls, 
Apollo  for  a  star  he'd  quit, 

And  Love's  own  sister  for  ati  Earl's. 

Did  niggard  fate  no  peers  afford, 

He  took,  of  course,  to  peers'  relations  ; 

And,  rather  than  not  sport  a  Lord, 
Put  up  with  even  the  last  creations. 

Even  Irisli  names,  could  he  but  tag  'em 

With  "  Lord"  and  "  Duke,"  were  sweet  to  cal 

And,  at  a  pincli.  Lord  Ballyraggum 
Was  better  tlian  no  Lord  at  all. 

Heaven  grant  him  now  some  noble  nook. 

For,  rest  his  soul !  he'd  rather  be 
Genteelly  damn'd  beside  a  Duke, 

Than  saved  in  vulgar  company 


ODE  TO  A  HAT. 


iEJific^l  CiipUt.' 


Juvenal. 


1626. 


Hail,  reverciul  Hat! — sublime  'mid  all 
The  minor  felts  that  round  thee  grovel ; — 

Thou,  tliat  tlie  Gods  "  a  Delta"  call, 

While  meaner  mortals  call  thee  "  shovel" 

When  on  thy  sliape  (like  pyramid, 

Cut  horizontally  in  two") 
I  raj)turcd  gaze,  wliat  dreams,  unhid, 

Of  stalls  and  mitres  bless  my  view  I 


ancc  of  this  gentleman  at  one  cf  the  Police-oirices,  in  con- 
sequence of  an  alleged  assault  on  his  "  niaid-of  uU-work." 

*  A  crown  granted  as  a  reward  among  the  Romans  to 
persons  who  performed  any  extraordinary  exploits  uixm 
walls,  such  as  scaling  them,  battering  them,  fcc. — No  doubt, 
writing  upon  Ihem,  to  Ilie  extent  Dr.  Eady  does,  would 
equally  establish  a  claim  to  the  honor. 

s  So  dcscril)ed  by  a  Reverend  Ilislonan  of  the  Church  : — 
"  A  Delta  hat,  like  the  horizontal  section  of  a  pyramid."-- 
Grant's  History  of  the  Englisk  Church. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


557 


That  brim  of  brims,  so  sleekly  good — 
Not  flapp'd,  like  dull  Wesleyaus',  down, 

But  looking  (as  all  churclimcu's  should) 
Devoutly  upward — towards  the  crovn. 

Gods!  when  I  gaze  upon  that  brim, 

So  redolent  of  Church  all  over, 
What  ssvarms  of  Tithes,  iu  vision  dim, — 
Some  pig-tail'd,  some  like  cherubim, 

Willi  ducklings'  wings — around  it  hover  ! 
Teutlis  of  all  dead  and  hving  things. 
That  Nature  into  being  brings, 
From  calves  and  corn  to  chitterlings. 

Say,  holy  Hat,  that  hast,  of  cocks, 
The  very  cock  most  orthodox, 
To  which,  of  all  the  well-fed  throng 
Of  Ziou,'  joy'st  thou  to  belong  ? 
Thou'rt  not  Sir  Harcourt  Lees's — no — 

For  hats  grow  like  the  heads  that  wear  'em  : 
And  hats,  on  heads  like  his,  would  grow 

Particularly  harum-scarum. 
Who  knows  but  tliou  may'st  deck  the  pato 
Of  that  famed  Doctor  Ad— mth— te, 
(The  reverend  rat,  whom  we  saw  stand 
On  his  hind-legs  in  Westmoreland,) 
Who  changed  so  quick  from  blue  to  yellow. 

And  would  from  yellow  back  to  blue, 
.\nd  back  again,  convenient  fellow, 

If  'twere  his  interest  so  to  do. 

Or,  haply,  smartest  of  triangles. 

Thou  art  the  hat  of  Doctor  Ow — n  ; 
The  hat  that,  to  his  vestry  wrangles. 

That  venerable  priest  doth  go  iu, — 
And,  then  and  there,  amid  the  stare 
Of  all  St.  Olave's,  takes  the  chair, 
And  quotes,  with  phiz  right  ortliodo.x, 

Th'  example  of  his  reverend  brothers. 
To  prove  that  priests  all  fleece  their  flocks, 

And  he  must  fleece  as  well  as  others. 

Bless'd  Hat !  (whoe'er  thy  lord  may  be) 
Thus  low  I  take  ofl"  mine  to  thee. 
The  homage  of  a  layman's  castor, 
To  the  spruce  delta  of  his  pastor. 
Oh  mayst  thou  be,  as  thou  proceedest. 

Still  smarter  cock'd,  still  brush'd  the  brighter, 
Till,  bowing  all  the  way,  thou  leadest 

Thy  sleek  possessor  to  a  mitre  ! 


»  Archbishop  Magee  affeclionatcly  calls  the  Church  Estab- 
lishment of  Ireland  '*  Ihe  little  Zion." 

'  A  dijtrilmticm  was  made  of  the  Emperor  Aleiander's 
military  wardrobe  by  his  successor. 


NEWS  FOR  COUNTRY  COUSINS. 


Dear  Coz,  as  I  know  neither  you  nor  Miss  Draper, 
When  Parliament's  up,  ever  take  in  a  paper. 
But  trust  for  your  news  to  such  stray  odds  and  ends 
As  you  chance  to  pick  up  from  political  friend.s — 
Being  one  of  this  well-inform'd  class,  I  sit  down 
To  transmit  you  the  last  newest  news  that's  in  town. 

As  to  Greece  and  Lord  Cochrane,  things  couldn't 
look  better — 

His  Lordship  (who  promises  now  to  fight  faster) 
Has  just  taken  Rhodes,  and  dispatch'd  off  a  letter 

To  Daniel  O'Connell,  to  make  h'un  Grand  Master; 
Engaging  to  change  the  old  name,  if  he  can, 
From  the  Knights  of  St.  John  to  the  luiights  of 

St  Dan  ; — 
Or,  if  Dan  should  prefer  (as  a  sl^.II  better  whim) 
Being  made  tlie  Colossus,  'tis  all  one  to  him. 

From  Russia  the  last  accounts  are  that  the  Czar — 
Most  generous  and  kind,  as  all  sovereigns  arc, 
And  whose  fu^t  princely  act  (as  you  know,  I  sup- 
pose) 
Was  to  give  away  all  his  late  brother's  old  clothes' — 
Is  now  busy  collecting,  with  brotherly  care, 

Tho   late    Emperor's   nightcaps,  and    thinks   of 
bestowing 
One  nightcap  apiece  (if  he  has  them  to  spare) 
On  all  the  distinguish'd  old  ladies  now  going. 
(While  I  write,  an  arrival  from  Riga — the  "  Bro- 
thers"— 
Having   nightcaps   on  board  for  Lord  Eld — n  and 
other.s.) 

Last  advices  from  India — Sir  Archy,  'tis  thought, 
Was  near  catching  a  Tartar,  (the  first  ever  caught 
In  N.  Lat.  21.) — and  his  Highness  Burmese, 
Being  very  hard  press'd  to  shell  out  the  rupees. 
And  not  having  rhino  sufficient,  they  say,  meaut 
To  pawn  his  august  Golden  Foot'  for  the  payment. 
(How   lucky  for  monarclis,  that  thus,  when  they 

choose, 
Cau  establish  a  running  account  with  the  Jews !) 
The  security  being  what  Rothschild  calls  "  goot," 
A  loan  will  be  shortly,  of  course,  set  on  foot ; 
The  parties  are  Rothschild,  A.  Baring  and  Co. 
With  three  other  great  pawnbrokers :  each  takes  a 

toe 


>  This  potentate  styles  himself  the  Monarch  of  the  Golden 
Fool 


558 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  engages  (lest  Gold-foot  should  give  us  leg-bail, 
As  ho  did  once  before)  to  ])ay  down  on  the  nail. 

This  is  ;ill  for  the  present — what  vile  pens  and  paper! 
Youre  truly,  dear  Cousin— best  love  to  fliiss  Draper. 

SqiUmlcr,  I82C. 


A  VISION. 

BV    THE    Al'TIIOH    OF    CllRlSTADEL. 

"  Up !"  said  the  Spirit,  and,  ero  I  could  pray 
One  hasty  orison,  whirl'd  mo  away 
To  a  Limbo,  lying — I  wist  not  where — 
Above  or  below,  in  earth  or  air ; 
For  it  glinmier'd  o"er  with  a  doubtful  light, 
One  couldn't  say  wliether  'twas  day  or  night ; 
And  'twas  cross'd  by  many  a  mazy  track, 
One  d:du't  know  how  to  get  on  or  back  ; 
And  I  felt  like  a  needle  that's  going  astray 
(\Vith  its  one  eye  out)  through  a  bundle  of  hay  ; 
Wlien  the  Spirit  he  grinu'd,  and  whisper'd  me, 
"  Tliou'rt  now  in  the  Court  of  Chauceiy !" 

Around  me  flitted  unnumbcr'd  swarms 
Of  siiapeless,  bodiless,  tailless  forms  ; 
(Like  hottled-up  babes,  that  grace  the  room 
Of  tliat  worthy  knight,  Sir  Everard  Home) — 
All  of  them,  things  half-kill'd  in  rearing  ; 
Some  were  lame — some  wanted  hearing  ; 
Some  had  through  half  a  century  run. 
Though  they  hadn't  a  leg  to  stand  upon. 
Others,  more  merry,  as  just  beginning. 
Around  on  a  point  of  law  were  spinning  ; 
Or  balanced  aloft,  'twi.xt  Bill  and  Answer, 
Lead  at  each  end,  like  a  tight-rope  dancer. 
Some  were  so  cross,  that  nothing  could  please  'em  ; 
Some  gulp"d  down  affidavits  to  case  'em  ; — 
All  were  iu  motion,  yet  never  a  one, 
Let  it  move  as  it  might,  could  ever  move  on. 
"  These,"  said  the  Spirit,  "  yon  plainly  see, 
"  Are  what  they  call  Suits  in  Chancery !" 

I  heard  a  loud  screaming  of  old  and  yonn^, 

Like  a  chorus  by  iifly  Vellutis  sung  ; 

Or  an  Irish  Dump  ("  the  words  by  Mooro") 

At  an  amateur  concert  scream'd  in  score  ; 

So  harsh  ou  my  ear  that  wailing  fell 

Of  the  wretches  who  in  this  Limbo  dwell ! 

It  seem'd  like  the  dismal  sjinphouy 

Of  the  shapes  yEneas  iu  hell  did  seo  ; 


Or  those  frogs,  whose  legs  a  barbarous  cook 
Cut  off,  and  left  the  frogs  in  the  brook, 
To  cry  all  night,  till  life's  hist  dregs, 
"  Give  us  our  legs ! — give  us  our  legs !" 
Touch'd  with  the  sad  and  sorrowful  scene, 
I  ask'd  what  all  this  yell  might  mean, 
When  the  Spirit  replied,  with  the  gi-iu  of  glee 
"  'Tis  the  cry  of  the  Suitors  in  Chancery  !" 

I  look'd,  and  I  saw  a  wizard  rise,' 

With  a  wig  like  a  cloud  be.uii;  men's  eyes. 

In  his  aged  hand  he  held  a  wand. 

Wherewith  he  beckon'd  his  embryo  band, 

And  they  moved  and  moved,  as  he  waved  it  o'er, 

But  they  never  got  on  one  inch  the  more. 

And  still  they  kept  limping  to  and  fro. 

Like  Ariels  round  old  Prospcro — 

Saying,  "  Dear  Master,  let  us  go," 

But  still  old  Prospero  answer'd  "  No." 

And  I  heard,  the  while,  that  wizard  elf 

Mullering,  mnttcriug  spells  to  himself, 

While  o'er  as  many  old  papers  ho  turn'd. 

As  Hume  e'er  moved  for,  or  Omar  burn'd. 

He  talk'd  of  his  virtue — "  though  «ome,  less  nice, 

(He  own'd  with  a  sigh)  preferr'd  his  Vice" — 

And  he  said,  '•  I  tliink" — "  I  doubt" — "  I  hojie," 

Call'd  God  to  witness,  and  damn'd  the  Pope ; 

With  many  more  siciglits  of  tongue  aud  hand 

I  couldn't,  for  the  soul  of  me,  understand. 

Amazed  and  posed,  I  was  just  about 

To  ask  his  name,  when  the  screams  without, 

The  merciless  clack  of  the  imps  within. 

And  that  conjuror's  mutterings,  made  such  a  din, 

That,  startled,  I  woke — leap'd  up  iu  my  bed — 

Found  the  Spirit,  the  imps,  and  the  conjuror  fled, 

And  biess'd  my  stars,  right  pleased  to  see. 

That  I  wasn't,  as  yet,  in  Chancery. 


THE  PETITION  OF  THE  ORANGEMEN 
OF  IRELAND. 

IBM. 
To  the  people  of  England,  the  hnrable  Petition 

Of  Ireland's  disconsolate  Orangemen,  showing — 
That  sad,  veiy  sad,  is  our  present  condition  ; — 

Our  jobbing    all    gone,    aud    our   noble    selves 


Tliat,  forming  one  seventh,  within  a  few  fractions. 
Of  Ireland's   seven   millions   of  hot  heads   aud 
he.arls, 

1  The  Lord  Ch:uicc!lor  Eld— n. 


A 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


539 


We  hold  it  the  basest  of  all  base  transactions 

To  keep  us  from  murd'ring  tiie  other  six  parts ; — 

That,  as  to  laws  made  for  the  good  of  tlie  many, 
We  humbly  suggest  there  is  notliing  less  true  ; 

As  all  luuuan  laws  (and  our  own,  more  than  any) 
Are  inadu  by  and  for  a  particular  few  ; — 

That  much  it  delights  every  true  Orange  brother, 
To  see  you,  in  England,  such  ardor  evince. 

In  discussing  which  sect  most  tormented  the  other, 
And  biira'd  with  most  gusto,  some  hundred  years 
since  ; — 

That  wo  love  to  behold,  while  Old  England  grows 
faint, 
Messrs.  Southey  and  Butler  nigh  coming  to  blows, 
1 D   decide    whether   Dunstan,    that   strong-bodied 
Saint, 
Ever  tally  ,ind  really  pull'd  the  Devil's  nose  ; 

Whether  t'other  Saint,  Dominic,  burnt  the  Devil's 
paw — 
Whether  Edwy  intrigued  with  Elgiva's  old  mo- 
ther'— 
And  many  such  points,  from  which  Southey  can 
draw 
Conclusions  most  apt  for  our  hating  each  other. 

That  'tis  very  well  known  this  devout  Irisli  nation 
Has  now,  for  sonio  ages,  gone  happily  on, 

Believing  in  two  kiuds  of  Substantiation, 
One  parly  in  Trans  and  the  otlierin  Con  ;' 

That  we,  your,  petitioning  Cons,  have,  in  right 
Of  the  said  monosyllable,  ravaged  the  lands. 
And  embezzled  tlie  goods,  and    annoy'd,  day  and 
mght. 
Both  the  bodies    and   souls  of   the    sticklei-s  for 
Trans ; — 

That  we  trust  to  Peel,  Eldou,  and  otlier  such  sages, 
For  keeping  us  stiil  in  the  same  state  of  muid  ; 

Pretty  nnicli  as  the  world  used  to  be  in  those  ages. 
When  still  smaller  syllables  madden'd  man- 
kind ; — 

When  the  words  ex  and  per^  served  as  well,  to  annoy 
One's    neighbors    and  friends   with,  as   con  and 
trans  now  : 


1  To  such  important  discussions  as  these  the  greater  part 
of  Dr.  Pcmihey's  Vindida  Eeelesia  Jlv^lieav<B  is  tievoird. 

2  Consulisianiiaiioii— the  true  Rcfonned  lielicf;  at  least, 
the  heliet'uf  Luiher,  and,  as  ftlosheim  asserts,  of  Melanc- 
thon  also. 

3  When  John  of  Ragnsa  went  to  Constantinople,  (at  the 


And  Christians,  like  S — th — y,  who  stickled  for  oi, 
Cut  the  throats  of  all   Christians  who  stickled  for 


That,  relying  on  England,  whose  kindness  already 
So  often  has  help'd  us  to  play  this  game  o'er, 

We  have  got  our  red  coats  and  our  carabines  ready, 
And  wait  but  the  word  to  show  sport,  as  before. 

That,  as  to  the  expense — the  few  millions,  or  so, 
Which  for  all  such  diversions  John  Bull   lias  to 
pay— 
'Tis,  at  least,  a  great  comfort  to  John  Bull  Ic  know, 
That  to  Orangemen  to  pockets  'twill   all  find  its 

way. 
For  which  your  petitioners  evbT  will  pray, 

&,c.  &-C.  &LC.  6u-    &c. 


COTTON  AND  CORN. 

A    DIALOGUE. 

Said  Cotton  to  Com,  t'other  day, 

As  they  met  and  exchanged  a  salute — 
(Squire  Corn  in  his  carriage  so  gay. 
Poor  Cotton,  half  famish'd,  on  loot :) 

"  Great  Squire,  if  it  isn't  uncivil 
"  To  hhit  at  starvation  before  you, 

"  Look  down  on  a  poor  hungry  devil, 

"  And  give  liim  some  bread,  I  implore  you  !" 

Quoth  Com  then,  in  answer  to  Cotton, 
Perceiving  he  meant  to  make /rec — 

"  Low  fellow,  you've  surely  forgotten 
"  The  distance  between  you  and  nie  ! 

"  To  expect  that  we.  Peers  of  Iiigh  birth, 
"  Should  waste  our  illustrious  acres, 

"  For  no  other  purpose  on  earth 

"  Thau  to  fatten  cursed  calico-makers! — 

*'  That  Bisliops  to  bobbins  should  hend — • 
"  Should  stoop  from  their  Bench's  sublimity, 

"  Great  dealers  m  lawn,  to  befriend 
"  Such  contemptible  dealers  in  dimity  I 


time  this  dispute  between  "ex'*  and  "per"  was  ^oinp  on,) 
he  found  the  Turks,  we  are  told,  **  l.uiv;hing  at  the  Christians 
for  being  divided  by  two  such  iiisifinificifnt  p'lriirles." 

*  Tlie  Arian  controversy  — Refote  that  time,  says  Hooker, 
"in  iirder  to  be  a  sound  believing  Christian,  men  were  not 
curious  what  syllables  or  particles  of  speech  they  used." 


560 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  No — vile  Manufacturer  I  ne'er  harbor 
"  A  hope  to  be  fed  at  our  boards  ; — 

"  Base  olTspring;  of  Arkwright  tlie  barber, 
*'  What  claim  canst  thou  have  upon  Lords? 

"  No — thanks  to  the  taxes  and  debt, 

"  And  the  triumph  of  paper  o'er  guineas, 

"  Our  race  of  Lord  Jemmys,  as  yet, 

"  May  defy  your  whole  rabble  oi  Jennys  /'* 

So  saying — whip,  crack,  and  away 

Went  Corn  in  his  chaise  tlirough  the  throng, 
So  headlong,  I  heard  them  all  say, 

"  Squire  Cora  would  be  down,  before  long." 


THE  CANONIZATION  OF  SAINT 
B— TT— RW— RTH. 

'*  A  Christiau  of  the  best  edition." — Lvahelais. 

Canonize  him  !— yea,  verily,  we'll  canonize  him ; 

Though  Cant  is  his   hobby,    and    meddling   his 

bliss, 
Though  sages  may  pity,  aud  wits  may  despise  him, 
He'll    ne'er  make  a  bit  the  worse  Saint  for  all 

thi^. 

Descend,  all  ye  Spirits,  that  ever  yet  spread 

The  dominion  of  Hi,mbug  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea, 

De3ce;:d  on  our  B — tt — rw — rth's  biblical  head, 
'''hrice-Great,  Bibliopolist,  Saint,  and  M.  P. 

Come,   shade,  of  Joanna,    come    down    from  thy 
sphere, 
And  bring  httle  Shiloh — if  'tisn't  too  far — 
Such   a   sight  will  to  B — tt — rw— rth's  bosom  be 
dear. 
His  conceptions  and  thine  being  much  on  a  par. 

Nor  blush.  Saint  Joanna,  ouce  more  to  behold 
A    world    thou    hast    honor'd    by  cheating    so 
many  ; 
Thou'lt  find  still  among  us  one  Personage  old, 
Who   also   by  tricks    and  the    Seals^  makes   a 
penny 


1  A  great  piirt  of  tlie  tncoiiio  of  Joanna  Southcolt  arose 
from  tlie  Scats  of  the  Lord's  protection  which  she  sold  to 
her  followers. 

3  Mrs.  Anne  Lee,  the  "chosen  vessel"  of  the  Shakers, 
jtiKJ  ■■  Mfjllicr  of  all  the  children  of  regeneration." 


Thou,  too,  of  tlie  Shakers,  divine  Mother  Leo !' 

Thy  smiles  to  beatified  B — tt — rw — rth  deign ; 
Two  "  lights  of  the  Gentiles"  are  thou,  Anne,  aud 
he. 
One   hallowing   Fleet   Street,    and   t'other  Toad 
Lane  !^ 

The  Heathen,  we  know,  made  their  Gods  ;iut  ol 
wood. 
And   Saints   may   be   framed  of  as   handy  ma- 
terials : — 
Old  women  and  B— tt — rw — rths  make  just  as  good 
As  any  the  Pope  ever  book'd  as  Ethereale. 

Stand    forth,    Man    of   Bibles !  —  not    Slahoniet's 
pigeon, 
When,  perch'd  on  the  Koran,  lie  dropp'd  there, 
they  say. 
Strong  marks  of  his  faith,  ever  shed  o'er  religion 
Such  glory  as  B — tt — rw — rth  sheds  every  day. 

Great  Galen  of  souls,  with  what  vigor  he  crams 
Down  Erin's  idolatrous  throats,  till  they  crack 
again, 
Bolus  on  bolus,  good  man ! — and  then  damns 

Both  their  stomachs  and  souls,  if  they  daro  cast 
them  back  again. 

How  well  might  his  shop— as  a  type  representing 
The  creed  of  himself  and  his  sanctified  clan. 

On  its  counter  exhibit  "  the  Ait  of  Tormenting," 
Bound   neatly,   and   letter'd    "  Whole   Duty  of 
Man !" 

Canonize  him  ! — by  Judas,  we  will  canonize  him  ; 

For  Cant  is  his  hobby  and  twaddling  his  bliss  ; 
Aud,  though   wise  men  may  pity  and  7.'its  may 
despise  him. 

He'll  make  but  the  better  «/<c;-Kaint  for  all  this. 

Call  quickly  together  the  whole  tribe  of  Canters, 
Convoke  all  the  serious  Tag-rag  of  the  nation ; 

Bring   Shakers   and   Snufflers    and   Jumpers   aud 
Ranters, 
To  witness  their  B — tt — rw — rth's  Canonization  I 

Yea,  humbly  I've  ventured  his  merits  to  paint, 
Yea,  feebly  have  tried  all  his  gifts  to  portray. 

And  they  form  a  sum-total  for  making  a  Saint, 
That  the  Devil's  own  Advocate  could  not  gain- 
say. 

'  Toad  Lane,  in  Manchester,  where  Mother  Lee  was  born. 
In  her  "  Address  to  Young  Believers,"  she  says,  that  "it  is 
a  matter  of  no  importance  with  them  from  whence  the. 
means  of  their  deliverance  come,  whether  from  a  sUible  in 
Bethlehem,  or  from  Toad  Lane,  Manchester." 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


561 


Jump  high,  all  ye  Jumpers,  ye  Ranters  all  roar, 
Wliile  B — tt — nv — rtli's  spirit,  upraised  from  your 
eyes. 

Like  a  kite  made  of  foolscap,  ia  glory  shall  soar, 
Witli  a  Ion"  tail  of  rubbisli  behind,  to  the  skies ! 


AN  INCANTATION. 

SUNG  BY  THE  CIJBELE  SPIRIT. 

.\ir. — Come  Kith  7ne,  and  we  wilt  ffo 
iVhcre  the  rocks  of  coral  grow 

Come  with  me,  and  we  will  blow 
Lots  of  bubbles,  as  we  go  ; 
Bubbles,  bright  as  ever  Hope 
Drew  from  fancy — or  from  soap  ; 
Briglit  as  e'er  llie  South  Sea  sent 
From  its  frothy  element ! 
Come  with  me,  and  we  will  blow 
Lots  of  bubbles,  as  we  go. 
Mi.x  the  lather,  Jolinny  W — Iks, 
Thou,  wlio  rhym'st  so  well  to  bilks ;' 
Mix  tiie  latlier — who  can  be 
Fitter  for  such  task  than  thee, 
Great  M.  P.  for  Sudsbary ! 

Now  the  frothy  cliarm  io  ripe, 
Puffing  Peter,'  bring  thy  pipe, — 
Thou,  whom  ancient  Coventry 
Once  so  dearly  loved,  that  she 
Knew  not  which  to  her  was  sweeter. 
Peeping  Tom  or  Puffing  Peter  ; — 
PufFthe  hubbies  high  in  air. 
Puff  thy  best  to  keep  them  tliere 

Bravo,  bravo,  Peter  M — re  ; 

Now  the  rainbow  humbugs'  soar, 

Glitt'ring  all  with  golden  hues, 

Such  as  liaunt  tlie  dreams  of  Jews  ; — 

Some,  reflecting  mines  tliat  lie 

Under  Chih's  glowing  sky, 

Some,  those  virgin  pearls  that  sleep 

Cloister'd  in  the  southern  deep  ; 

1  Strong  indications  of  character  may  be  someliilles  traced 
in  Ihc  rhymes  to  names.  Marvell  thought  so,  when  he  wrote 

"  Sir  Edward  Sutton, 
The  foolish  Knight  who  rhymes  to  mutton." 

2  The  member,  during  a  long  period,  for  Coventry. 

3  An  humb  e  imitation  of  one  of  our  modern  poets,  who, 
in  a  poem  aiiainst  War,  afler  describing  the  splendid  habili- 
ments of  the  soldier,  ihus  apostrophizes  him — '*  thou  rain- 
bow ruffian !" 


Others,  as  if  lent  a  ray 
From  the  streaming  Milky  Way, 
Glist'ning  o'er  with  curds  and  whey  ' 

From  the  cow's  of  Aldemey. 

Now's  the  moment— who  shall  first 
Catch  tlio  bubbles,  ere  they  burst  ? 
Run,  yo  Squires,  ye  Viscounts,  run, 
Br — gd — n,  T — ynh — m,  P — Im — t — n  ; — 
John  \V — Iks  junior  runs  beside  ye  ! 
Tako  the  good  the  knaves  provide  ye  !* 
See,  with  upturn'd  eyes  and  hands, 
Where  tlio  Sharcmsxi,^  Br — gd — n,  stands, 
Gaping  for  the  froth  to  fall 
Down  his  gullet — lye  and  all. 

See! 

But,  hark,  my  time  is  out — 
Now,  like  some  great  water-spout, 
Scatter'd  by  the  cannon's  thunder, 
Btu^t,  ye  bubbles,  all  asunder  ! 

[Here  the  stage  darkens — a  discordant  crash  is  heard  from 
the  orchestra — the  broken  bubbles  descend  in  a  saponaceous 
but  unclcanlij  mist  over  the  heads  of  the  Dramatis  Persong, 

and  the  scene  drops,  leaving  the  bubble-hunters all  in  tlte 

8-uds.] 


A  DREAM  OF  TURTLE. 


BY  SIR  W.  COBTIS. 


'TwAs  evening  time,  in  the  twilight  sweet 
I  sail'd  along,  when — whom  should  I  meet 
But  a  Turtle  journeying  o'er  the  sea, 
"  On  the  service  of  liis  Majesty.''^ 

When  spying  him  first  through  twilight  dim, 
I  did'nt  know  what  to  make  of  him  ; 
But  said  to  myself,  as  slow  he  plied 
His  fins,  and  roU'd  from  side  to  side 
Conceitedly  o'er  the  watery  path — 
"  'Tis  my  Lord  of  St — w — II  taking  a  bath, 
"  And  I  hear  him  now,  among  the  fishes, 
"  Quoting  Vatel  and  Burgersdicius !" 

*         *'  Lovely  Thais  sits  beside  thee  : 

Take  the  good  the  Gods  provide  thee.'* 
a  So  called  by  a  sort  of  Tuscan  dulcification  of  the  eh,  in 
the  word  "  Chairman.*' 

«  We  are  lold  that  the  passport  of  this  grand  diplomatic 
Turtle  (sent  by  the  Secretary'  for  Foreign  Affairs  to  a  cerlain 
noble  envoy)  described  him  as  '"on  iiis  majesty's  service." 

dapibus  supremi 

Grata  tesludo  Jovis. 


36 


562 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But,  no — 'twas,  indeed,  a  Turtle,  wide 
And  ])lump  as  ever  these  eyes  descried  ; 
A  Turtle,  juicy  as  ever  yet 
Glued  up  tlie  lips  of  a  Baronet ! 
And  much  did  it  grieve  my  soul  to  see 
That  an  animal  of  such  dignity 
Like  an  absentee  abroad  should  roam. 
When  he  ought  to  stay  and  be  ate  at  home. 

But  now  "  a  change  came  o'er  my  dream," 

Like  the  magic  lantern's  sliifting  slider; — 
I  look'd,  and  saw,  by  the  evening  beam. 

On  the  back  of  that  Turtle  sat  a  rider — 
A  goodly  man,  with  an  eye  so  merry, 
I  knew  'twas  our  Foreign  Secretary,' 
Who  there,  at  his  ease,  did  sit  and  smile, 
Like  Waterton  on  his  crocodile  '^ 
Cracking  such  jokes,  at  ev'ry  motion. 

As  made  the  Turtle  squeak  with  glee, 
And  own  they  gave  him  a  lively  notion 

Of  what  his /orccrf-meat  balls  would  be. 

So,  on  the  Sec.  in  his  glory  went, 

Over  that  briny  element. 

Waving  his  hand,  as  he  took  farewell, 

With  graceful  air,  and  bidding  me  tell 

Inquiring  friends  that  the  Turlle  and  he 

Were  gone  on  a  foreign  embassy — 

To  soften  the  heart  of  a  Diplomate, 

Who  is  known  to  doat  upon  verdant  fat, 

And  to  let  admiring  Europe  see, 

Tliat  calipash  and  calipee 

Are  the  English  forms  of  Diplomacy. 


THE  DONKEY  AND  HIS  PANNIERS. 


A  FABLE. 


"  fessus  jam  sudat  asellus, 

"Farce  illi ;  veslruui  delicium  est  asiiuis." 

VlttolL,  Copa. 


A  Donkey,  whose  talent  for  burdens  was  wondrous. 
So  much  that  you'd  swear  he  rejoiced  in  a  load. 

One  day  had  to  jog  under  ])anuiers  so  pond'rous. 
That — down  the  poor  Donkey  fell  smack  ou  the 
road ! 

His  owners  and  drivers  stood  round  in  amaze — 
What !  Neddy,  the  patient,  the  prosperous  Neddy, 

1  Mr  Canning. 

3  Wanderings  in  Soutfi  America.  ''  It  was  the  first  and 
last  time  (says  Mr.  Waterton)  I  was  ever  on  a  crocodile's 
back." 

>  Alluding  to  an  early  poem  of  Mr.  Coleridge's,  addressed 
to  an  Ass,  and  beginning,  '•  1  hail  thee,  brother  1" 


So  easy  to  drive,  through  the  dirtiest  ways. 
For  every  description  of  job-work  so  ready  ! 

One  driver  (whom  Ned  might  have  "  haii'd"  as  a 
"  brother"") 

Had  just  been  proclaiming  his  Donkey's  renown 
For  vigor,  for  spirit,  for  one  thing  or  other — 

Wi  en,  lo,'mid  his  praises,  the  Donkey  came  down ! 


But, 


him  ? — one    shouts,    father 


how    io    upraise 
whistles, 
While  Jenky,  the  Conjuror,  wisest  of  all. 
Declared  that  an  "  over-production  of  thistles"* — 
(Here  Ned  gave  a  stare) — "  was  the  cause  of  his 
fall." 

Another  wise  Solomon  cries,  as  he  passes^ 

"  There,  let  him  alone,  and  the  fit  will  soon  cease  ; 

"  The  beast  has  been  fighting  with  other  jack-asses, 
**  And  this  is  his  mode  of  *  transition  to  peacc.^  " 

Some    look'd    at    his  hoofs,  and,  with  learned  gri- 
maces, 
Pronounced  that  too  long  without  shoes  he  had 
gone — 
"  Let  the  blacksmith  provide  him  a  sound  metal 
basis 
(The  wise-acres  said,)  "  and  he's  sure  to  jog  on." 

Meanwhile,  the  poor  Neddy,  in  torture  and  fear, 
Lay  under  his  panniers,  scarce  able  to  groan  ; 

And — what  was  still  dolefuller — lending  an  ear 
To  advisers,  whose  ears  were  a  match  for  his  own. 

At  length,  a  plain  rustic,  whose  wit  went  so  far 
As  to  see  others'  folly,  roar'd  out,  as  he  pass'd — 

"  Quick,  off  with  the  panniers,  all  dolts  as  ye  are, 
"  Or,  your  prosperous  Neddy  will  soon  kick  his 
last !" 

Octolcr,  1826 


ODE  TO  THE  SUBLIME  PORTE. 


Gkeat  Saltan,  how  wise  are  thy  state  compositions ! 

And  oh,  above  all,  I  admire  that  Decree, 
In  which  thou  command'st,  that  all  she  politicians 

Shall  forthwith  be  strangled  and  cast  in  the  sea. 

*  A  certain  country  gentleman  having  said  in  the  House 
"  that  we  must  return  at  last  to  the  fond  of  our  ancestors, 
somebody  asked  Mr. T. "  what  fond  the  gentleman  meant?" 
—"Thistles,  I  suppose,"  answered  Mr.  T. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


563 


'Tis  my  fortune  to  know  a  lean  Benthamite  spinster — 
A  maid,  wlio  her  faith  in  old  Jeremy  puts  ; 

Who  talks,  with  a  hsp,  of  "  the  last  new  Westmin- 
ster." 
And  hopes  you're  delighted  with  "MiU  upon  Gluts;" 

Who  tells  you  how  clover  one  Mr.  Fun-blank  is, 
How  charming  his  Articles  'gainst  the  Nobility  ; — 

jVnd  assures  you  that  even  a  gentleman's  rank  is, 
In  Jeremy's  school,  of  no  sort  of  utility. 

To  see  her,  ye  Gods,  a  new  Number  perusing — 
Art.  1. — "  On  the  Needle's  variations, '  by  PI — e ;' 

.*KT.  2. — By  her  fav'rite  Fun-blank" — so  amusing! 
"  Dear  man !  he  makes  Poetry  quite  a  Law  case." 

Art.  3. — "  Upon  Fallacies,"  Jeremy's  own — 

(Chief  Fallacy  being,  his  hope  to  find  readers ;) — 

Art.  4. — "  Upon  Honesty,''  autlior  unknown  ; — 

Art.  5. — (by  the  young  Mr.  M )  "  Hints  to 

Breeders." 

Oh,  Sultan,  oh.  Sultan,  though  oft  for  the  bag 

And  the  bowstring,  like  thee,  I  am  tempted  to  call — 
Though  diowning's  too  good  for  each  blue-stocking 
hag, 
I  would  bag  this  she  Benthamite  first  of  them  all ! 

And,  lest  she  should  ever  again  lift  her  head 
From  the  watery  bottom,  her  clack  to  renew — 

As  a  clog,  as  a  sinker,  far  better  than  lead, 

I  would  hang  round  her  neck  her  own  darling 
Review. 


CORN  AND  CATHOLICS. 


Ulrum  horum 
I)irius  borttm  ? 


Inccrti  .luctoris. 


What  !  still  those  two  infernal  questions, 

Tliat  with  our  meals,  our  slumbers  mix- 
That  .spoil  our  tempers  and  digestions — 
Eternal  Com  and  Catholics  ! 

Gods  I  were  there  ever  two  such  bores  ? 

Nothing  else  talk'd  of  night  or  mom — 
Notliing  in  doors,  or  out  of  doors, 

But  endless  CathoUcs  and  Cora  ! 


»  A  celebrated  political  tailor. 

3  This  p;iins-t!ilting  gentleman  lias  been  at  the  trouble  of 
conniinn,  with  the  assistance  of  Cocker,  the  nnniherof  nielft- 
phors  ill  Moore's  *"  Life  of  Sheridan,"  and  has  linind  them  lo 
amount,  as  nearly  as  possible,  to  2i35— and  some  fractions. 


Never  was  such  a  brace  of  pests — 

While  Ministers,  still  worse  than  either, 

Skill'd  but  in  feathering  their  nests, 

Plague  us  with  both,  and  settle  neither. 

So  addled  in  my  cranium  meet 
Popery  and  Corn,  that  oft  I  doubt, 

Whether,  this  year,  'twas  bonded  Wheat, 
Or  bonded  Papists,  they  let  out. 

Here,  landlords,  here,  polemics  nail  you, 
Ann'd  with  all  rubbish  tliey  can  rake  up ; 

Prices  and  Texts  at  once  assail  you — 

From  Daniel  these,  and  those  from  Jacob.^ 

And  when  you  sleep,  with  head  still  torn 
Between  the  two,  their  shapes  you  mi,\, 

Till  sometimes  Catholics  seem  Com — 
Then  Corn  again  seems  Catholics. 

Now,  Dantzic  wheat  before  you  floats — 

Now,  Jesuits  fi'om  California — 
Now  Ceres,  link'd  with  Titus  Oats, 

Comes  dancing  through  the  "  Porta  Cornea."* 

Oft,  too,  tiie  Cora  grows  animate, 
And  a  whole  crop  of  heads  appears, 

Like  Papists,  bearding  Church  and  State — 
Themselves,  together  by  the  ears  ! 

In  short,  these  torments  never  cease ; 

And  oft  I  wish  myself  transferr'd  off 
To  some  far,  lonely  land  of  peace, 

Where  Corn  or  Papists  ne'er  were  heard  of. 

Yes,  waft  me.  Parry,  to  the  Pole  ; 

For — if  my  fate  is  to  be  chosen 
'Twixt  bores  and  icebergs — on  my  soul, 

I'd  rather,  of  the  two,  be  frozen  ! 


A  CASE  OF  LIBEL. 

"The  greater  the  truth,  the  worse  the  libel.** 

A  CERT.vi.\  Sprite,  who  dwells  below, 

('Twere  a  libel,  perhaps,  to  mention  where,) 

Came  up  incog.,  some  years  ago, 
To  try,  for  a  change,  the  Loudon  aur. 


3  Author  of  the  late  Report  on  Foreign  Corn. 
•  The  Horn  Gate,  thnmgh  vvliich  the  ancients  supposed 
all  true  dreams  (such  as  those  of  the  Popish  I'lol,  &c.)  to 


564 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


So  weW  lie  look'd,  and  dress'd,  and  tiilk'd. 
And  hid  his  tail  and  horns  so  handy, 

You'd  hardly  have  known  him  as  he  walk'd, 
From  C e,  or  any  other  Dandy. 

(His  horns,  it  seems,  are  made  t'uiisorew  ; 

So,  he  has  bnt  to  take  them  out  of  the  socket, 
And — just  as  some  fine  husbands  do — 

Conveniently  clap  tlitm  into  his  pocket.) 

In  short,  he  look'd  extremely  natty, 

And  even  contrived — to  liis  own  great  wonder- 
By  dint  of  sundry  scents  from  Gattie, 

To  keep  the  sulphurous  hogo  under. 

And  so  my  gentleman  Imof'd  about. 

Unknown  to  all  but  a  chosen  few 
At  White's  and  Crockford's,  where,  no  doubt, 

He  had  many  post-ohits  falling  due. 

Alike  a  gamester  and  a  wit. 

At  night  he  was  seen  with  Crockford's  crew, 
At  morn  with  learned  dames  would  sit^ 

So  pass'd  his  time  'twixt  black  and  blue 

Some  wish'd  to  make  him  an  M.  P., 
But,  finding  W — Iks  was  also  one,  he 

.Swore  in  a  rage,  "  he'd  be  d — d,  if  he 

"  Would  ever  sit  in  one  house  with  Johnny." 

At  length,  as  secrets  travel  fast. 

And  devils,  whether  he  or  she. 
Are  sure  to  be  found  out  at  last, 

The  affair  got  wind  most  rapidly. 

The  Press,  the  impartial  Press,  that  snubs 
Alike  a  fiend's  or  an  angel's  capers — 

Miss  Patou's  soon  as  Beelzebub's — 

Fired  off  a  squib  in  the  morning  papers : 

"  We  warn  good  men  to  keep  aloof 
"  From  a  grim  old  Dandy,  seen  about, 

"  With  a  fire-proof  wig,  and  a  cloven  hoof 
"  Through  a  neat-cut  Hoby  smoking  out." 

Now, — ^the  Devil  being  a  gentleman, 

Who  piques  himself  on  well-bred  dealings, — 

You  may  guess,  when  o'er  these  lines  he  ran. 
How  much  they  hurt  and  shock'd  his  feelings. 

Away  he  posts  to  a  Man  of  Law, 

And  'twould  make   you   laugh  could  you  have 
seen  'cm, 
.\s  paw  shook  hand,  and  hand  shook  paw. 
And  'twas   "  hail,  good  fellow,  well  met,"  be- 
tween 'em. 


Straight  an  indictment  was  preferr'd — 
And  much  the  Devil  enjoy 'd  the  jest. 

When,  asking  about  the  Bench,  he  heard 
That,  of  all  the  Judges,  his  own  was  Beat.' 

In  vain  Defendant  profTer'd  proof 

That  Plaintiff's  self  was  the  Father  of  Evil- 
Brought  Hoby  forth,  to  swear  to  the  hoof. 

And  Stultz  to  speak  to  the  tail  of  the  Devil. 

The  Jury  (saints,  all  snug  and  rich. 
And  readers  of  virtuous  Sunday  papers) 

Found  for  the  plaintiff — on  hearing  which 
The  Devil  gave  one  of  his  loftiest  capers 

For  oh,  'twas  nuts  to  tlic  Fathei  .    Lies 
(As  this  wily  fiend  is  named  in  the  Bible) 

To  fmd  it  settled  by  laws  so  wise, 

That  the  greater  the  truth,  the  woree  the  libe 


LITERARY  ADVERTISEMENT. 

Wanted — Authors  of  all-work,  to  job  for  the  sea- 
eon, 

No  matter  which  party,  so  faithful  to  neither  ; 
Good  hacks,  who,  if  posed  for  a  rhyme  or  a  reason, 

Can  manage,  like  *»***»,  to  do  without  either. 

If  in  jail,  all  the  better  for  out-o'-door  topics  ; 

Your  jail  is  for  Travellers  a  chanuing  retreat ; 
They  can  take  a  day's  rule  for  a  trip  to  the  Tropics, 

And  sail  round  the  world,  at  their  ease,  in  the 
Fleet. 

For  a  Dramatist,  too,  the  most  useful  of  schools — 
He  can   study  high    life   in   the  King's  Bench 
community  ; 

Aristotle  could  scarce  keep  him  more  witliin  rules, 
And  o{ place  he,  at  least,  must  adhere  to  the  unitij. 

Any  lady  or  gentleman,  come  to  an  age 

To  have  good  "  Reminiscences,"  (tlircc-score  or 
higher.) 
Will  meet    with    encouragement — so    much,    per 
page. 
And  the  spelling  and  granmiar  both  found  by  the 
buyer. 

No  matter  with  what  their  remembrance  is  stock'd, 
So  they'll  only  remember  the  quantum  desired ; — 

Enough  to  fill  handsomely  Two  Volumes,  act.. 
Price  twenty-four  shillings,  is  all  that's  required, 

*  A  celebrated  Jndge,  so  named.    ' 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


565 


They  may  treat  us,  like  Kelly,  with  o\d  jcu-d'esprits, 
Like  Dibdin,  may  tell  of  each  farcical  frolic  ; 

Or  kindly  iuform  us,  like  Madame  Geiilis,' 

That  gingerbread-cakes   always   give  them  the 
colic 

Wanted,  also,  a  new  stock  of  Pamphlets  on  Com, 
By   "  Farmers"   and  "  Landliolders," — (worthies 
whoso  lands 
Enclosed  all  in  bow-pots,  their  attics  adorn. 

Or,  whose  share  of  the  soil  may  be  seen  on  their 
hands.) 

No-Popery  Sermons,  in  ever  so  dull  a  vein, 

Sure  of  a  market ; — should  they,  too,  whopei  era, 

Be  renegade  Papists,  like  Mnrtagh  O'S — 11 — v^n," 
Something  extra  allow'd  for  th'  additional  venom. 

Funds,  Physic,  Com,  Poetrj',  Boxing,  Romance, 
All  excellent  subjects  for  turning  a  penny  ; — 

To  write  upon  all  is  an  author's  solo  chance 

For  attaining,  at  last,  the  least  knowledge  of  any. 

Nine  times  out  of  ten,  if  his  title  is  good. 

The  material  within  of  small  consequence  is; — 

Let  him  only  write  fine,  and,  if  not  understood. 
Why — that's  the  concern  of  the  reader,  not  his. 

Nota  Bene — an  Essay,  now  printing,  to  show. 
That  Horace  (as  clearly  as  words  could  express  it) 

Was  for  taxing  the  Fund-holders,  ages  ago. 
When  he  wrote  thus — "  Quodcunque  in  Fund  is, 
assess  it.''^ 


THE  IRISH  SLAVE.' 


18-27. 


I  HEARD,  as  I  lay,  a  wailing  sound, 

"  He  is  dead — he  is  dead,"  the  nimor  flew ; 

And  I  rai-sed  my  chain,  and  turn'd  me  ro\md, 

And  ask'd,  through  the  dungeon-window,  "  Who?" 

I  saw  my  livid  tormentors  pass  ; 

Then-  grief  'twas  bliss  to  hear  and  see  I 
For,  never  came  joy  to  them,  alas. 

That  didn't  bring  deadly  bane  to  me. 


1  This  lady  also  favors  lis,  in  her  Memoirs,  with  the  ad- 
dress of  those  .ipothecaries,  who  have,  from  time  to  lime, 
given  her  pills  that  afireed  with  her;  always  desirii;g  that 
the  pills  should  be  ordered  '' comme  pour  elte.^^ 

8  A  gentleman  who  distinguished  himself  by  his  evidence 
before  the  Irish  Committees. 


Eager  I  look'il  through  the  mist  of  night. 

And  ask'd,  "  What  foe  of  my  race  hath  died? 

"  Is  it  he — that  Doubter  of  law  and  right, 

"  Whom  nolliiug  but  wrong  could  e'er  decide — 

"  Who,  loug  as  he  sees  but  wealth  to  win, 
"  Hath  never  yet  felt  a  (|ualm  or  doubt 

"  What  suitors  for  justice  he'd  keep  in, 

"  Or  what  suitors  for  frr  edom  he'd  shut  out — 

"  Who,  a  clog  forever  on  Truth's  advance, 

"  Hangs  roiind  her,  (like  the   Old   Man   of  the 
Sea 

"  Round  Sinbad's  neck,')  nor  leaves  a  chants 
"  Of  shaking  him  oH— Is't  he  ?  is't  he?" 

Ghastly  my  grim  tormeniors  smiled. 

And  thrasting  me  back  to  my  den  of  wo. 

With  a  laughter  even  more  fierc*  and  wild 
Than  their  funeral  howling,  answer'd  "  No." 

But  the  cry  still  pierced  my  prison-gate, 

And  again  I  ask'd,  ''  What  scourge  is  gone  ? 

**  Is  it  he — that  Chief,  so  coldly  great, 

"  Whom  Fame  unwillingly  shines  upon — 

"  Whose  name  is  one  of  th'  ill-omen'd  words 
"  They  link  with  hate,  on  his  native  plains ; 

"  And  why  ? — they  lent  him  hearts  and  swords, 
"  And  he,  in  return,  gave  scoffs  and  chains ! 

"  Is  it  he  ?  is  it  he  ?"  I  loud  inquired, 

When,  hark  I — there  sounded  a  Royal  knell  ; 

And  I  knew  what  spirit  had  just  expired. 
And,  slave  as  I  was,  my  triumph  fell. 

He  had  pledged  a  hate  imto  me  and  mine, 
He  had  left  to  the  future  nor  hope  nor  choice, 

But  seal'd  that  hate  with  a  Name  Divine, 

And  he  now  was  dead,  and — I  couldn't  rejoice ! 

He  had  faun'd  afresh  the  burning  brands 

Of  a  bigotry  waxing  cold  and  dun  ; 
He  had  arai'd  anew  my  torturer's  hands, 

And  them  did  I  curse — but  sigh'd  for  him. 

For,  his  was  the  error  of  head,  not  heart ; 

And — oh,  how  beyond  the  ambush'd  foe. 
Who  to  enmity  adds  the  traitor's  part. 

And  carries  a  smile,  with  a  curse  below ! 


*  According  to  the  common  .  reading,  '*  quodcunque  in- 
f^ndis,  acescit." 

*  Written  on  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  York. 

'  "  You  fell,  said  they,  into  the  hands  of  the  Old  Man  of 
the  Sea,  and  are  the  first  who  ever  escaped  strangling  by  his 
malicious  tricks." — Start/  of  Sinbad. 


560 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


If  ever  a  heart  made  bright  amends 
For  the  fulai  fault  of  an  erring  head — 

Go,  learn  his  fame  from  the  lips  of  friends, 
In  the  orphan's  tear  be  his  glory  read. 

A  Prince  witliout  pride,  a  man  without  guile, 
To  the  last  unclian;;ing,  warm,  sincere, 

For  Worth  he  had  ever  a  hand  and  smile, 
And  for  Misery  ever  his  purse  and  tear. 

Touch'd  to  the  heart  by  that  solemn  toll, 
I  calmly  sunk  in  my  chains  again  ; 

While,  still  as  I  said,  "  Heaven  rest  his  soul  I" 
My  mates  of  the  dungeou  sigh'd  "  Amen  I" 

January,  1827. 


ODE  TO  FERDINAND. 

Quit  the  sword,  tliou  King  of  men, 
Grasp  the  needle  once  again  ; 
Making  petticoats  is  far 
Safer  sport  than  making  war ; 
Trimming  is  a  hetter  thing, 
Than  the  being  trimm'd,  oh  King ! 
Grasp  tlie  needle  briglit  witli  which 
Thou  didst  for  tlie  Virgin  stitch 
Garment,  such  as  ne'er  before 
Monarch  stitch'd  or  Virgin  wore. 
Not  for  her,  oh  semster  nimble  ! 
Do  I  now  invoke  thy  tliimble  ; 
Not  for  her  tliy  wanted  aid  is. 
But  for  cA-tain  grave  old  ladies. 
Who  now  sit  in  England's  cabinet, 
Waiting  to  be  clothed  in  tabinet, 
Or  whatever  choice  etnffe  is 
Fit  for  Dowagers  in  office. 
First,  thy  care,  oh  King,  devote 
To  Dame  Eld — n's  petticoat. 
Make  it  of  that  silk,  whose  dye 
Shifts  forever  to  the  eye, 
Jnst  as  if  it  hardly  knew 
Whether  to  be  pink  or  blue. 
Or — material  fitter  yet — 
If  thou  couldst  a  remnant  get 
Of  that  stuff,  with  which,  of  old, 
Sage  Penelope,  we're  told. 
Still  by  doing  and  undoing. 
Kept  her  suitors  always  wooing — 
That's  the  stuff  which  I  pronounce,  is 
Fittest  for  Dame  Eld — n's  flounces. 

After  this,  we'll  try  thy  hand, 
Mantua-making  Ferdinand, 


For  old  Goody  W — stni— 1 — d ; 
One  who  loves,  Like  Mother  Cole, 
Church  and  State  with  all  her  soul ; 
And  has  pass'd  her  life  in  frolics 
Worthy  of  your  Apostolics. 
Choose,  in  dressing  this  old  flirt, 
Something  that  wo'n'l  show  the  dirt, 
As,  from  habit,  every  minute 
Goody  W — stra — 1 — d  is  in  it 

This  is  all  I  now  shall  ask, 
Hie  thee,  monarch,  to  thy  task ; 
Finish  Eld — n's  frills  and  borders, 
Then  return  for  further  orders. 
Oh  what  progress  for  our  sake, 
Kings  in  millinery  make  ! 
Ribands,   garters,  and  such  things. 
Are  supplied  by  other  Kings, — 
Ferdinand  his  rank  denotes 
By  providing  petticoats. 


II 


HAT  VERSUS  WIG 


1827- 


"  At  the  interment  of  the  Duke  of  York,  Lord  Eld — n,  in 
order  to  guard  against  the  effects  of  the  damp,  stood  upon 
his  hat  during  the  ivhole  of  the  ceremony." 

metns  omnes  et  ine.xorabile  fatum 

Snbjecit  pedibus,  strepituinque  Acheronlis  avari. 

TwixT  Eld— n's  Hat  and  Eld— n's  AVig 

There  lately  rose  an  altercation, — 
Eacii  with  its  own  importance  big, 
Disputing  which  most  serves  the  nation 

Quoth  Wig,  with  consequential  air, 

"  Pooli  I  pooh  I  you  surely  can't  design, 

"  My  worthy  heaver,  to  compare 

"  Your  station  in  tlie  state  with  mine. 

"  Who  meets  the  learned  legal  crew  ? 

"  Who  fronts  the  lordly  Senate's  pride? 
"  The  Wig,  the  Wig,  my  friend — while  you 

"  Hang  dangling  on  some  peg  outside. 

"  Oh,  His  the  Wig,  tliat  rules,  like  Love, 
"  Senate  and  Court,  with  like  eclat — 

"  And  wards  below,  and  lords  above, 
*'  For  Law  is  Wig  and  Wig  is  Law  !* 


'  Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove. 
And  men  below  and  gods  above, 
For  Love  is  Heaven  and  Heaven  is  Love.** — Sott 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


567 


"  \Vho  tried  tlie  long.  Long  W — ll— sly  suit, 
"  Wiiicli  tried  one's  patience,  in  return  ? 

"  Not  lliou,  oil  Hat  I — though,  couUVst  thou  do't, 
"  Of  other  brims'  than  thine  thou'dst  learn. 

"<  'Twas  mine  our  master's  toil  to  share ; 

"  When,  like  '  Truepenny,'  in  the  play,' 
"  He,  every  minute,  cried  out  '  Swear,' 

"  And  merrily  to  swear  went  they  f — 

"  Wlieu,  loath  poor  W — ll — sl — y  to  condemn,  he 

"  With  nice  discrimination  weigh'd, 
"  Whether  'twas  only  '  Hell  and  Jemmy,* 

"  Or  '  Hell  and  Tommy'  that  he  play'd. 

"  No,  no,  my  worthy  beaver,  no — 

"  Though  cheapen'd  at  the  cheapest  hatter's, 
"  And  smart  enough,  as  beavers  go, 

"  Thou  ne'er  wert  made  for  public  matters." 

Here  Wig  concluded  his  oration. 

Looking,  as  wigs  do,  wondrous  wise ; 

While  thus,  full  cock'd  for  declamation, 
The  veteran  Hat  enraged  replies : — 

"  Ha  !  dost  thou  then  so  soon  forget 

"  What  thou,  what  England  owes  to  me? 

'■  Ungrateful  Wig ! — when  will  a  debt, 
"  So  deep,  so  vast,  be  owed  to  thee  ? 

"  Think  of  that  night,  that  fearful  night, 
"  Wlien,  through  the  steaming  vault  below, 

"  Our  master  dared,  in  gout's  despite, 
"  To  venture  his  podagric  toe ! 

"  Who  was  it  then,  thou  boaster,  say, 

"  When  thou  hadst  to  thy  box  sueak'd  off, 

"  Beneath  his  feet  protecting  lay, 

"  And  saved  him  from  a  mortal  cough  1 

"  Think,  if  Catarrh  had  quench'd  that  sun, 
"  How  blank  this  world  had  been  to  thee ! 

"  Without  tliat  head  to  shine  upon, 
"  Oh  Wig,  where  would  thy  glory  be  ? 

*'  You,  too,  ye  Britons, — had  this  hope 

'*  Of  Clutrch  and  state  been  ravish'd  from  ye, 

"Oh  think,  how  Canning  and  the  Pope 

"  Would  then  have  play'd  up  '  Hell  and  Tom- 
my!' 


1  "  Brim— A  naughty  woman." — Grose. 
3  '*0/tost  [beneath]. — Swear! 

"  Hamlet— hn^   ha!    say*st  thou  so?    Art   thou  there, 
Truepenny  1  Cnme  on." 


'  At  sea,  there's  but  a  plank,  they  say, 
**  'Twi.\t  seamen  and  annihilation  ; 

'  A  Hat,  that  awful  moment,  lay 
"  'Twixt  England  and  Emancipation ! 


'  Oh  !  !  !- 


At  this  "  Oh  I  I 
Reporter 
Was  taken  poorly,  and  retired  ; 
Which  made  him  cut  Hat's  rhetoric  shorter, 
Than  justice  to  the  case  required 

On  :.is  return,  he  found  these  shocks 

Of  eloquence  all  ended  quite  ; 
And  Wig  lay  snoring  in  his  bo.x. 

And  Hat  was — hung  up  for  the  night. 


The  Times' 


THE  PERIWINKLES  AND  THE  LOCUSTS. 

A  S.ILMACUNDIAN  HYMN. 

"To  Panurge  was  assigned  the  Lairdship  of  Salmngundi, 
which  was  yearly  worth  6,780,106.789  ryals,  besides  the 
revenue  of  the  Locusts  and  Periwinkles,  amounting  one 
year  with  another  to  the  vahie  of  2,435,768,"  &c.  &c, — 
Rabelais. 

"  Hurra  I  hurra  !"  I  heard  them  say. 
And  they  checr'd  and  shouted  all  the  way, 
As  the  Laird  of  Sahnagimdi  went, 
To  open  in  state  his  Parliament. 

The  Salmagundians  once  were  rich. 

Or  thought  they  were — no  matter  which — 

For,  every  year,  the  Revenue^ 

From  their  Periwinkles  larger  grew ; 

And  their  rulers,  skiU'd  in  all  the  trick 

And  legerdemain  of  arithmetic. 

Knew  how  to  place  1,  2,  3,  4, 

5,  6,  7,  8,  and  9  and  10, 
Such  various  ways,  behind,  before. 
That  they  made  a  unit  seem  a  score, 

And  proved  themselves  most  wealthy  men ! 
So,  on  they  went,  a  prosperous  crew, 

The  people  wise,  the  rulers  clever — 
And  God  help  those,  like' me  and  you. 
Who  dared  to  doubt  (as  some  now  do) 
That  the  Periwinkle  Revenue 

Would  thus  go  flourishing  on  forever. 


s  His  Lordship's  demand  for  fresh  affidavits  was  incessant. 
*  Accented  as  in  Swift's  line — 

"  Not  so  a  nation's  revenues  are  paid." 


568 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  Hurra  !  hurra !"  I  lieaid  them  say, 
And  they  cheer'd  and  sliouted  all  the  way, 
As  the  Great  Panurge  in  glory  went 
To  open  his  own  dear  Parliament. 

But  folks  at  length  began  to  doubt 
What  ail  this  conjuring  was  about ; 
For,  every  day,  more  deep  in  debt 
They  saw  their  wcullhy  rulers  get : — 
"  Let's  look  (said  they)  tlie  items  through, 
"  And  seo  if  what  we're  told  be  true 
"  Of  our  Periwinkle  Revenue." 
But,  Lord!  tliey  found  tliere  wasn't  a  tittle 

Of  truth  in  augbt  they  heard  before  ; 
For,  they  gaiu'd  by  Periwinkles  little, 

And  lost  by  Locusts  ten  times  more  I 
These  Locusts  are  a  lordly  breed 
Some  Salmagundians  love  to  feed. 
Of  all  the  beasts  tliat  ever  were  born, 
Your  Locust  most  delights  in  corn ; 
And,  though  his  body  be  but  small. 
To  fatten  him  takes  the  devil  and  all ! 
"  Oh  fie  !  oh  fie  !"  was  now  the  cry, 
As  they  saw  the  gaudy  siiow  go  by, 
And  the  Laird  of  Salmagundi  went 
To  open  his  Locust  Parliament ! 


NEW  CREATION  OF  PEERS. 

BATCH   THE    FIRST. 

"His  'prentice  ban' 
He  tried  on  man, 
And  then  he  made  tlie  lasses." 


"  And   now,"  quoth   the    Minister,    (eased   of    his 
panics. 
And  ripe  for  each  pastime  the  summer  affords,) 
"  Having  had  our  full    swing  at   destroying   me- 
chanics, 
"By  way  o{ set-off,  let  us  make  a  few  Lords. 

"  'Tis  pleasant — while  nothing  but  mercantile  frac- 
tures, 
"  Some  simple,  some  compound,  is  dinn'd  in  our 
cars — 
"  To  think  that,  tliough  robb'd  of  all  coarse  manu- 
factiu-cs, 
"  We  still  have  our  fine  manufacture  of  Peers ; — 


"  Those  Gobelin  productions,  which  Kings  take  a 
pride 
"  In  engrossing  the  whole  fabrication  and  trade  of : 
"  Choice  tapestry  things,  very  grald  on  one  side, 
"  But  showing,  on  t'other,   what  rags  tlicy  are 
made  of." 

The  plan  being  fix'd,  raw  material  was  sought, — 
No  matter  how  middling,  if  Toiy  the  creed  be  ; 

And  first,  to  begin  with.   Squire  W ,  'twas 

thought, 
For  a  Lord  was  as  raw  a  material  as  need  be. 


Next  came,  with  his  penchant  for  painting  and  pelf, 
The  tasteful  Sir  Charles,'  so  reuown'd,  far  and 
near, 

For  purchasing  pictures,  and  selling  himse'.i — 
And  both  (as  the  public  well  knows)  very  dear. 

Beside  him  Sir  John  comes,  with  equal  eclat,  in ; — 
Stand    forth,  chosen    pair,  wliile    for   titles    we 
measure  ye ; 
Both  connoisseur  baronets,  both  fond  of  drawing, 
Sir    John,    after    nature,    Sir    Charles,   ou   the 
Treasury. 

But,  bless  us ! — behold  a  new  candidate  come — 
In    his    hand   he    upholds   a  prescription,    new 
written ; 
He  poiseth  a  pill-box  'twi.xt  finger  and  thumb. 
And  he  asketh  a  seat  'mong  the  Peers  of  Great 
Britain  ! ! 

"  Forbid    it,"    cried    Jenky,    "  ye    'Viscounts,    ye 
Earis  !— 
"  Oil   Rank,   how  thy   glories  would  fall  disen- 
chanted, 
"  If  coronets  glisten'd  witli  pills  'stead  of  pearls, 
*'  And  the   strawberry-leaves  were   by   rhubarb 
supplanted  I 

"  No — ask  it  not,  ask  it  not,  dear  Doctor  H — I- 
f— rd— 
"  If  naught  but  a  Peerage  can  gladden  thy  life, 
"  And  young  Master  H — If — rd  as  yet  is  too  small 
for't, 
"  Sweet  Doctor,  wo'U  make  a  she  Peer  of  thy 
,wife. 

"  Next  to  bearing  a  coronet  on  our  own  brows, 
*'  Is  to  bask  in  its  light  from  the  brows  of  an- 
other ; 

I  Created  Lord  F — rnb — gh. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


569 


"  And  grandeur   o'er   thco  shall  reflect   from  tliy 
spouse, 
"  As  o'er   V — y   F — tz — d  'twill  shine  through 
his  mother.'" 

Tims  ended  t)ie  First  Batch — and  Jenky,  much 
tired, 
(It  b^in;  no  joke  to  make  Lords  by  the  heap,) 
Took  a  large  dram  of  ether — the  same  that  inspired 
His  sjieech  'gainst  the  Papists — and  prosed  off  to 
sleep. 


SPEECH  ON  THE  UMBRELLA'  QUES- 
TION. 

BY    LORD    ELD N. 

"Vos  inumbreiUs  video."^ — Ez.  Juvenil.    Georoii  Can- 

MINQII. 

1827. 

My  Lords,  I'm  accused  of  a  trick  that,  God  knows,  is 
The  last  into  which,  at  ray  age,  I  could  fall — 

Of  leading  this  grave  House   of    Peers,  by  their 
noses. 
Whenever  I  choose,  princes,  bishops,  and  all. 

My  Lords,  on  the  question  before  us  at  present. 
No   doubt  I  shall   hear,    "  'Tis  that   cursed  old 
fellow, 
"  That  bugbear  of  all  that  is  lib'ral  and  pleasant, 
"  Who  won't    let   the   Lords   give  the  man  his 
umbrella !" 

God  forbid  that  your  Lordships  should  knuckle  to 
me; 

I  am  ancient — but  were  I  as  old  as  King  Priam, 
Not  much,  I  confess,  to  your  credit  'twould  be. 

To  mind  such  a  twaddling  old  Trojan  as  I  am.     • 

I  own,  of  our  Protestant  laws  I  am  jealous, 

And,  long  as  God  spares  me,  will  always  main- 
tain. 

That,  6nce  having  taken  men's  rights,  or  umbrellas. 
We  ne'er  should  consent  to  restore  them  again. 

What  security  have  you,  ye  Bishops  and  Peers, 
If  tlius  you  give  back  Mr.  Bell's  parapluie, 


1  Ainon?  the  persons  mentioned  as  likely  to  be  raised  to 
the  Peerage,  are  the  mother  of  Sir.  V— y  F— tz— il,  &.c. 

3  A  case  which  interested  the  public  very  mncli  at  this 
period.  A  gentleman,  of  the  name  of  Bell,  havinj:  left  his 
umbrella  behind  him  in  the  House  of  Lords,  ihe  doorkeep- 
ers (standing',  no  doubt,  on  the  privileges  of  that  noble  body) 


That  he  mayn't,  with  its  stick,  come  about  all  your 
ears. 
And  then — where  would  your  Protcstaut  peri- 
wigs be  1 

No,  heaven  be  my  judge,  were  I  dying  to-day. 
Ere  I  dropp'd  in  the  grave,  like  a  medlar  that's 
mellow, 
"  For  God's  sake" — at  that  awful  moment  I'd  say — 
*'  For  God's  sake,  douH  give  PJr.  Bell   his  um- 
brella." 

["This  address,"  says  a  ministerial  journal,  "delivered 
with  amazing  emphasis  and  earnestness,  occasioned  an  ex- 
traordinary sensation  in  the  Jtouse.  Nothing  since  the 
memorable  address  of  the  Duke  t  York  has  produced  so 
remarkable  an  impression."] 


A  PASTORAL  BALLAD. 

BY    JOILN    BULL. 

'Dublin,  March  12, 1827.— Friday,  after  the  arrival  of  the 
packet  bringing  the  account  of  the  defeat  of  the  Catholic 
Ctuestion,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  orders  were  sent 
to  the  Pigeon  House  to  forward  5,000,000  rounds  of  mus- 
ket-ball cartridge  to  the  ditfercnt  garrisons  round  the 
country." — Frecman^s  Journal. 

I  u.wE  found  out  a  gift  for  my  Erin, 
A  gift  that  will  surely  content  her  ; — 

Sweet  pledge  of  a  love  so  endearing  ! 
Five  millions  of  bullets  I've  sent  her. 

She  ask'd  me  for  Freedom  and  Right, 
But  ill  she  her  wants  understood  ; — 

Ball  cartridges,  morning  and  night. 
Is  a  dose  that  will  do  her  more  good. 

There  is  hardly  a  day  of  our  lives 
But  we  read,  in  some  amrable  trials, 

How  husbands  make  love  to  their  wives 
Through  the  medium  of  hemp  and  of  vials. 

One  thinks,  with  his  mistress  or  mate 

A  good  halter  is  sure  to  agree — 
That  love-knot  which,  early  and  late, 

I  have  tried,  my  dear  Erin,  on  thee. 


refused  to  restore  it  to  him;  and  the  above  speech,  which 
may  be  considered  as  a  pendant  to  that  of  the  Learned  Earl 
on  tile  Catholic  Question,  arose  out  of  the  transaction. 
3  From  Mr.  Canning's  translation  of  Jekyl's — 
"I  say,  my  good  fellows. 
As  you've  no  umbrellas." 


570 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


While  another,  wliom  Hymen  lias  bless'd 
Willi  a  wife  that  is  not  over  placid, 

Consigns  tlie  dea"r  charmer  to  rest, 
With  a  dose  of  the  best  Prussic  acid. 

Tims,  Erin  I  my  love  do  I  show — 
Tims  quiet  thee,  mate  of  my  bed  ! 

And,  as  poison  and  hemp  are  too  slow, 
Do  thy  business  with  bullets  instead. 

Should  thy  faith  in  my  medicine  bo  shaken, 
Ask  R — d — n,  that  mildest  of  saints  ; 

He'll  tell  thee,  lead,  inwardly  taken, 
Alone  can  remove  thy  complaints  ; — 

That,  blest  as  tliou  art  in  thy  lot. 

Nothing's  wanted  to  make  it  more  pleasant 
But  being  liang'd,  tortured,  and  shot, 

Much  oftener  than  thou  art  at  present 

Even  W — 11 — t — n's  self  hath  averr'd 
Thou  art  yet  but  half  sabred  and  liung. 

And  I  loved  him  the  more  when  I  heard 
Such  tenderness  fall  from  his  tongue. 

So  take  the  five  millions  of  pills, 
Dear  partner,  I  herewith  enclose  ; 

'Tis  the  cure  that  all  quacks  for  thy  ills. 
From  Cromwell  to  Eld — n,  propose. 

And  y^ou,  ye  brave  bullets  that  go. 
How  I  wish  that,  before  you  set  out. 

The  Devil  of  the  Freischutz  could  know 
The  good  work  you  are  going  about. 

For  he'd  charm  ye,  in  spite  of  your  lead, 

Into  such  supernatural  wit. 
That  you'd  all  of  you  know,  as  you  sped. 

Where  a  bullet  of  sense  ought  to  hit. 


A  LATE  SCENE  AT  SWANAGE.' 

Rcgnis  EX-sul  adenitis.  Vmo. 

1527. 
To  Swanage — that  neat  little  town,  in  whoso  bay 
Fair  Thetis  shows  oif,  in  lier  best  silver  slippers — 
Lord  Bags'^  took  his  annual  trip  t'other  day, 

To  taste  the  sea  breezes,  and  chat  with  the  dip- 
pers. 

1  A  small  bathing-place  on  the  const  of  Dorsetshire,  long 
a  favorite  summer  resort  of  the  ex-nobleman  in  question, 
and,  tut  this  season,  much  frequented  also  by  gentlemen  of 
the  church. 

"  The  Lord  Chancellor  Eld— n. 


There — leani'd  as  he  is  in  conundrums  and  laws — 
Quoth  he  to  his  dame,  (whom  he  oft  plays  the 
wag  on,) 
"  Why  are  chancery  suitors  lilio  bathers?"—"  Be- 
cause 
*'  Their  suits  are  put  off,  till — they  haven't  a  rag 
on." 

Thus  on  he  went  chatting— '.ut,  lo,  while  he  chats. 
With  a  face  full  of  wonder  around  him  he  looks  ; 

For  he  misses  his  parsons,  his  dear  shovel  hats, 
Who  used  to  flock  round  bun  at  Swanage  like 
rooks. 

"How  !b  this,  .ady  Bags? — to  this  region  aquatic 
"  Last  year   they  came  swarming,  to  make  me 
their  bow, 
"  As  thick  as  Burke's  cloud  o'er  (lie  vales  of  Car- 
natic, 
"  Deans,  Rectors,  D.  D.'s — where  the  devil  are 
they  now  ?" 

"  My  dearest  Lord  Bags  .'"'  saitli  his  dame,  "  can 
you  doubt  ? 
"  I  am  loath  to  remind  you  of  tilings  so  unpleasant ; 
"  But  don't  you  perceive,  dear,  the  Church  have 
found  out 
"  That  you're  one  of  the  people  called  Ex'b,  at 
present  V 

"  Ah,  true — you  have  hit  it — I  am,  indeed,  one 
"  Of  thise  ill-fated  Ex's,  (his  Lordship  replies,) 

"  And,  with  tears,  I  confess — God  forgive  me  the 
pun  ! — 
"  We  X's  have  proved  ourselves  not  to  be  Y's.'' 


WO!  WO! 


Wo,  wo  unto  him  who  would  check  or  disturb  it — 
That  beautiful  Light,  which  is  now  on  its  way  ; 

Which,  beaming,  at  first,  o'er  the  bogs  of  Belturbet, 
Now  brightens  sweet  Ballinafad  with  its  ray  ! 

Oh  F — mil — m,  Saint  F — rnli — m,  how  much  do 
we  owe  thee  ! 

How  forra'd  to  all  tastes  are  thy  various  employs ! 
The  old,  as  a  catcher  of  Catholics,  know  thee. 

The  young,  as  an  amateur  scourger  of  boys. 

s  Suggested  by  a  speech  of  the  Bishop  of  Ch — st — r  on  the 
subject  of  the  New  Reformatinn  in  Ireland,  in  wjiich  his 
Lordship  denounced  "  Wo  :  Wo  1  Wo!"  pretty  abundantly 
on  all  those  who  dared  to  interfere  with  its  progress. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


571 


Wo,    wo    to    tlie    man,  wlio   sucli   doings   would 
smother ! — 
On,  Lutlier  of  Cavan  !  On,  Saint  of  Kilgi-oga:y  ! 
With  wliip  in  one  liand,  and  with  Bible  in  t'other, 
Like   Mungo's   tormentor,  both  '•  preachee  and 
floggee." 

Come,  Saints  from  all  quartei-s,  and  marshal  his  way  ; 

Come,  L — rt — n,  W'lio,  scorning  profane  erudition, 
Fopp'd  Shakspeare,  they  say,  in  the  river,  one  day, 

Though  'twas  only  old  Bowdler's  Velluti  edition. 

Come,  R — den,  who  doubtcst — so  mild  are  thy 
views — 

Whether  Bibles  or  bullets  are  best  for  the  nation  ; 
Who  leav'st  to  poor  Paddy  no  medium  to  choose, 

'Twixt  good  aid  Rebellion  and  new  Reformation. 

What  more  from  her  Saints  can  Hibernia  require  1 
St.  Bridget,  of  yore,  like  a  dutiful  daughter. 

Supplied  her,  'tis  said,  with  perpetual  fire,' 

And  Saints  keep  her,  7tow,  in  eternal  hot  water. 

Wo,  wo  to  the  man,  wlio  would  cheek  their  career. 
Or  stop  the  Millennium,  that's  sure  to  await  us. 

When,  bless'd  with  an  orthodox  crop  every  year. 
We  shall  learn  to  raise  Protestants,  fast  as  pota- 
toes. 

In  kidnapping  Papists,  our  rulers,  we  know. 

Had  been  trying  their  talent  for  many  a  day  ; 
Till  F — mil — m,  when  all  had  been  tried,  came  to 
show, 
Like    the    German   flea-catcher,  "  anoder   goot 
way." 

And  nothing's  more  simple  than  F — nih — m's  re- 
ceipt ;— 
"  Catch   your  Catholic,  first — soak   him  well  in 
poteerr — 
*'  Add  salary  sauce,^  and  the  thing  is  complete. 
"  You  may  servo  up  your  Protestant,  smokuig 
and  clean." 

"  Wo,  wo  to  the  wag,  who  would  laugh  at  such 
cookery !" 

Thus,  from  his  perch,  did  I  hear  a  black  crow' 
Caw  angrily  out,  while  the  rest  of  the  rookery 

Open'd  their  bills,  and  re-echo'd  "  Wo !  wo  !" 


1  The  inextinguishable  fire  of  St.  Bridget,  at  Kildare. 

»  Whislicy. 

3  "  We  understand  that  several  applications  have  lately 
been  made  to  the  I'rotestant  clergymen  of  this  town  by  fel- 
lows, inquiring, '  What  are  they  giving  a  head  forcooverls  V  " 
-  IFezford  Pan. 


TOUT  POUR  LA  TRIPE 

"If,  in  China  or  amnng  the  natives  of  Inilia,  we  rlaimetl 
civil  advantages  which  were  connected  with  religious 
usages,  little  as  we  might  value  those  forms  in  oui  hearts. 
we  should  think  coniinnn  decency  required  us  to  abstain 
from  ireatinj;  them  with  olTensivecontuntcly  ;  and.  though 
unable  to  consider  them  sacred,  wp  would  nf>t  sneer  at 
the  name  <if  Fi<t.  or  lau;:h  at  the  imputed  divinity  of 
Vtsthnou" — Courier,  Tuesday,  Jan.  10. 

1827. 

Come,  take  my  advice,  never  trouble  your  cranium, 
Wlien  '■  civil  advantages"  are  to  be  gain'd. 

What  god  or  what  goddess  may  help  to  obtain  you 
'em, 
Hindoo  or  Chinese,  so  they're  only  obtain'd. 

In  this  world  (let  me  hint  in  your  organ  auricular) 
All  the  good  things  to  good  hypocrites  fall ; 

And  he,  who  in  swallowing  creeds  is  particular, 
Soon  will  have  nothing  to  swallow  at  all. 

Oh  place  me  where  Fo  (or,  as  some  call  hiin,  Fot) 
Is  the  god,  from  whom  "  civil  advantages"  flow. 

And  you'll  find,  if  there's  any  thing  snug  to  be  got, 
I  shall  soon  be  on  excellent  terms  with  old  Fo. 

Or  were  I  where  Vishnu,  that  four-handed  god. 
Is  tlie  quadruple  giver  of  pensions  and  places, 

I  own  I  should  feel  it  unchristian  and  odd 

Not  to  find  myself  also  in  Vishnu's  good  graces 

For,  among  all  the  gods  that  humanely  attend 
To  our  wants  in  this  planet,  the  gods  to  my  wisheti 

Are  those  that,  like  Vishnu  and  others,  descend 
In  the  form,  so  attractive,  of  loaves  and  of  fishes  !* 

So  take  my  advice — for,  if  even  the  devil 

Should  tempt  men  again  as  an  idol  to  try  him, 

'Twere  best  for  us  Tories,  even  then,  to  be  civil. 
As  nobody  doubts  we  should  get  something  by 
bun. 


ENIGMA. 

Monstrum  nulla  virtute  redemptum. 

CoMK,  riddle-me-ree,  come,  riddle-me-ree, 
And  tell  me  what  my  name  may  be. 


*  Of  the  rook  species— Corous  frugittgus,  i.  e.  a  great  con- 
sumer of  ciirn. 

6  Vishnu  was  (as  Sir  W.  Jones  calls  him)  "apiscifonn 
god," — his  first  Avatar  being  in  the  shape  of  a  fish. 


573 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I  am  nearly  one  hundred  and  thirty  years  old, 

And  tliercfore  no  cliiokcn,  as  you  may  suppose  ; — 
Thougli   a  dsvarf  in  my  youth,  (as  my  nurses  have 
told,) 
I   have,  ev'ry  year  since,  been  outgrowing  my 
clothes  ; 
Till,  at  last,  such  a  corpulent  giant  I  stand, 

Tliat,  if  folks  were  to  furnish  mo  now  with  a  suit, 
It  would  lake  ev'ry  morecl  of  scrip  in  the  land 

But  to  measure  my  bulk  from  the  head  to  the  foot. 
Hence,  they  who  maintain  me,  gi'own  sick  of  my 
stature, 
To  cover  me  nothing  but  rags  will  supply  ; 
And  the  doctors  declare  tliat,  in  due  coiu^e  of  na- 
ture. 
About  file  year  30  in  rags  I  shall  die. 
Meanwhile,  I  stalk  hungry  and  bloated  around, 

An  object  of  inCrest,  most  painful,  to  all ; 

In  the  warehouse,  the  cottage,  the  palace  I'm  found, 

Holding  citizen,  peasant,  and  king  in  my  thrall. 

Then  riddle-me-rce,  oh  riddle-me-ree. 

Come,  tell  me  what  my  name  may  be. 

Whes  the  lord  of  the  counting-house  bends  o'er  his 
book, 
Bright  pictures  of  profit  delighting  to  draw, 
O'er  his  shoulders  with  large  cipher  eyeballs  I  look. 
And  down  drops  the  pen  from  his  paralyzed  paw  ! 
When  the  Premier  lies  dreaming  of  dear  Waterloo, 
And  e.vpects  through  another  to  caper  and  prank 
it. 
You'd  laugli  did  you  see,  when  I  bellow  out "  Boo !" 
How  he   hides  his  brave  Waterloo  head  in  the 
blanket. 
When  miglity  Belshazzar  brims  high  in  the  hall 
His  cup,  full  of  gout,  to  the  Gaul's  overthrow, 
Lo,  "  Eight  Hundred  Millions"  I  write  on  the  wall. 
And  the  cup  falls  to  earth  and — the  gout  to  his 
toe  ! 
But  the  joy  of  my  heart  is  when  largely  I  cram 
My  maw  with   the   fruits  of  the  Squirearchy's 
acres. 
And,  knowing  who  made  mo  the  thing  that  I  am, 
Like  the  monster  of  Frankenstein,  worry  my  ma- 
kers. 
Then  riddle-me-ree,  come,  riddle-me-ree, 
And  tell,  if  thou  know'st,  who  /  may  be. 


I  One  of  the  shows  of  London. 

3  More  piiriicularly  his  Gnice's  celebrated  amendment  to 
th«  Corn  Bill;  lor  which,  and  the  circumstances  connected 
with  it,  see  Annual  Register  for  a.  d.  18i!7. 


DOG-DAY  REFLECTIONS. 

BY  A  DANDY  KEPT  IN  TOWN. 

*'  Vox  clamanlis  in  deserto." 

1827. 
Said  Malthas,  one  day,  to  a  clown 

Lying  Btrctch'd  on  the  beach,  in  the  sun, — 
"  What's  the  number  of  souls  in  this  town  ?" — 
"  The  number  !  Lord  bless  you,  there's  none. 

"  We  have  nothing  but  dahs  in  this  place, 
"  Of  them  a  great  plenty  there  are  ; 

'  But  the  soles,  please  your  rev'rence  and  grace, 
"  Are  all  t'other  side  of  the  bar." 

And  so  'tis  in  London  just  now. 

Not  a  soul  to  be  seen,  up  ci  ''own  ; — 

Of  dahs  a  great  glut,  I  allow, 

But  your  soles,  every  one,  out  of  town. 

East  or  west,  nothing  wondrous  or  new ; 

No  courtship  or  scandal,  worth  knowing ; 

Mrs.  B ,  and  a  Mermaid'  or  two, 

Are  the  only  loose  fish  that  are  gomg. 

Ah,  where  is  that  dear  house  of  Peers, 
That,  some  weeks  ago,  kept  us  merry  ? 

Where,  Eld — n,  art  thou,  with  tliy  tears  ? 
And  thou,  witii  thy  sense,  L — d — d — y  ? 

Wise  Marquis,  how  much  the  Lord  May'r, 

In  the  dog-days,  with  thee  must  be  puzzled ! — 

It  being  his  task  to  take  care 

Tliat  sucli  animals  shan't  go  unmuzzled. 

Thou,  too,  whose  political  toils 

Are  so  worthy  a  captain  of  horse — 

Whose  amouduieuts^  (like  honest  Sir  Boyle's) 
Are  "  amendments,  that  make  matters  worse;"* 

Groat  Chieftain,  who  takest  such  pains 
To  prove — what  is  granted,  7iem.  con. — 

With  how  mod'rate  a  portion  of  brains 
Some  heroes  contrive  to  get  on. 

And,  thou,  too,  my  R — d — sd — e,  ah,  where 
Is  the  peer,  with  a  star  at  his  button, 

Vt'hose  qjiartcrs  could  ever  compare 

With  R — d — sd — e's  five  quarters  of  muttoa  '.* 


=  From  a  speech  of  Sir  Boyle  Roche's,  in  the  Irish  House 
of  Cnminons. 

*  The  learning  his  Lordship  displayed,  on  the  subject  of 
the  buichcr's  "fifth  quarter"  of  mutton,  will  not  speedily  be 

forgotten. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


573 


J  ; 


\\Tiy,  why  have  ye  taken  your  flight, 
Ye  diverting  and  dignified  crew? 

How  ill  do  tliree  farces  a  night, 

At  the  HayiTiarket,  pay  us  for  you  ! 

For.  wliat  is  Bombastos  to  thee, 

My  Ell — nbro",  when  tliou  look'st  big? 

Or,  Where's  tlie  burlelta  can  bo 

Like  h — d — rd — le's  wit,  and  his  wig? 

I  doubt  if  ev'n  Griffinhoof '  could 
(Though- GrifTin's  a  comical  lad) 

Invent  any  joke  half  bo  good 

As  that  precious  one,  "  This  is  too  bad !" 

Then  come  again,  come  again.  Spring  ! 

Oh  haste  thee,  with  Fun  in  thy  train  ; 
And — of  all  tilings  the  funniest — bring 

These  exalted  Grimaldis  again! 


IHE  "LIVING  DOG"  AND  "THE 
DEAD  LION." 


.;  !  Next  week  will  be  publish'd  (as  '•  Lives"  are  the 
rage) 
The  whole  Reminiscences,  wondrous  and  strange. 
Of  a  small  puppy-dog,  that  lived  once  in  the  cago 
Of  the  late  noble  Lion  at  Exeler  'Change. 

Though  the  dog  is  a  dog  of  the  kind  they  call 
"  sad,'' 

'Tis  a  puppy  that  much  to  good  breeding  pretends ; 
And  few  dogs  have  such  opportunities  had 

Of  knowing  how  Lions  behave — among  friends  ; 


How  that  animal  eats,  how  he  snores,  how  he  drinks, 
Is  all  noted  down  by  this  Boswell  so  small ; 

And  'tis  plain,  from  each  sentence,  the  puppy-dog 
thiidvS 
That  the  Lion  was  no  such  great  things  after  all. 

Though   he   roar'd    pretty   well — this    the    puppy 
allows — 
It  was  all,  ho   says,  borrow'd — all   second-hand 
roar  : 


>  The  nom  de  guerre  under  which  Colmaa  has  written 
some  of  his  best  farces. 

3  At  the  comniencotnent  of  this  year,  the  desiens  of  Don 
Bljguel  and  his  piirtisans  against  the  constimlion  esiablished 
by  his  brother  had  begun  more  openly  to  declare  them- 
selves. 


And  he  vastly  prefers  his  own  little  bow-wows 
To  the  loftiest  war-note  tlio  Lion  could  pour. 

'Tis,  indeed,  as  good  fun  as  a  Cynic  could  ask. 
To  see  how  this  cockney-bred  setter  of  rabbits 

Takes  gravely  the  Lord  of  the  Forest  to  task, 
And  judges  of  lions  by  puppy -dog  habits. 

Nay,  fed  as  he  was  (and  this  makes  it  a  dark  case) 
With  sops  everj'  day  from  the  Lion's  own  pan. 

He  lifts  up  his  leg  at  the  neble  beast's  carcass, 
And — does  all  a  dog,  so  diminutive,  can. 

However,  the  book's  a  good  book,  being  rich  in 

Examples  ano  *parnings  to  lions  high-bred. 
How   they   suffer  small   mongrelly   curs   in    their 
kitchen 
Who'll  feed  on  them  living,  and  ."cal  them  when 
dead. 

T.  PiDCOCK. 

Ezeter  ^Change. 


ODE  TO  DON  MIGUEL. 

Et  tu,  Brute  I 

1858.1 
WuAT  !  Miguel,  not  patriotic?  oh,  fie. 

After  so  much  good  teaching  'tis  quite  a  take-in, 
Sir;- 
Fust  Bchool'd,  as  you  were,  under  Metteniich's  eye, 
And  then    (as  young  misses  say)    "  fiuish'd"  at 
Windsor !' , 

I  ne'er  in  my  life  knew  a  case  that  was  harder ; — 
Such  feasts  as  you  had,  wheri  you  made  us  a  call ! 

Three  courses  each  day  from  his  Majesty's  larder, — 
And  now,  to  turn  absolute  Don,  after  all  1 1 

Some  authors,  like  Bayes,  to  the  style  and  the  matter 
Of  each  thing  they  write  suit  the  way  that  they 
dine, 
Roast  sirloin  for  Epic,  broil'd  devils  for  Satire, 
And  hotch-potch  and  trific  for  rhymes  such  as 
mine. 

That   Rulers   should  feed  the  same  way,  I've  no 
doubt ; — 
Great  Despots  on  bouilli  served  up  a  la  Russc* 


3  Don  Miguel  had  paid  a  visit  to  the  English  court,  at  the 
close  of  the  year  1827. 

*  Dressed  with  a  pint  of  the  strongest  spirits — a  favorite 
dish  of  the  flreat  Frcderirlt  of  Prussia,  and  which  he  perse- 
vered in  eating  even  on  his  death-bed,  much  to  the  horror  of 
his  physician  Zimraerm.an. 


574 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Your  small  Gcjrnan  Princes  on  frogs  and  sour-krout, 
And  your  Viceroy  of  Hanover  always  on  goose. 

Some  Dons,  too,  have  fancied  (though  this  may  be 
fable) 
A  dish  rather  dear,  if,  in  cooking,  they  blunder 

if— 
Not  content  with  the  common  hot  meat  on  a  table, 
They're  partial  (eh,  Mig  ?)  to  a  dish  of  cold  under 
it! 

No  wonder  a  Don  of  such  appetites  found 
Even  Windsor's  collations  plebeiauly  plain  ; 

Where  the  dishes  most  high  that  my  Lady  sends 
round 
Are  her  Maintenon  cutlets  and  soup  a  la  Reine. 

Alas !  that  a  youth  with  such  charming  beginnings, 
Should  sink,  all  at  once,  to  so  sad  a  conclusion, 

And,  what   is   still   worse,  throw   the   losings   and 
winnings 
Of  worthies  on  'Cliange  into  so  much  confusion  ! 

The  Bulls,  in  hysterics — the  Bears  just  as  bad — 
The  few  men  who  have,  and  the  many  who've 
not  tick. 

All  shock'd  to  find  out  that  that  promising  lad, 
Princf  Metternich's  pupil,  is — not  patriotic  ! 


THOUGHTS  ON  THE  PRESENT  GOVERN- 
MENT OF  IRELAND. 

182S. 

Oft  have  I  seen,  in  gay,  equestrian  pride. 

Some  well-rouged  youth  round  Astley's  Circus  ride 

Two     stately    steeds  —  standing,    with     graceful 

straddle. 
Like  him  of  Rhodes,  with  foot  on  either  saddle, 
While    to    soft    tunes — some  jigs,    and    some    an- 
dantes— 
He  steers  around  his  light-paced  Rosinantes. 

So  rides  along,  with  canter  smooth  and  pleasant, 
That  lioi"scnian  hold,  Lord  Auglesea,  at  present ; — 
Papist  and  Protestant  the  compere  twain. 
That  lend  tlieir  necks  to  his  impartial  rein. 
And  round  the  ring — ^ach  honor'd,  as  they  go, 
Witii  equal  pressure  from  his  gracious  toe — 
To- the  eld  medley  (une,  half  "  Patrick's  Day" 
And  half  "  Boyne  Water,"  take  their  caut'ring  way, 

I  This  quiet  case  of  murder,  with  nil  its  prirticulars— the 
hiding  the  hody  under  the  diuner-tjible,  &c.  &c. — is,  no 
doal)t,  well  Itnown  lo  the  reader. 


While  Pee),  the  showman  in  the  middle,  cracks 
His  long-lash'd  whip,  to  cheer  the  doubtful  hacks. 
Ah,  ticklish  trial  of  equestrian  art  I 
How  bless'd,  if  neither  steed  would  bolt  or  start; — 
If  Protestant's  old  restive  tricks  were  gone. 
And  Papist's  winkers  could  be  still  kept  on ! 
But  no,  false  hopes — not  even  the  great  Ducrow 
'Twi.xt  two  such  steeds  could  'scapo  an  overthrow : 
If  solar  hacks  play'd  Phaeton  a  tricK, 
Wliat  hope,  alas,  from  hackney's  lunatic  ? 

If  onco  my  Lord  his  graceful  balance  loses. 

Or  fails  to  keep  each  foot  where  each  horse  chooses ; 

If  Peel  but  gives  one  extra  touch  of  whip 

To  Papist's  tail  or  Protestant's  ear-tip — 

That  instant  ends  their  glorious  horsemanship ! 

OfFbolt  the  sevei'd  steeds,  for  mischief  free. 

And  down,  between  them,  clumps  Lord  Anglesea  1 


THE  LIMBO  OF  LOST  REPUTATIONS. 


"  Cio  che  si  perde  qui,  la  si  raguna."      Ariosto. 

" a  valley,  where  he  sees 

Things  that  on  earth  were  lost."  Milton. 

182a 
Know'st  thou  not  him'  the  poet  sings, 

Who  fiew  to  the  moon's  serene  domain, 
And  saw  that  valley,  where  all  the  things, 

That  vanish  on  earth,  are  found  again — 
The  hopes  of  youth,  the  resolves  of  age. 
The  vow  of  the  lover,  the  dream  of  the  sage, 
The  golden  visioiis  of  mining  cits, 

Tlie  promises  great  men  strew  about  them ; 
And,  pack'd  in  compass  small,  the  wits 

Of  monarchs,  who  rule  as  well  without  them  !— 
Like  him,  but  diving  with  wing  profound, 
I  have  been  to  a  Limbo  under  ground. 
W^liere  characters  lost  on  earth,  (and  cried, 
In  vain,  like  II — rr — s's,  far  and  wide,) 
In  heaps,  like  yesterday's  orts,  are  throwTi 
And  there,  so  worthless  and  fly-blown, 
That  ev'n  the  imps  would  not  purloin  them, 
Lie,  till  their  worthy  owners  join  them. 

Curious  it  was  to  see  this  mass 

Of  lost  and  torn-up  reputations ; — 
Some  of  them  female  wares,  alas. 

Mislaid  at  innocent  assignations; 

s  Astolpho. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


575 


Some,  that  had  sighM  their  last  amen 

From  the  canting  lips  of  saints  that  would  be ; 
And  some  once  ovvn'd  by  '*  the  best  of  men," 

Who  had  proved — no  better  than  they  should  be. 
*Monff  o'.Iiers,  a  poet's  fame  I  spied, 

Once  shining  fair,  now  soak'd  and  black — 
"  No  wonder,"  (an  imp  at  my  elbow  cried,) 

**  For  I  pick'd  it  out  of  a  butt  of  sack !" 

Just  tlien  a  yell  was  heard  o'er  head. 

Like  a  chimney-sweeper's  lofty  summons ; 
And  lo  I  a  devil  right  downward  sped. 
Bringing,  within  his  claws  so  red, 
Two  statesmen's  character,  found,  he  said, 

Last  night,  on  the  tloor  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons ; 
The  which,  with  black  official  grin, 
He  now  to  the  Chief  Imp  handed  in  ; — • 
Both  tlieso  articles  much  the  worse 

For  their  journey  down,  as  yoix  may  suppose  ; 
But  one  so  devilish  rank — *'  Odds  curse  !'* 

Said  the  Lord  Chief  Imp,  and  held  his  nose. 

"  Ho,  ho  !"  quoth  he,  "  I  know  full  well 

"  From  whom  these  two  stray  mattera  fell ;" — 

Then,  casting  away,  with  loathful  shrug, 

Th'  uncleaner  waif,  (as  he  would  a  drug 

Th'  Invisible's  own  dark  hand  had  mix'd,) 

His  gaze  on  the  other'  iirm  he  fix'd, 

And  trying,  though  mischief  laugh'd  in  his  eye, 

To  be  moral,  because  of  the  young  imps  by, 

"  AVIiat  a  pity  I"'  he  cried — "  so  fresh  its  gloss, 

"  So  long  preser\'ed — 'tis  a  public  loss  ! 

*'  Tliis  conies  of  a  man,  the  careless  blockhead, 

"  Keeping  his  character  in  his  pocket ; 

"  And  tliere — without  considenng  whether 

**  Tiiere's  room  for  that  and  Iris  gains  together — 

"  Cramming,  and  cramming,  and  cramming  away, 

"  Till — out  slips  character  some  fine  day  ! 

"  However" — and  here  he  view'd  it  round — 

"  This  article  still  may  pass  for  sound. 

"  Some  f^aws,  soon  patch'd,  some  stains  are  all 

"  The  harm  it  has  had  in  its  luckless  fall. 

*'  Here,  Puck  1" — and  he  call'd  to  oue  of  his  train — 

"  The  owner  may  have  this  back  again. 

"  Though  damaged  forever,  if  used  with  skill, 

"  It  may  serve,  perhaps,  to  trade  on  still ; 

"  Though  the  gem  can  never,  as  once,  be  set, 

"  It  will  do  for  a  Tory  Cabinet." 


'  II— k— n. 


HOW  TO  WRITE  BY  PROXY 

Uui  facit  per  aUum  facit  per  se 

'MoNG  our  neighbors,  the  French,  in  the  good  olden 
time 
When  Nobility  flourlsh'd,  great  Barons  and  Dukes 
Often  set  up  for  authors  in  prose  and  In  riiyme. 
But  ne'er  took  the  trouble  to  write  their    own 
books. 

Poor  devils  were  found  to  do  this  for  their  betters ; — 

And  one  day,  a  Bishop,  addressing  a  Blue, 
Said,  "  Ma'am,  have  you  read   my  new  Pastori 
Letters  ?" 
To  which  tlie  Blue  answer'd — "  No,  Bishop,  have 
vou  7" 

The  same  is  now  done  by  our  privileged  class ; 

And,  to  show  you  how  simple  the  process  it  needs, 
If  a  great  Major-General"  wishes  to  pass 

For  an  author  of  History,  thus  he  proceeds : — 

First,  scribbling  his  own  stock  of  notions  as  well 
As  he  can,  with  a  goose-i\m\\  that  claims  liiin  as  hin. 

He  settles  his  neckcloth — takes  snufT — rijigs  the  bell, 
And  yawulugly  orders  a  Subaltern  in. 

The  Subaltern  comes — sees  his  General  seated. 
In  all  the  self-glory  of  authorship  swelling ; — 
"  There,  look,"  saith    his  Lordship,  "  My  work  is 
completed, — 
"  It  wants  nothing  now,  but  the  grammar  and 
spelling." 

Well  used  to  a  breach,  tlie  brave  Subaltern  dreads 
Awkward  breaches  of  syntax  a  hundred   times 
more ; 
And,  thougli  often  condemn'd  to  see  breakinu-  of 
heads. 
He  had   ne'er  seen    such  breaking  of  Priscian's 
before. 

However,  the  job's  sure  to  pay — that's  enough — 
So,  to  it  he  sets  with  his  tinkering  hammer, 

Convinced  that  there  never  was  job  half  so  tough 
As  the  mending  a  great  Major-General's  grammar. 

But,  lo,  a  fresh  puzzlement  starts  up  to  view — 
New  toll  for  the  Sub. — for  the  Lord  new  expense : 

'Tis  discover'd  that  mending  his  grammar  won  t  do, 
As  the  Subaltern  also  must  find  him  in  sense  / 


^  Or  LieutL'nant-Ceneral,  as  if.  may  liappen  to  be. 


576 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


At  last — even  tliis  is  acliieved  by  liis  aid  ; — 

Frien  j  Subaltern  pockets  the  casli  and — the  story  ; 

Drums  beat — tlie  ueiv  Grand  March  of  Intellect's 
play'd — 
And  off  struts  my  Lord,  the  Historian,  in  glory  1 


IMITATION  OF  THE  INFERNO  OF  DANTE. 


'  Cosi  quel  fiato  gli  spirlti  mail 
Ui  quu,  di  la,  di  giu.  di  su  gli  niena.' 


Inferno,  canto  5. 


I  turn'd  my  steps,  and  lo,  a  shadowy  throng 
Of  ghosts  camo  flntt'ring  tow'rds  me — blown  along, 
Like  cockchafers  in  hijh  autumnal  storms, 
By  many  a  fitful  gust  that  through  tlieir  forms 
Whislled,  as  on  they  camo,  with  wheezy  puff. 
And  puff'd  as — though  they'd  never  puff  enough. 

"  Whence  and  what  are  ye  V  pitying  I  inquired 
Of  these  poor  ghosts,  who,  tatter'd,  toss'd,  and  tired 
With  such  eternal  puffing,  scarce  could  sland 
Ou  their  lean  legs  while  answering  my  demand. 
"  Wo  once  were  authors" — thus  the  Sprite,  who  led 
This  tag-rag  regiment  of  spectres,  said — 
"  Authors  of  every  sex,  male,  female,  neuter, 
"  Who,  early  smit  with  lovo  of  praise  and — pewter,' 
'•  On  C — lb — n"s'  shelves  firat  saw  the  light  of  day, 

"  In ' 's  puffs  exhaled  our  lives  away — 

"  Liko  summer  windmills,  dooni'd  to  dusty  peace, 

"  When  the  brisk  gales,  that  lent  them  motion  cease. 

"  Ah,  little  kuew  we  then  what  ills  await 

"  Mucli-lauded  scribblers  in  their  after  state  : 

"  Bepuff'd  on  earth — how  loudly  Str — t  can  tell — 

"  And,  dire  reward,  now  doubly  puff'd  in  hell  I" 

Touch'd  with  compassion  for  his  ghastly  crew, 
Whose  ribs,  even  now,  the  hollow  wind  sung  through 
In  mournful  prose,— such  prose  as  Rosa's'  ghost 
Still  at  th'  accuslom'd  hoiu-  of  eggs  and  toast, 
Sigh's  tlirough  the  columns  of  the  M — rn — g  P — t, — 
Pensive  I  turn'd  to  weep,  when  he,  who  stood 
Foremost  of  all  that  flatulential  brood, 
Singling  a  sAc-ghost  from  the  party,  said, 
"  Allow  me  to  present  Miss  X.  Y.  Z.,* 
"  One  of  our  Ictter'd  nymphs — excuse  the  pun — 
"  Who  gain'd  a  name  on  earth  by — having  none  ; 
And  whose  initials  would  immortal  be. 
Had  she  but  learn'd  tlioso  plain  ones,  A.  B.  C. 


1  The  classical  term  for  money. 

2  The  reader  may  fill  ii|>  this  gap  with  anyone  of  the 
ilissyllahic  publishers  of  London  that  occurs  lo  him. 

3  Rosa  Matilda,  who  was  fur  many  years  the  writer  of  the 
political  articles  in  the  journal  alluded  lo,  and  whose  spirit 
still  seems  to  preside — "  regnal  Kosa" — over  its  pages. 


"  Yon  smirking  ghost,  liko  mummy  drj'  and  neat, 
'*  Wrapp'd  in  his  own  dead  rhymes — fit   winding- 
sheet — 
"  Still  marvels  much  that  not  a  soul  should  caro 
"  One  single  pin  to  know  who  wrote  '  May  Fair ;' — 
"  While  this    young    gentleman,"    (here    forth    he 

drew 
A  dandy  spectre,  puff'd  quite  through  and  through, 
As  though  his  ribs  were  an  yEolian  lyre 
For  the  old  Row's  soft  (radc-winds  to  inspire,) 
"  This  modest  genius  breatlied  one  wish  alone, 
"  To  have  his  volume  read,  himself  unknown  ; 
"  But  different  far  the  course  his  glory  took, 
"  All  knew  the  author,  and — none  read  the  book. 

"  Behold,  in  yonder  ancient  figure  of  fun, 
"  Who  rides  the  'blast.  Sir  J — n — h  B — rr— t — n  ; — 
"  In  tricks  to  raise  the  wind  his  life  was  spent, 
"  And  now  the  wind  returns  the  compliment. 

"  This  lady  here,  the  Earl  of 's  sister, 

"  Is  a  dead  novelist ;  and  this  is  Mister — 

"  Beg  pardon — Honorable  Mister  L — st — r, 

"  A  gentleman  who,  some  weeks  since,  came  over 

"  In  a  smart  puff  (wind  S.  S.  E.)  to  Dover. 

"  Yonder  behind  us  limps  young  Vivian  Grey, 

"  Whoso  life,  poor  youth,  was  long  since  blown  away, 

"  Like  a  torn  paper-kite,  on  which  the  wind 

"  No  further  purchase  for  a  puff  can  find." 

"  And  thou  thyself — here,  anxious,  I  exclaim'd — 
"  Tell  us,  good  ghost,  how  thou,  thyself,  art  named." 
"Me,  Sir!"  he  blushing  cried — "  jVli,  there's  the 

rub — 
'•■  Know,  then — a  waiter  once  at  Brooks's  Club, 
"  A  waiter  still  I  might  have  long  remain'd, 
"  And    long   the    club-room's    jokes    and    glasses 

drain'd  ; 
'  But,  ah,  in  luckless  hour,  this  last  December, 
'  I  wrote  a  book,^  and  Colburn  dubb'd  me  '  Mem- 
ber'— 
' '  Member  of  Brooks's  !' — oh  Promethean  puff, 
'  To  what  wilt  thou  exalt  even  kitchen-stuft'! 
'  With  crumbs  of  gossip,  caught  from  dining  wits, 
•■  And  half-heard  jokes,  bequeath'd,  like  half-chcw'd 

bits, 
'  To  be,  each  night,  the  waiter's  perquisites  ; — 
'  With  such  ingredients,  served  up  oft  before, 
'  But  with  fresh  fudge  and  fiction  garnish'd  o'er, 
'  I  managed,  for  some  weeks,  to  dose  the  town, 
'  Till  fresh  reserves  of  nonsense  ran  me  down  ; 


*  A*o(  the  charming  L.  E.  L.,  and  still  less,  Mrs.  F.  H-, 
whose  poetry  is  among  the  most  beautiful  of  the  present  day. 

c  "  History  of  ihe  Clubs  of  London,"  announced  as  by 
"  a  Member  of  Brooks's." 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


577 


"  And,  ready  still  even  waiters'  souls  to  aamn, 
"  The  Devil  but  rang  his  bell,  and — here  I  am  ; — 
"  Yes — '  Coming  w/).  Sir,'  once  my  favorite  cry, 
"  Exchanged  for  '  Coming  doion.  Sir,'  here  am  I !" 

Scarce  had  tlie  spectre's  lips  tiieso  words  let  drop, 

When,  to,  a  breeze — such  as  from 's  shop 

Blows  in  the  vernal  hour,  when  puff's  prevail. 

And  speeds  the  sheets  and  swells  tiie  lagging  sale — 

Took  the  poor  waiter  rudely  in  the  poop, 

And,  wliirling  him  and  all  his  grisly  group 

Of  literary  ghosts — Miss  X.  Y.  Z. — 

The  nameless  author,  better  known  than  read — 

Sir  Jo. — the  Honorable  Mr.  L — st — r. 

And,  last,  not  least.  Lord  Nobody's  twin-sister — 

Blew  them,  ye  gods,  with  all  their  prose  and  rhymes 

And  sins  about  them,  far  into  those  climes 

"  Where  Peter  pitch'd  his  waistcoat"'  in  old  times, 

Leaving  me  much  in  doubt,  as  on  I  press'd 

With  my  great  master,  through  this  realm  unbless'd. 

Whether  old  Nick  or  C— lb— n  pufTs  the  best. 


LAMENT  FOR  THE  LOSS  OF  LORD 
B— TH— STS  TAIL." 

All  in  again — unlook'd  for  bliss  I 

Yet,  ah,  one  adjunct  still  we  miss  ; — 

One  tender  tie,  attach'd  so  long 

To  tlie  same  head,  through  right  and  wrong. 

Why,  B— th— St,  why  didst  thou  cut  off 

That  memorable  tail  of  thaie  ? 
Why — as  if  one  was  not  enough — 

Thy  pig-tie  with  thy  place  resign. 
And  thus,  at  once,  both  cut  and  run  ? 
Alas,  ray  Lord,  'twas  not  well  done, 
'Twas  not,  indeed — though  sad  at  heart. 
From  ofEco  and  its  sweets  to  part, 
Yet  hopes  of  coming  in  again. 
Sweet  Tory  hopes !  beguiled  our  pain  ; 
But  thus  to  miss  that  tail  of  thine. 
Through  long,  long  yeare  our  rallying  sign — 
As  if  the  Slate  and  all  its  powers 
By  tenancy  in  tail  were  ours — 
To  see  it  thus  by  scissors  fall. 
This  was  "  th'  unkindest  cut  of  all !" 
It  seem'd  as  though  th'  ascendant  day 
Of  Tor}'ism  had  pass'd  away. 


1  A  Dantesque  allusion  to  the  old  sH>ing.  "Nine  miles 
beyond  H — II,  where  Peter  pitched  his  waistcoat.'* 

2  The  noble  Li)rd,  it  is  weU  known,  cut  otT  this  mnch- 
respected  appendage,  on  his  retirement  from  office  some 
months  since. 


And,  proving  Samson's  story  true. 
She  lost  her  vigor  with  her  queue. 

Parties  are  much  like  fish,  'tis  said — 
The  tail  directs  them,  not  the  head  ; 
Then,  how  cotild  any  party  fail. 
That  steer'd  its  course  by  B — th — st's  tail? 
Not  Murat's  plume,  through  Wagram's  fight, 

E'er  shed  such  guiding  glories  from  it, 
As  erst,  in  all  true  Tories'  sight. 

Blazed  from  our  old  Colonial  comet ! 
If  you,  my  Lord,  a  Bashaw  were, 

(As  W — 11 — gt — n  will  bo  anon,) 
Thou  might'st  have  had  a  tail  to  spare  : 

But  no,  alas,  thou  hadst  but  one, 

And  that — like  Troy,  or  Babylon, 

A  tale  of  other  times — is  gone  I 
Yet — weep  yo  not,  ye  Tories  true — 

Fate  has  not  yet  of  all  bereft  us ; 
Though  thus  deprived  of  B — th — st's  queue. 

We've  E — b — h's  curls  still  left  us ; — 
Sweet  curls,  from  which  young  Love,  so  vicious. 
His  shots,  as  from  nine-pounders,  issues ; 
Grand,  glorious  curls,  which,  in  debate. 
Surcharged  with  all  a  nation's  fate. 
His  Lordship  shakes,  as  Homer's  God  did,^ 

And  oft  in  thundering  tnlk  comes  near  him  ; — 
Except  that,  there,  the  .speaker  nodded, 

iVnd,  here,  'tis  only  those  who  hear  him. 
Long,  long,  ye  ringlets,  on  the  soil 

Of  that  fat  cranium  may  ye  flourish. 
With  plenty  of  Macassar  oil. 

Through  many  a  year  your  growth  to  nourish ! 
And,  ah,  should  Time  too  soon  unsheath 

His  barbarous  shears  such  locks  to  sever. 
Still  dear  to  Tories,  oven  in  death. 
Their  last,  loved  relics  we'll  bequeath, 

A  hair-\oom  to  our  sous  forever. 


THE  CHERRIES. 

A  PARABLE.' 

See  those  cherries,  how  they  cover 
Yonder  sunny  garden  wall ; — 

Had  they  not  that  network  over, 
Thieving  birds  would  eat  them  all 


*  "  Shakes  his  ambrosial  curls,  and  gives  the  nod. 

Pope's  Homer. 
4  Written  during  the  late  discussion  on  the  Test  and  Cor- 
poration Acts. 


578 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


So,  to  guard  our  posts  and  pensions, 

Ancieut  sages  wove  a  net, 
Tlirougli  whose  lioles,  of  small  dimensions, 

Ouiy  certain  knaves  can  get 

Sliall  we  then  this  network  widen  ? 

Shall  we  stretch  these  sacred  iioles; 
Through  which,  even  already,  slide  in 

Lots  of  small  dissenting  souls  ? 

"  God  forbid  !"  old  Teshj  crieth  ; 

"  God  forbid  !"  so  eclio  I ; 
Every  ravenous  bird  tliat  flieth 

Then  would  at  our  cherries  fly. 

Ope  but  half  an  inch  or  so. 

And,  behold,  what  bevies  break  in ; — 
Here,  some  cursed  old  Popisli  crow 

Pops  his  long  and  lickerish  beak  in  ; 

Here,  sly  Arians  flock  unnumber'd. 

And  Socinians,  slim  and  spare, 
Who,  %vith  small  belief  encumber'd, 

Slip  in  easy  anywhere  ;— 

Methodists,  of  birds  the  aptest. 
Where  there's  pecking  going  on  ; 

And  tliat  water-fowl,  tlio  Baptist — 
All  would  share  our  fruits  anon ; 

Every  bird,  of  every  city, 

That,  for  years,  with  ceaseless  din, 
Hath  reversed  the  starling's  ditty, 

Singing  out  "  I  can't  get  in." 

"  God  forbid  1"  old  Testy  snivels ; 

"  God  forbid  1"  I  echo  too  ; 
Rather  may  ten  thousand  d-v-ls 

Seize  tlie  whole  voracious  crew  ! 

If  less  costly  fruit  wo'n't  suit  'em. 
Hips  and  haws,  and  such  like  berries, 

Ciu^e  ti.e  connorants!  stone  "em,  shoot  'em. 
Any  thing — to  save  ova  cherries. 


STANZAS  WRITTEN  IN   ANTICIPATION 
OF  DEFEAT.' 

1828. 
Go  seek  for  some  abler  defenders  of  wrong, 

If  we  must  run  the  gauntlet  through  blood  and 
expense ; 

1  During  the  discu'fsion  of  the  Catholic  queslion  In  the 
House  of  Commons  list  session. 

I  This  rhyme  is  ninre  for  the  ear  than  the  eye,  as  the 
carpenier*s  tool  is  spelt  anger. 


Or,  Goths  as  ye  are,  m  your  multitude  strong, 
Be  content  with  success,  and  pretend  not  to  sense. 

If  the  words  of  the  wise  and  the  gen'rous  are  vain. 
If  Truth  by  the  bowstring   must  yield  up  her 
breath, 

Let  Mutes  do  tlie  office — and  spare  her  the  pain 
Or  an  In — gl— s  or  T — nd— 1  to  talk  her  to  death. 

Chain,  persecute,  plunder — do  all  that  you  will  — 
But  save  us,  at  least,  the  old  womauly  lore 

Of  a  F — st — r,  who,  dully  prophetic  of  ill. 

Is,  at   once,  the   two   instruments,  augur'   and 

BORE. 

Bring  legions  of  Squires — if  they'll  only  be  mute — 
And  array  tlieir  thick  heads  against  reason  and 
right. 
Like  tlie  Roman  of  old,  of  historic  repute,' 

Who  with   droves  of  dumb  animals  carried  the 
figlit ; 

Pour  out,  from  each  corner  and  hole  of  the  Court, 
Your  Bedchamber  lordlings,  your  salaried  slaves. 

Who,  ripe  for  all  job-work,  no  matter  what  sort, 
Have   tlieir   consciences  tack'd  to  their  patents 
and  staves. 

Catch  all  tlie  small  fry  who,  as  Juvenal  sings. 
Are    the   Treasury's   creatures,   wherever  they 
swim  ;' 
With  all  the  base,  time-serving  toadies  of  Kings, 
Who,  if  Punch  were  the  monaich,  would  wor- 
ship even  him  ; 

And  while,  on  the  one  side,  each  name  of  renown, 
That  illumines  and  blesses  our  age  is  combined ; 
While  the  Foxes,  the  Pitts,  and  the  Cannings  look 
down. 
And  drop  o'er  the  cause  their  rich  mantles  of 
Mind ; 

Let  bold   Paddy  H — Imes  show  his  troops  on  the 
other. 
And,  counting  of  noses  the  quantum  desired, 
Let  Paddy  but  say,  like  the  Gracchi's  famed  mother, 
"Come  for\vard,  my  jewels" — 'tis  all  that's  re- 
quired. 

And  thus  let  your  farce  bo  enacted  hereafter — 
Thus  honestly  persecute,  outlaw,  and  chain  ; 

But  spare  even  your  victims  the  torture  of  laughter. 
And  never,  oh  never,  try  reasoning  again  ! 

3  F.iblus,  who  sent  droves  of  bullocks  against  the  enemy. 

4  Res  Fisci  est,  ubicumque  natat. — Juvenal. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


579 


ODE  TO  THE  WOODS  AND  FORESTS. 


BV    ONE    OF   THE    BOARD. 


1828. 


Let  other  barjs  to  p'oves  repair, 

Wliere  linnets  strain  their  timefiil  throats, 
Mine  be  the  Woods  and  Forests,  where 

The  Treasury  pours  its  sweeter  notes. 

No  whispering  winds  have  clianns  for  me. 
Nor  zephyrs  bahny  sighs  I  ask ; 

To  raise  tlie  wind  for  Royalty 
Be  all  our  Sylvan  zephyr's  task  ! 

And,  'stead  of  crystal  brooks  and  floods. 

And  all  such  vulgar  irrigation, 
Ijet  Gallic  rhino  tiirough  our  Woods 

Divert  its  "  course  of  liquid-ation." 

Ah,  surely,  Virgil  knew  full  well 

Wiiat  Woods  and  Forests  ought  to  be. 

When,  sly,  he  introduced  in  hell 

His  guinea-plant,  his  bullion-tree :' — 

Nor  see  I  why,  some  future  day, 

When  short  of  casli,  we  should  not  send 

Our  H — rr— s  down — he  knows  the  way — 
To  seo  if  Woods  in  hell  will  lend. 

Long  may  ye  flourish,  sylvan  haunts. 
Beneath  wliose  "  brauches  of  expense" 

Our  gracious  K g  gets  all  he  wants, — 

Except  a  little  taste  and  sense. 

Long,  in  your  golden  shade  reclined. 
Like  hiui  of  f.iir  Armida's  bowers. 

May  W — 11 — n  some  irood-nymph  tiud, 
To  cheer  his  dozenth  lustrum's  hours  ; 

To  rest  from  toil  the  Great  Untaught, 
And  sooth  the  pangs  his  warlike  brain 

Must  s\iffer,  when,  unused  to  thought, 
It  tries  to  think,  and — tries  in  vain. 

Oh  long  may  Woods  and  Forests  be 
Preserved,  in  all  their  teeming  graces. 

To  shelter  Tory  bards,  like  me. 

Who  take  delight  in  Sylvan  places  ." 


1  Called  by  Virgil  botanically,  "species  auri  fVondentis." 

8         Tu  facis,  ut  silvas,  ut  amem  loca 

Ovid. 

>  These  verses  were  suggested  by  the  resnlt  of  the  Clare 


STANZAS  FROM  THE  BANKS  OF 
THE  SHANNON.^ 

18*i. 
"  Take  back  the  virgin  pajie." 

Moore's  Irish  Melodies 

No  longer,  dear  V — sey,  feel  hurt  and  uneasy 
At  hearing  it  said  by  thy  Treasury  brother. 

That  tiiou  art  a  sheet  of  blank  paper,  my  V — sey. 
And  he,  the  dear  innocent  placeman,  another.^ 

For,  lo,  what  a  service  we,  Irish,  have  done  thee ; — 
Thou  now  art  a  sheet  of  blank  paper  no  more  ; 

By  St.  Patrick,  we've  scrawl'd  such  a  lesson  upon 
thee 
As  never  was  scrawl'd  upon  foolscap  before. 

Come — on  with  your  spectacles,  ,  oble  Lord  Duke, 
(Or   O'Connell  ha6  green  ones  he  haply  would 
lend  you,) 
Read  V — sey  all  o'er  (as  you  can't  read  a  book) 
And  improve  by  the  lesson  we,  bog-trotters,  send 
you ; 

A  l('S.son,  in  large  Roman  characters  traced, 

Whose    awful    impressions  from    you    and    your 
kin 

Of  blank -sheeted  statesmen  will  ne'er  be  efTaced — 
Unless,  'stead  ot  paper,  you're  mere  asses'  skin. 

Shall  I  help  you  to  construe  it?  ay,  by  the  Gods, 
Could  I  risk  a  translation,  you  should  have  a  rare 
one  ; 
But  pen  against  sabre  is  desperate  odds. 

And  you,  my  Lord  Duke,  (as  you  hinted  once,) 
wear  one. 

Again  and  again  I  say,  read  V — sey  o'er  ; — 

You  will  find   him   worth  all  the  old  scrolls  of 
papyrus. 
That  Egjpt  e'er  fiU'd  with  nonsensical  lore. 

Or  tlie    learned   Champollion   e'er   wrote    of,  to 
tiro  us. 

All  blank  as  he  was,  we've  return'd  him  on  hand, 
Scribbled    o'er   frith  a  warning    to  Princes    and 
Dukes, 
Whose  plain,  simple  drift  if  they  wo'n't  understand. 
Though   caress'd  at  St.  James's,  they're    fit   for 
St.  Luke's. 


election,  in  the  year  1828,  when  the  Right  Honorable  W. 
Vesey  Fitzgerald  was  rejected,  and  Mr.  O'Connell  returned. 
4  Some  expressions  of  this  purport,  in  a  published  letter 
of  one  of  these  gentlemen,  had  then  produced  a  good  deal 
of  amusement. 


580 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


Talk  of  leaves  of  the  Sibyls  ! — more  cleaning  con- 
vey'd  is 

In  one  single  leaf  such  as  now  wo  have  spell'don, 
Than  e'er  hath  been  utterM  by  all  the  old  ladies 

That  ever  yet  spoke,  from  tlie  Sibyls  to  Eld — ii. 


I 


THE  ANNUAL  PILL. 

Supposed  to  be  sung  by  Old  Prosy,  the  Jew,  in  the 
character  of  Major  C — rtw — out. 

ViLL  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  Pill, 

Dat's  to  purify  every  ting  nashty  avay ' 
Pless  ma  lieart,  pless  ma  heart,  let  me  say  vat  I  vill, 

Not  a  Chrishtian  or  Shentleman  minds  vat  I  say ! 
'Tis  so  pretty  a  bolus ! — just  do*n  let  it  go, 

And,  at  vonce,  such  a  radical  shange  you  vill  see, 
Dat  I'd  not  be  surprisli'd,  like  de  horse  in  de  show, 

If  your  heads   all  vero   foimd,  vere  your  tailsh 
ought  to  be  I 
Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Anntial  Pill,  &c. 

"Twill  cure  all  Electors,  and  purge  away  clear 

Dat  mighty  bad  itching  dey've  got  in  deir  hands — 
'Twill  cure,  too,  all  Statesmen,  of  dulness,  ma  tear, 
Though  the  case  vas  as  desperate  as  poor  Mister 
"Van's. 
Dere  is  nothing  at  all  vat  dis  Pill  vill  uot  reach — 
Give  the  Sinecure  Shentleman  von  little  grain, 
riess  ma  heart,  it  vill  act,  like  de  salt  on  de  leech, 
.\nd  he'll  throw  de  pounds,  Bhilliugs,  and  pence, 
up  again ! 
Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  Pill,  &c. 

'Twould  be  tedious,  ma  tear,  all  its  peaaties  to  paint — 

But,  among  oder  t'm^  fundamentally  wrong. 
It  vill  cure  de  Proad  Pottom' — a  common  complaint 

Among   M.  F.'s   and  weavers — from  sitting  too 
long. 
Should  symptoms  of  speeching  preak  out  on  a  dunce, 

(Vat  is  often  de  case,)  it  vill  stop  de  disease. 
And  pring  avay  all  de  long  speeches  at  vonce, 

Dat  else  vould,  like  tape- worms,"  come  by  degrees  1 

Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  Pill, 
Dat's  to  purify  every  ting  uashty  avay  ? 

Pless  ma  heart,  pless  ma  heart,  let  me  say  vat  I  vill, 
Not  a  Chrishtian  or  Shentleman  minds  vat  I  say  I 


»  Meaning,  I  presume,  CoaHtion  Administration!*. 
3  Written,  after  hearing  a  celebrated  speech  in  the  House 
of  Lords,  Jane  10, 1828,  when  the  motion  in  favor  of  Catholic 


«  IF"  AND  "  PERHAPS.'" 

Oh  tidings  of  freedom !  oh  accents  of  hope ! 

Waft,  waft  them,  ye  zephyrs,  to  Erin's  blue  sea, 
And  refresh  with  their  sounds  ever}'  son  of  the  Pope, 

From  Dingle-a-cooch  to  far  Douaghadee. 

"  //  mutely  the  slave  will  endure  and  obey, 

"  Nor  clanking  his  fetters,  nor  breathing  his  pains, 

"  His  masters,  perhaps,  at  some  far  distant  day,  , 

"  May    think    (tender  tyrants !)  of  loosening  hLs 
chains"' 

Wise   "if"   and    "perluipsl" — precious    salve    for 
our  womids. 
If  he,  who  would  nUe  thus  o'er  manacled  mutes, 
Could  check  the  free  spring-tido  of  Mind,  that  re- 
sounds, 
Even  now,  at  his  feet,  like  the  sea  at  Canute's. 

But,  no,  'tis  in  vain — the  grand  impulse  is  give;  — 
Man  knows  his  high  Charter,  and  knowing  will 
claim; 
And  if  ruin  must  follow  where  fetters  are  riven. 
Bo  theirs,  who  have  forged  them,  tl>e  guilt  and 
the  shame. 

"  //  the  slave   will   be   silent  I — va'm    Soldier,  be- 
ware— 
There  is  a  dead  silence  tlie  wrong'd  may  assume. 
When  the  feeling,  sent  back  from  the  lips  in  despair. 
But    clings    round    the   heart    with   a   deadlier 
gloom  ; — 

When  the  blush,  that  long  burn'd  on  the  suppliant's 
cheek. 
Gives  place  to  tli'  avenger's  pale,  resolute  hue  ; 
And  the  tongue,  that  once  threateu'd,  disdaining  to 
spcaJ:, 
Consigns  to  the  ami  the  high  office — to  do. 

//men,  in  that  silence,  should  think  of  the  hour, 
When  proudly  their  fathers  in  panoply  stood, 

Presenting,  alike,  a  bold  front-work  of  power 

To   the    despot   on   land    and   the   foe   on   the 
flood: 

That  hour,  when  a  Voice  had  come  forth  from  the 
west, 
To    the    slave    bringing  liopes,    to    the    tyrant 
alarms; 


Emancipation,  brought  forward  by  the  Marquis  of  Iaxa- 
downe,  was  rejected  by  the  House  of  Lords. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


681 


Aiid  a  lesson,  long  look'd  for,  was  taught  the  op- 
press'd, 
TImt  kuigs  are  as  dust  before  freemen  in  arms  I 

I    I    If,  awfullor  still,  the  mute  slave  should  recall 
j        That    dream  of   his    boyhood,  wiien    Freedom's 
sweet  day 
At  length  seem'd  to  break  through  a  long  night  of 
thrall. 
And  Union  and  Hope  went  abroad  in  its  ray ; — 

If  Fancy  should  toll  him,  that  Day-spring  of  Good, 
Though    swiftly   its   light   died   away   from   liis 
chain. 

Though  darkly  it  set  in  a  nation's  best  blood, 
Now  wants  but  invoking  to  shine  out  agam ; — 

// — if,  I  say — breathings  like  these  should  come 
o'er 
The  chords  of  remembrance,  and  thrill,  as  they 
come, 
Then,  perhaps — ay,  perhaps — but  I  dare  not  say 
more  ; 
Thou  hast  will'd  that  thy  slaves  should  be  mute — 
I  am  dumb. 


WRITE  ON,  WRITE  ON. 

A    BALLAD. 

Air. — "  S/ecp  ojl,  steep  an,  my  KatlUcen  dear 
Salvete,  fratres  Asini.  St.  Francis 

Write  on,  write  on,  ye  Barons  dear, 

Ye  Dukes,  write  hard  and  fast ; 
The  good  we've  sought  for  many  a  year 

Your  ruills  will  bring  at  last. 
One  letter  nore,  N — wc — stle,  pen 

To  match  Lord  K — ny — n's  two. 
And  more  than  Ireland's  host  of  men, 

One  brace  of  Peers  will  do. 

Write  or",  write  on,  &c 

Sure,  never,  since  the  precious  use 

Of  pen  and  ink  began. 
Did  letters,  writ  by  fools,  produce 

Such  signal  good  to  man. 
While  intellect,  'mong  high  and  low, 

Is  marching  on,  they  say. 


1  A  reverend  prebentl.iry  of  Hereford,  in  an  Essay  on  tho 
Avenues  of  the  Church  of  Enpland,  h^s  assigned  the  origin 
of  Tithes  to  "some  anrecorded  revelation  made  to  Adam." 


Give  me  the  Dukes  and  Lords,  who  go. 

Like  crabs,  tho  other  way. 

Write  on,  write  on,  &o. 

Even  now  I  feel  the  coming  light — 

Even  now,  could  Folly  lure 
My  Lord  M — ntc — sh — 1,  too,  to  write. 

Emancipation's  sure. 
By  geese  (we  read  in  history) 

Old  Rome  was  saved  from  ill ; 
And  now,  to  qxtills  of  ^eese,  we  see 

Old  Rome  indebted  still. 

Write  on,  write  on,  &c 

Write,  write,  y  Peers,  ift  itoop  to  style. 

Nor  beat  for  se.iso  .ibout — 
Tilings,  little  wortli  a  Noble's  while. 

You're  better  far  without. 
Oh  ne'er,  since  asse:;  spoke  of  yore,        , 

Such  miracles  weie  done  ; 
For,  write  but  foiu-  such  letters  more, 

Aud  Freedom's  cause  is  won  ! 


SONG  OF  THE  DEPARTING  SPIRIT  OF 
TITHE. 

"  The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent." — Milton. 

It  is  o'er,  it  is  o'er,  my  reign  is  o'er  ; 

I  hear  a  Voice,  from  shore  to  shore. 

From  Dunfauagliy  to  Baltimore, 

And  it  saith,  in  sad,  parsonic  tone, 

"  Great  Tithe  and  Small  are  dead  and  gone  I" 

Even  now,  I  behold  your  vanishing  wings. 

Ye  Tenths  of  all  conceivable  things. 

Which  Adam  first,  as  Doctors  deem, 

Saw,  in  a  sort  of  night-mare  dream,* 

After  the  feast  of  fruit  abhorr'd — 

First  indigestion  on  record  ! — 

Ye  decimate  ducks,  ye  chosen  chiclis, 

Ye  pigs  which,  though  ye  be  Catholics, 

Or  of  Calvin's  most  select  depraved, 

In  the  Church  must  have  your  bacon  saved  ; — 

Ye  fields,  where  Labor  counts  his  shnaves. 

And,  whatsoe'er  himself  believes. 

Must  bow  to  th'  Establish'd  Church  belief, 

That  the  tenth  is  always  a  Protestant  sheaf; — 

Ye  calves,  of  which  the  man  of  Heaven 

Takes  Irish  tithe,  one  calf  in  seven  f 


3  "  The  tenth  calf  is  due  to  the  parson  of  common  ri-iht ; 
and  if  there  are  seven  he  shall  have  one." — Rees's  Cycla- 
padia,  art.  "  Tithes" 


582                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Ye  tenths  of  rape,  hemp,  barley,  flax, 

(Books  fit  only  to  hoard  dust  in,) 

Eggs,'  timber,  milk,  fish,  and  bees'  wax ; 

His  reverence  stints  his  evening  readings 

All  things,  m  short,  since  earth's  creation, 

To  learn'd  Reports  of  Tithe  Proceedings, 

Doom'd,  by  the  Church's  dispensation, 

Sipping,  the  while,  that  port  so  ruddy. 

To  Eiifler  eternal  decimation — 

Which  forms  his  only  ancient  study  ; — 

Leaving  the  whole  /ay-world,  since  then, 

Port  so  old,  you'd  swear  its  tartar 

Reduced  to  nine  parts  out  of  ten  ; 

Was  of  the  age  of  Justin  Martyr, 

Or — as  we  calculate  thefts  and  arsons — 

And,  had  he  sipp'd  of  such,  no  doubt 

Just  ten  per  cent,  the  worse  for  Parsons  ! 

His  martyrdom  would  have  been — to  gout. 

Alas,  and  is  all  this  wise  device 

Is  all  then  lost  ? — alas,  too  true — 

For  the  saving  of  souls  thus  gone  in  a  trice  ? — 

Yo  Tenths  beloved,  adieu,  adieu  ! 

The  whole  put  down,  in  the  simplest  way. 

My  reign  is  o'er,  my  reign  is  o'er — 

By  the  souls  resolving  not  to  pay  ! 

Like  old  Thumb's  ghost,  **  I  can  no  more." 

And  even  the  Papists,  thankless  race. 

Who  have  had  so  much  the  easiest  case — 
To  pay  fur  our  sermons  doom'd,  'tis  true. 

But  not  condemn'd  to  hear  them,  too — 

(Our  ^)oly  business  being,  'tis  known. 

THE  EUTHANASIA  OF  VAN. 

With  the  ears  of  their  barley,  not  their  own,) 

Even  they  object  to  let  us  pillage. 

"  We  are  tnhl  that  the  bigots  are  growing  old  and  fast 

wearing  out.    If  it  be  so.  why  nut  let  us  die  in  peace  V — 

By  right  divine,  their  tenth  of  tillage. 

Lord  BE.\L!iY's  Letter  to  the  Frcdtotdcrs  of  Kent. 

And,  horror  of  horrors,  even  decline 

To  Ihid  us  in  sacramental  wine  !' 

Stop,  Intellect,  in  mercy  stop. 

Ye  cursed  improvements,  cease  ; 

It  is  o'er,  it  is  o'er,  my  reign  is  o'er. 

And  let  poor  Nick  V — ns — tt — t  drop 

Ah,  never  shall  rosy  Rector  more. 

Into  his  grave  in  peace. 

Like  the  shepherds  of  Israel,  idly  eat. 

And  make  of  his  flock  "  a  prey  and  meat.'" 

Hide,  Knowledge,  hide  thy  rising  sun. 

No  more  shall  be  his  the  pastoral  sport 

Young  Freedom,  veil  thy  head  ; 

Of  suing  his  flock  in  the  Bishop's  Court, 

Let  nothing  good  be  thought  or  done. 

Through  various  steps.  Citation,  Libel— 

Till  Nick  V— ns— tt— t's  dead  ! 

Scriptures  all,  but  not  the  Bible  ; 

Working  the  Law's  whole  apparatus. 

Take  pity  on  a  dotard's  fears, 

To  get  at  a  few  pre-doom'd  potatoes, 

Who  much  doth  light  detest ; 

And  summoning  all  tlie  powers  of  wig, 

And  let  his  last  few  drivelling  years 

To  settle  the  fraction  of  a  pig  ! — 

Bo  dark  as  were  the  rest. 

Till,  parson  and  all  committed  deep 

In  the  case  of  "  Shepherds  versus  Sheep," 

You,  too,  ye  fleeting  one-pound  notes, 

The  Law  usurps  the  Gospel's  place. 

Speed  not  so  fast  away — . 

And,  on  Sundays,  meeting  face  to  face, 

Ye  rags,  on  which  old  Nicky  gloats, 

While  Plaintiff"  fills  the  preacher's  station, 

A  few  months  longer  stay.' 

Defendants  fonn  the  congregation. 

Together  soon,  or  much  I  err, 

So  lives  he,  Mammon's  jiriest,  not  Heaven's, 

You  both  from  life  may  go — 

For  teiil/is  thus  all  at  sixes  and  sevens, 

The  notes  unto  the  scavenger. 

Seeking  what  parsons  love  no  less 

And  Nick — to  Nick  below. 

Than  tragic  poets — a  good  distress. 

Instead  of  studying  St.  Augustin, 

Ye  Liberals,  whate'er  your  plan. 

Gregory  Nyss.,  or  old  St.  Justin, 

Be  all  reforms  suspended  ; 

I  Chaucer's  Plowman  comiilains  of  the  parish  rectors,  that 

of  Church  rates  levied  upon  Catholics  in  Ireland,  was  a 

"  For  the  tithing  of  a  duck, 

charge  of  two  pipes  of  port  for  sacramental  wine. 

Or  an  apple  or  an  aye.  (egp,) 

3  Ezekiel,  x.vxiv.  10.— ■•  Neither  shall   the  shepherds  feed 

Tliey  nialie  him  swear  upon  a  boito ; 

themselves  any  more ;  for  I  will  deliver  my  flock  from  their 

Thus  they  foulcn  Clirist's  fay." 

mouth,  that  they  may  not  bo  uteat  for  them." 

•  Among  tlie  specimens  laid  before  Parliament  of  the  sort 

*  Peritarce  parcere  charla;. 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS.                          583 

In  compliment  to  dear  old  Van, 

So,  take  my  advice,  try  your  hand  at  live  eels, 

Let  nothing  bad  be  mended. 

And,  for  once,  lot  the  other  poor  devils  alone. 

Ye  Papists,  wliom  oppression  wrings, 

I  have  even  a  still  better  receipt  for  your  cook — 

Your  cry  politely  cease. 

How  to  make  a  goose  die  of  confirm'd  hepatitis ;' 

And  fret  your  liearls  to  fiddle-strings 

And,  if  you'll,  for  once,/cZZo«)-fcelings  o'erlook. 

That  Van  may  die  in  peace. 

A  well-tortured  goose  a  most  capital  sight  is. 

So  shall  he  win  a  fame  sublime 

First,  catch  him,  alive — make  a  good  steady  fire — 

By  few  old  rag-men  gain'd  ; 

Set  your  victim  before  it,  both  legs  being  tied, 

Since  all  shall  own,  in  Nicky's  time, 

(As,  if  left  to  himself,  he  inight  wish  to  retire,) 

Nor  sense,  nor  justice  reigu'd. 

And  place  a  large  bowl  of  rich  cream  by  his  side. 

So  shall  his  name  through  ages  past, 

There  roasting  by  inches,  dry,  fever'd,  and  faint, 

And  dolts  ungolten  yet. 

Having  drunk  a.,    he  sream,  vou  so  civilly  laid, 

Date  from  "  the  days  of  Nicholas," 

oft; 

With  fond  and  sad  regret ; — 

He  dies  of  as  charming  a  liver  complaint 

As  ever  sleek  parson  could  wish  a  pie  made  of. 

And  sighing,  say,  "  Alas,  had  he 

"  Been  spared  from  Pluto's  bowers, 

Besides,  only  think,  my  dear  one  of  Sixteen, 

"  The  blessed  reign  of  Bigotry 

What  an  emblem  this  bird,  for  the  epicure's  ii« 

"  And  Rags  might  still  be  ours  I" 

meant, 

Presents  of  the  mode  in  which  Ireland  has  been 

Made   a   tit-bit   for   yours   and  your   brethren's 

amiispmeiit  • 

Tied  down  to  the  stake,  wliile  her  limbs,  as  they 

TO  TITR  T?RVF.T?FNn 

quiver, 

A  slow  fire  of  tyranny  wastes  by  degrees — 

ONE    OF    THE    SIXTEEN    REftUTSITlONISTS    OK    NOTTING- 

No wonder  disease  should  have  swell'd  up  her  liver, 

HAM. 

1828. 

No  wonder  you,  Goiu-raands,  should  love  her  dis- 

What, you,  too,  my  ****«*,  in  hashes  so  know- 

ease. 

ing. 
Of  sauces  and  soups  Aristarcliua  profess'd  ! 
.\re  you,  too,  my  savory  Brunswicker,  goiug 

To  make  an  old  fool  of  yourself  with  the  rest  ? 

Far  better  to  stick  to  your  kitchen  receipts  ; 

IRISH  ANTIQUITIES. 

And — if  you  want  something  to  tease — for  va- 

riety. 

According  to  some  learn'd  opinions 

Go  study  how  Ude,  in  his  "  Cookery,"  treats 

The  Irish  once  were  Carthaginians  ; 

Live  eels,  when  he  fits  them  for  polish'd  society. 

But,  trusting  to  more  late  descriptions, 

I'd  rather  say  they  were  Egyptians. 

Just  snuggling  them  in,  'twixt  the  bars  of  the  fire. 

My  reason's  this  : — the  Priests  of  Isis, 

He  leaves  them  to  wriggle  and  writhe  on  the 

When  forth  they  march'd  in  long  array. 

coals,' 

Employ'd,  'mong  otlier  grave  devices, 

In  a  manner  that  II — m — r  himself  would  admire. 

A  Sacred  Ass  to  lead  the  way  ;' 

And  wisli,  'stead  of  eels,  they  were  Catliolic  souls. 

And  still  the  antiquarian  traces 

'Mong  Irish  Lords  this  Pagan  plan, 

Ude  tells  us,  the  fish  little  suiFering  feels  ; 

For  still,  in  all  religious  cases, 

While  Papists,  of  late,  have  more  sensitive  grown  ; 

They  put  Lord  R — d— n  hi  the  van. 

1  The  only  way,  Monsieur  tJde  assures  us,  to  get  rid  of 

3  To  this  practice  the  ancient  adage  alludes,  **  Asinus  por- 

the  oil  so  olijeclionable  in  this  fi?h. 

tans  mysteria." 

3  A  liver  complaint.    The  process  by  which  the  livers  of 

geese  are  enlarged  for  (he  famous  Fates  defaie  d'oie. 

li* 


584 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


A  CURIOUS   FACT. 

The  present  Lord  K — ny — n  (tiie  Peer  wlio  writes 

letters, 
For  which   the  waste-paper   foJlcs   raucii    uro   his 

debtors) 
Hath  one  little  oddity,  well  worth  reciting, 
Wliich  puzzleth  observers,  even  more  than  his  wri- 
ting 
Whenever  Lord  K — ny — n  doth  chance  to  behold 
A  cold  Apple-pie — mind,  the  pie  7nust  bo  cold — 
His  Lordship  looks  solemn,  (few  people  know  why,) 
And  he  makes  a  low  bow  to  the  said  apple-pie. 
This  idolatrous  act,  in  so  "  vita!"  a  Peer, 
Is,    by    most    serious    Protestants,    thought   rather 

queer — 
Pie-worship,  they  hold,  coming  under  the  head 
(Vide  Cntstiujn,  chap,  iv.)  of  the  Worship  of  Bread. 
Some  think  'tis  a  tribute,  as  author,  ho  owes 
For    the    service    that    pie-crust   hath  done  to  his 

prose  ; — 
The  only  good  things  in  his  pages,  they  swear. 
Being  those  that  the  pastry-cook  sometimes  puts 

there. 
Others  say,  'tis  a  homage,  through   pie-crust  con- 

vey'd, 
To  our  Glorious  Deliverer's  much-honor'd  shade  ; 
As  that  Protestant  Hero  (or  Saint,  if  you  please) 
Was  as  fond  of  cold  pio  as  he  was  of  green  peas,* 
And  'tis  solely  in  loyal  remembrance  of  that, 
My  Lord  K — ny — a  to  apple-pie  takes  off  his  hat. 
While  others  account  for  this  kiud  salutation 
By  what  Tony  Lumpkin  calls  "concatenation  ;" — 
A  certain  good-will  that,  from  sympathy's  ties, 
'Twixt  old  Apple-women  and  Orange-men  lies. 

But  'tis  needless  to  add,  these  are   all  vague  sur- 
mises, 
For  thus,  we're  assured,  the  whole  matter  arises : 
Lord  K — ny — n's  respected  old  father  (like  many 
Respected  old  fathers)  was  fond  of  a  penny  ; 
And  loved  so  to  savo,^  that — there's  not  the  least 

question — • 
His  death  was  brought  on  by  a  bad  indigestion, 
From  cold  apple-pie-crust  his  Lordship  would  stuff 

in, 
At  breakfast,  to  save  the  expense  of  hot  muffin. 
Hence  it  is,  and  hence  only,  that  cold  applc-pies 
Are  beheld  by  his  Heir  with  such  reverent  eyes — 


1  See  the  anecdote,  which  the  Duchess  of  Martlmrough 
relates  in  her  Memoirs  of  this  polite  hero  appropriatinc  to 
himself,  one  day,  at  dinner,  a  whole  dish  of  green  peas— the 
first  of  the  season — while  the  poor  Princess  Anne,  who  w;is 
then  in  a  longing  condition,  sat  by,  vainly  entreatiii",  with 
her  eyei,  for  a  share. 


Just  as  lionest  King  Stephen  his  beaver  might  doff 
To  the  fishes  that  carried  his  kind  uncle  off — 
And  whWe  filial  piety  urges  so  many  on, 
'Tis  pure  apple-ip\e-ety  moves  my  Lord  K — ny— n. 


NEW-FASHIONED  ECHOES. 

Sir, 

Most  of  your  readers  are,  no  doubt,  acqnainted  with  the 
anecdote  told  ofa  certain,  not  over-wise,  jndge,  who,  when 
in  the  aclof  delivering  a  charge  in  some  country  cnurt-house, 
was  Interrupted  by  the  braying  of  an  ass  at  the  door.  "What 
noise  is  that?'*  asked  the  angry  judge.  "Only  an  estrnor- 
dinarj'  echo  there  is  in  court,  my  Lord,"  answered  one  of  the 
counsel. 

As  there  ore  a  number  of  such  "extraordinary  echoes" 
abroad  just  now,  you  Will  not,  perhaps,  be  unwilling,  Mr. 
Editor,  to  receive  the  following  few  lines  snggested  by  them. 

Yours,  &.C. 

S. 

Hue  coeamus,3  ait;  iiutUque  libentius  unqnani 
Responsura  sono,  Coeamus,  retnlil  echo- 

Ovid. 

There  are  echoes,  we  know,  of  all  sorts. 
From  the  echo,  that  "  dies  in  the  dale," 

To  the  "  airy-toiigued  babbler,"  that  sports 
Up  the  tide  of  the  torrent  her  "  tale." 

There  are  echoes  that  bore  us,  like  Blues, 
With  the  latest  smart  mot  they  have  heard  ; 

There  are  eclioes,  extremely  like  shrews. 
Letting  nobody  have  the  last  word. 

In  the  bogs  of  old  Paddy-land,  too, 

Certain  "  talented"  echoes*  there  dwell, 
Who,  on  being  ask'd,  *'  How  do  you  do  V* 
Folitdy  reply,  "  Pretty  well." 

But  why  should  I  talk  any  more 

Of  such  old-fasliion'd  echoes  as  these, 

W^lien  Britain  has  new  ones  in  store. 
That  transcend  them  by  many  degrees? 

For,  of  all  repercussions  of  sound, 

Concerning  which  bards  make  a  pother, 

There's  none  like  that  happy  rebound 
When  one  blockhead  echoes  another  : — 


a  The  same  prudent  propensity  characterizes  his  descend- 
ant, who  (as  is  well  known)  wmild  not  even  goto  the  expense 
of  a  diphthong  on  his  father's  monument,  but  had  the  in- 
scription spelled,  economically,  thus: — "  JHors janua  vUa." 

s  "  Let  us  form  Clubs." 

*  Commonly  called  "Paddy  Dlake*s  Echoes." 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


585 


Wliou  K — ny — n  commeuces  the  bray, 
And  the  Borougli-Duke  follows  his  track  ; 

And  loiully  from  Dublin's  sweet  bay, 

R — thd — no  brays,  with  interest,  back ; — 

And  while,  ol  most  echoes  the  sound 

On  our  ear  by  rellection  doth  fall, 
These  Brunswickers'  pass  the  bray  round. 

Without  any  reflection  at  all. 

Oh  Scott,  were  I  gifted  like  y.^i, 

Who  can  name  all  the  echoes  there  are 

From  Bonvoirlich  to  bold  Ben-venue, 
From  Benledi  to  Wild  Uamvar  ; 

I  might  track,  through  each  hard  Irish  name, 

The  rebounds  of  this  asinine  strain, 
Till  from  Neddy  to  Neddy,  it  came 

To  the  chief  Neddy,  K— ny— n,  again  ; 

Might  tell  how  it  roar'd  in  R — thd — ne, 
How  from  D— ws— n  it  died  off  genteelly — 

How  hollow  it  rung  from  the  crown 
Of  the  fat-pated  Marquis  of  E— y  ; 

How,  on  lieariug  ray  Lord  of  G e. 

Thistle-eaters,  the  stoutest,  gave  way, 

Outdone,  in  tlieir  own  special  line, 
By  the  forty-ass  power  of  his  bray  I 

But,  no — for  so  Immhle  a  bard 

'Tis  a  subject  too  tiying  to  touch  on  ; 

Such  noblemen's  names  are  too  hard. 

And  their  noddles  too  soft  to  dwell  much  on. 

Oh  Echo,  sweet  nymph  of  the  hill, 

Of  the  dell,  and  the  deep-sounding  shelves; 

If,  in  spite  of  Narcissus,  you  still 

Take  to  fools  who  are  charm'd  with  themselves. 

Who  knows  but,  some  morning  retiring. 
To  walk  by  the  Trent's  wooded  side. 

You  may  meet  with  N — wc— stle,  admiring 
His  own  lengthen'd  ears  in  the  tide ! 

Or,  on  into  Cambria  straying. 

Find  K — ny — n,  that  double-tongued  elf, 
In  his  love  of  ass-cendency,  braying 

A  Brunswick  duet  with  himself ! 

1  Anti-Catholic  associations,  under  the  title  of  Brunswick 
Clobs,  were  at  this  time  becoming  numerous  both  in  Eng 
land  and  Ireland. 

a  Alludins  to  a  well-known  IjTic  composition  of  the  late 
Marquis,  which,  with  a  slight  alteration,  might  be  addressed 
either  to  a  flea  or  a  fly.    For  instance  :— 


INCANTATION. 

FROM  THE  NEW  TRAGtCDY  OF  "  THE  BRUNS\^^C  KBRS." 

1828. 

SCENE.— Pr;jfn(/cji  Plain.     In  the  middle,  a  ealdren  boiUjiff. 
Thunder. — Enter  Three  Brunswichcrs. 

1st  Bruns. — Thrice  hath  scribbling  K — ny — n 
scrawl'd, 

2d  Bruns. — Once  hath  fool  N — wc — stle  bawl'd, 

3d  Bruns.  —  B — xl — y   snores:  —  'tis    time,    'tis 
time, 

1st  Bruns. — Round  about  the  caldron  go  ; 
In  the  poisonous  nonsense  throw. 
Bigot  spite,  that  long  hath  grown, 
Like  a  toad  within  a  stone. 
Sweltering  in  the  heart  of  Sc — tt, 
Boil  we  in  tlio  Brunswick  pot. 

All. — Dribble,  dribble,  nonsense  d:  oble, 
Eld — n,  talk,  and  K— ny — n,  scribble. 

2d  i?r««s.— Slaver  from  N — we — stie's  quill 
In  the  noisome  mess  distil. 
Brimming  high  our  Brunswick  broth 
Both  with  venom  and  with  froth. 
Mi.v  the  brains  (though  apt  to  hash  ill, 
Being  scant)  of  Lord  M — ntc— shel, 
With  that  malty  stuff  which  Ch — nd — s 
Drivels  as  no  other  man  does. 
Catch  (/.  e.  if  catch  you  can) 
One  idea,  spick  and  span. 
From  my  Lord  of  S. — 1 — sb — y, — 
One  idea,  though  it  be 
Smaller  than  the  "  happy  flea," 
Which  his  sire,  in  soimet  terse. 
Wedded  to  immortal  verse." 
Though  to  rob  the  son  is  sin. 
Put  his  one  idea  in  ; 
And,  to  keep  it  company. 
Let  that  conjuror  W — nch — Is — a 
Drop  but  half  another  there. 
If  ho  hath  so  much  to  spare. 
Dreams  of  murders  and  of  arsons, 
Hatch'd  in  heads  of  Irish  parsons, 
Bring  from  ever}-  hole  and  corner. 
Where  ferocious  priests,  like  H — rn — r, 
Purely  for  religious  good. 
Cry  aloud  for  Papist's  blood, 
Blood  for  W — lis,  and  such  old  women, 
At  their  ease  to  wade  and  swim  in. 


"  Oh,  happy,  happy,  happy  fly, 
If  I  were  you,  or  you  were  I." 

"Oh.  happy,  happy,  happy  flea. 
If  I  were  you,  or  you  were  me; 
But  since,  alas  !  that  cannot  be, 
I  must  remain  Lord  S y." 


586 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


All. — Dribble,  dribble,  nonsense  dribble, 
B — xl — y,  talk,  and  K — ny — n,  scribble. 

3d  Bnmi. — Now  tlia  cliarm  begins  to  brew  ; 
Sisters,  sisters,  add  tliereto 
Scraps  of  L — tlibr — dge's  old  speeches, 
Mix'd  witli  leather  from  his  breeches. 
Rinsings  of  old  B — xl — y's  brains, 
Thicken'd  (if  you'll  take  the  pains) 
With  that  pulp  which  rags  create. 
In  their  middle,  mjmpha  state. 
Ere,  like  insects  frail  and  sunny, 
Forth  they  wing  abroad  as  money. 
There — the  Hell-broth  we've  enchanted— 
Now  but  one  thing  more  is  wauled. 
Squeeze  o'er  all  that  Orange  juice, 

C keeps  cork'd  for  use, 

Which,  to  work  the  better  spell,  is 

Color'd  deep  with  blood  of , 

Blood,  of  powere  far  more  various. 
Even  than  that  of  Januarius, 
Since  so  great  a  charm  hangs  o'er  it, 
England's  parsons  bow  before  it ! 

All. — Dribble,  dribble,  nonsense  dribble, 
B — xl — y,  talk,  and  K — uy — n,  scribble. 

2fi  Brims. — Cool  it  now  with 's  blood. 

So  the  charm  is  firm  and  good.  [Exeunt. 


now  TO  MAKE  A  GOOD  POLITICIAN. 

Wuene'er    you're  in  doubt,  said  a  Sage   I  once 

knew, 
'Twixt  two  lines  of  conduct  which  course  to  pursue, 
Ask  a  woman's  advice,  and,  whate'er  she  advise. 
Do  the  very  reverse,  and  you're  sure  to  be  wise. 

Of  the  same  use   as  guides,  are  the   Brunswicker 

throng ; 
In  their  thought,^   words,  and  deeds,  so  instinctively 

wrong. 
That,  whatever  they  counsel,  act,  talk,  or  indite, 
Take   the  opposite   course,   aud  you're   sure  to  be 

right. 

So  golden  this  rule,  that,  had  nature  denied  you 
The  use  of  that  finger-post,  IJeason,  to  guide  you — 
Were  you  even  more  doltish  than  any  given  man  is. 
More  soft  than  N — wc — stle,  more  twaddling  than 

Van  is, 
I'd  stake  my  repute,  on  the  following  conditions. 
To  make  you  the  soundest  of  sound  politiciaus. 

Place  yourself  near  the  skirts  of  some  high-flying 

Tory- 
Some  Brunswicker  parson,  of  port-drinking  glory, — 


Watch  well  how  he  dines,  during  any  great  Ques- 
tion— 
What  makes  him  feed  gayly^  what  spoils  his  diges- 
tion— 
Aud  always  feel  sure  that  his  joy  o'er  a  stew 
Portends  a  clear  case  of  dyspepsia  to  yoti. 
Read  him  backwards,  like  Hebrew — whatever  he 

wishes. 
Or  praises,  note  down  as  absurd,  or  pernicious. 
Like  the  folks  of  a  weather-house,  shifting  about, 
When  he's  out,  be  an  In — when  he's  in,  be  an  Out. 
Keep  him  always  reversed  in  your  thoughts,  night 

and  day, 
Like  an  Irish  barometer  turji'd  the  vvrong  way : — 
If  he's  vp,  you  may  swv.(ir  that  foul  weather  is 

nigh ; 
If  he's  down,  you  may  look  for  a  bit  of  blue  sky. 
Never  mind  what  debaters  or  journalists  say, 
Only  ask  what  he  thinks,  aud  then  th'iuk  t'other 

way. 
Does  he  hate  the  Small-note  Bill  ?  then  firmly  rely 
The  Small-note  Bill's  a  blessing,  though  you  don't 

know  why. 
Is  Brougham  his  aversion  ?  then  Harry's  your  man. 
Does  he  quake  at  O'Connell  ?  talie  doubly  to  Dan. 
Is  ho  all  for  the  Turks?  then,   at  once,  take  the 

whole 
Russian  Empire  (Czar,  Cossacks,  and  all)  to  your 

soul. 
In  short,  whatsoever  lie  talks,  thinks,  or  is. 
Be  your  thoughts,  words,  and  essence  the  contrast 

of  his. 
Nay,  as  Siamese  ladies — at  least,  the  polite  ones — 
All  paint  their  teeth  black,  'cause  the  devil  has  white 

ones — 
If  ev'n,  by  the  chances  of  time  or  of  tide, 
Your  Tory,  for  once,  should  have  sense  on  his  side, 
Even  then  stand  aloof — for,  be  sure  that  Old  Nick, 
When  a  Tory  talks  sensibly,  means  you  some  trick. 

Such  my  recipe  is — and,  in  one  single  verse, 
I  shall  now,  in  conclusion,  its  substance  rehearse. 
Be  all  that  a  Brunswicker  is  not,  nor  could  be, 
And  then — you'll  be  all  that  an  honest  man  should 
be. 


EPISTLE  OF  CONDOLENCE, 

FnOM  A  SLAVE-LORD  TO  A  COTTON-LORD. 

Alas  !  my  dear  friend,  what  a  state  of  alTalrs  ! 
How  unjustly  we  both  are  despoil'd  of  our  rightfl ! 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


587 


Not  a  pound  of  black  flcsli  shall  I  leave  to  my  heirs, 
Nor   must    you    any  more  work    to  death    hltle 
whites.  » 

Bolli  forced  to  submit  to  tliat  general  controller 
or  Kings,  Lords,  and  cotton  mills.  Public  Opin- 
ion, 

No  more  shall  you  beat  with  a  big-billy-roller, 
Nor  /  with  the  cart-wliip  assert  my  dominion. 

Whereas,  were  we  sufTer'd  to  do  as  wo  please 
With  our  Blacks  and  our  Whites,  as  of  yore  we 
were  let, 
We   might  range  tliem  alternate,   like  harpsichord 
keys, 
And  between  us  thump  out  a  good  piebald  duet. 

But  this  fun  is  all  over; — farewell  to  the  zest 

Which  Slavery  now  lends  to  each  teacup  we  sip; 

Which  makes  still  the  cruellest  coffee  the  best, 
And  that  sugar  the  sweetest  which  smacks  of  the 
whip. 

Farewell,  too,  the  Factory's  white  picamnnies — 
Small,  living  machines,  which,  if  flogg'd  to  theu: 
tasks. 
Mix  so  well  with  their  namesakes,  tiie  "  Billies'*  and 
"  Jennies," 
That  which  have  got  souls  in  'em  nobody  asks  ; — 

Little  Maids  of  the  Mill,  who,  themselves  but  ill- 
fed, 
Aj-e  obliged,  'mong  their  other  benevolent  cares, 
To  "  keep  feeding  the  scribblers,'" — and  better,  'tis 
said. 
Than  old  Blackwood  or  Fraser  have   ever  fed 
theirs. 

AH  this  Is  now  o'er,  and  so  dismal  my  loss  is, 
*    So  hard  'tis  to  part  from  the  smack  of  the  thong, 
That  I  mean  (from  pure  love  for  the  old  whipping 
proce^) 
To  take  to  whipp'd  syllabub  all  my  life  long. 


THE  GHOST  OF  MILTIADES. 

Ah  quolie3  dubius  Scn'pVis  exarsit  ainator ! — Ovin. 

The  Ghost  of  Miltiades  came  at  night, 
And  he  stood  by  the  bed  of  the  Benthamite, 

»  One  of  the  operations  in  coilun  mills  usually  performed 
by  children. 


And  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  thrill'd  the  ;'"ime, 
"  If  ever  the  sound  of  Marathon's  namo 
"  Hath  fired  thy  blood  or  flush'd  thy  brow, 
"  Lover  of  Liberty,  rouse  thee  now  !" 

Tlie  Benthamite,  yawning,  left  his  bed — 

Away  to  the  Stock  Excliange  he  sped, 

And  lie  found  the  Scrip  of  Greece  so  high, 

Tliat  it  fired  his  blood,  it  fiusli'd  his  eye, 

And  oh,  'twiis  a  siglit  for  the  Ghost  to  see. 

For  never  was  Greek  more  Greek  than  he  ! 

And  still  as  the  premium  higher  went, 

His  ecstasy  rose — so  mucli  per  cent., 

(As  we  see  in  a  glass,  that  tells  the  weather, 

The  heat  and  the  silver  rise  together,) 

And  Liberty  sung  from  the  patriot's  lip, 

While  a  voice  from  his  pocket  whisperd  "  Scrip  I'* 

The  Ghost  of  Miltiades  came  again  ; — 

He  smiled,  as  the  pale  moon  smiles  tlirough  rain, 

For  iiis  soul  was  glad  at  that  painot  strain ; 

(And  poor,  dear  ghost — how  little  he  knew 

The  jobs  and  the  tricks  of  the  Phiihellene  crew !) 

"  Blessings  and  thanks  !"  was  all  he  said, 

Then,  melting  away,  like  a  night-dream,  fled! 

The  Benthamite  hears — amazed  that  ghosts 
Could  be  such  fools, — and  away  he  posts, 
A  patriot  still  ?     Ah  no,  ah  no- 
Goddess  of  Freedom,  thy  Scrip  is  low. 
And,  warm  and  fond  as  thy  lovers  are, 
Thou  triest  their  passion,  when  under  ^an 
The  Benthamite's  ardor  fast  decays, 
By  turns  he  weeps,  and  swears,  and  prays, 
And  wishes  the  d — 1  had  Crescent  and  Cross, 
Ere  he  had  been  forced  to  sell  at  a  loss. 
They  quote  him  the  Stock  of  various  nations, 
But,  spite  of  his  classic  associations, 
Lord,  how  he  loathes  the  Greek  quotations  ! 
"  Who'll  buy  my  Scrip?  Who'll  buy  my  Scrip?" 
Is  now  the  theme  of  the  patriot's  lip. 
As  lie  runs  to  tell  how  hard  his  lot  is 
To  Messrs.  Orlando  and  Lurioltis, 
And  says,  "  Oil  Gr  oce,  for  Liberty's  sake, 
"  Do  buy  my  Scrip,  Lud  I  vow  to  break 
"  Those  dark,  unholy  bonds  of  thine — 
"  If  you'll  only  consent  to  buy  up  7nine .'" 
The  Ghost  of  Miltiades  came  once  more  ; — 
His  brow,  like  the  n'ght,  was  lowering  o'er, 
And  he  said,  with  a  look  that  flash'd  dismay, 
"  Of  Liberty's  foes  the  worst  are  they, 
"  Who  turn  to  a  trade  her  cause  divine, 
"  And  gamble  for  gold  on  Freedoiii's  shrine  I" 
Thus  saying,  the  Ghost,  as  he  took  his  flight. 
Gave  a  Parthian  kick  to  the  Bcntliamite, 
W^hich  sent  him,  whimperinrr.  cii'to  Jerry— 
And  vanish'd  aw^-y  to  tlie  Stygian  ferry  ! 


588 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ALARMING  INTELLIGENCE  —  REVOLU- 
TION IN  THE  DICTIONARY  —  ONE 
GALT  AT  THE  HEAD  OF  IT. 

God  preseiTe  us! — there's  nothing  now  safe  from 
assault ; — 
Tlirones  toppling  around,  cliurches  brouglit  to  the 
hammer ; 
And  accounts  have  just,  rcach'd  us  that  one  Mr.  Gait 
Has    declared    open    war    against    Enghsh    and 
Grammar ! 

He  had  long  been  suspected  of  some  sucli  design, 
And,  the  better  his  wicked  intents  to  arrive  at, 

Had  lately  'mong  C — lb — n's  troops  of  the  line 
(The  pcnny-a-lino  men)  enlisted  as  private. 

There  school'd,  with  a  rabble  of  words  at  command, 
Scotch,  English,  and  slang,  in  promiscuous  alli- 
ance, 

He,  at  length,  against  Syntax  has  taken  his  stand, 
And  sots  all  the  Nine  Parts  of  Speech  at  defiance. 

Next  advices,  no  doubt,  further  facts  will  afford  ; 

In  the  mean  time  the  danger  most  imminent  grows. 
He  1ms  taken  the  Life  of  one  eminent  Lord, 

And  whom  he'll  next  murder  the  Lord  only  knows. 

If'ednesday  Evening. 
Since  our  last,  matters,  luckily,  look  more  serene  ; 
Tiiough  the  rebel,  'tis  stated,  to  aid  his  defection, 
Has  seized  a  great  Powder — no,  Puff  Magazine, 
And  th'  explosioiis  are  dreadful  in  every  direc- 
tion. 

What  his  meaning  exactly  is,  nobody  knows, 
As  he  talks  (in  a  strain  of  intense  botheration) 

Of  lyrical  "  ichor,"'  "  gelatinous"  prose,^ 

And  a  mixture  cali'd  *'  amber  immortalization."^ 

JVoiP,  he  raves  of  a  bard  he  once  happened  to  meet, 
Seated  high  "  among  rattlings,"  and  churning  a 
sonnet  ;* 


1  "  That  dnrk  diseased  ichor  which  colored  his  effusions." 
— Galt's  Life  of  Byron. 

a  "Thill  gelatinous  character  of  their  effusions.*' — Ibid. 

3  "The  (loeiicai  embalmment,  or  rather,  amber  immortal- 
ization."— Ibid. 

«  "Sitting  iiinidst  the  shrouds  and  rattlings,  churning  an 
/narticulate  melody." — Ibid. 

5  "  He  was  a  mystery  in  a  winding  sheet,  crowned  with  a 
\'A\i-i."—lbid. 

""One  of  the  questions  propounded  to  the  Puritans  in 
1573  was—"  Whether  the  Book  of  Service  was  good  and 
godly,  every  tilUe  grounded  on  the  Holy  Scripmre  V*  On 
wlish  an  honest  Dissenter  remuj-ks— "Surely  Ihcy  had  a 


NoiOt  talks  of  a  mysterj',  wrapp'd  in  a  sheet. 
With  a  halo  (by  way  of  a  nightcap)  upon  it  I' 
• 
We  shudder  in  tracing  these  terrible  lines  ; 

Sometiiing  bad  they  must  mean,  though  we  can't 
make  it  out ; 
For,  whatc'er  may  be  guess'd  of  Gait's  secret  designs, 
That  they're  all  .A/tfz-EugUsh  no  Christian  can 
doubt 


RESOLUTIONS 

PASSED   AT   A    LATE    MEETINO   OF 

REVERENDS  AND  RIGHT  REVERENDS. 

Rkbolved — to  stick  to  every  particle 
Of  every  Creed  and  every  Article  ; 
Refonning  naught,  or  great  or  little, 
We'll  stanchly  stand  by  every  tittle,* 
And  ficorn  the  swallow  of  that  soul 
Which  cannot  boldly  bolt  the  whole 

Resolved  that,  though  St.  Atbanasius 
In  damning  souls  is  rather  spacious — 
Though  wide  and  far  his  curses  fall, 
Our  Church  "  hath  stomach  for  them  all ; 
And  those  who're  not  content  with  such. 
May  e'en  be  d — d  ten  times  as  much. 
Resolved — such  liberal  souls  are  we — 
Though  hating  Nonconfonnity, 
We  yet  believe  the  cash  no  worse  is 
That  comes  from  Nonconformist  purses. 
T'ldilTtTcut  ichence  tiie  money  reaches 
The  pockets  of  our  reverend  breeches, 
To  us  the  Jumper's  jingling  penny 
Chinks  witii  a  tone  as  sweet  as  any  ; 
And  even  our  old  friends  Yea  and  Nay 
May  through  the  nose  for  ever  pray, 
If  also  through  the  nose  they'll  pay. 

Resolved,  that  Hooper,*'  Latimer,^ 
And  Cranmer,'*  all  extremely  err, 


wonderful  opinion  of  their  Service  Book  that  there  was  not 
a  tittle  amiss  in  it." 

'  "They,"  the  Bishops,  "know that  the  primitive  Church 
had  no  such  Bishops.  If  the  fourth  part  of  the  bishopric 
remained  unto  the  Bishop,  it  were  sufficient." — On  the  Com- 
mandments, p.  72. 

8  "  Since  the  Prelates  were  made  Lords  and  Nobles,  the 
plough  standclh,  there  is  no  work  done,  the  people  starve." 
— Lat.  Senn, 

8  "Of  whom  have  come  all  these  glorious  titles,  styles, 
and  pomps  into  the  Church.  Bu  I  would  that  I,  and  all 
my  brethren,  the  Bishops,  would  leave  all  our  styles,  and 
write  the  styles  of  our  offices,'*  &c. — Life  of  Cranmcr,  by 
Strype,  .•Appendix. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


580 


In  taking  such  a  low-bred  view 

Of  what  Lords  Spiritual  ought  to  do  : — 

All  owincj  to  the  fiict,  poor  men, 

That  Mother  Ciiurch  was  modest  then, 

Nor  knew  what  golden  egjrs  her  goose, 

Tho  Public,  would  in  timo  produce. 

One  Pisgah  pcop  at  modern  Durliam 

To  far  more  lordly  tliougiUs  would  stir  'em. 

!        Resolved,  that  when  we.  Spiritual  Lords, 
Whoso  income  just  enough  affords 
To  keep  our  Spiritual  Lordships  cozy, 
Are  told,  by  Antiquarians  prosy, 
How  ancient  Bishops  cut  up  theirs, 
Giving  the  poor  the  largest  sliares — 
Our  answer  is,  in  one  short  word, 
We  tliink  it  pious,  but  absurd. 
Those  good  men  made  the  world  their  debtor, 
But  Atf,  the  Churcli  reform'd,  know  better  ; 
And,  taking  ail  that  all  can  pay, 
Balance  th'  account  the  other  way. 

Resolved,  our  thanks  profoundly  due  are 

To  last  month's  Quarterly  Reviewer, 

Who  proves  (by  arguments  so  clear 

One  sees  how  much  he  holds  per  year) 

That  England's  Church,  though  out  of  date, 

Must  stiil  be  left  to  lie  in  state, 

As  dead,  as  rotten,  and  as  grand  as 

The  mummy  of  King  Osymandyas, 

All  pickled  snug — the  brains  drawn  out' — 

With  costly  cerements  swathed  about, — 

And  "  Touch  me  not,"  those  words  terrific, 

Scrawl'd  o'er  her  in  good  hieroglyphic 


SIK  ANDREW^S  DREAM. 

"  Nee  lu  spcrne  piis  venientia  somtiia  portls  : 
Cum  pia  venerunt  somnia,  pundus  habent." 

PROPERT.  lib.  iv.eleg. 

As  snug,  on  a  Sunday  eve,  of  late, 

In  his  easy  chair  Sir  Andrew  sate, 

Being  much  too  pious,  as  every  one  knows. 

To  do  aught,  of  a  Sunday  eve,  bnt  doze, 

He  dreamt  a  dream,  dear,  holy  man, 

And  I'll  tell  vou  his  dream  os  well  as  I  can. 


*  Part  of  iho  process  of  embalmment. 

*  The  Book  of  Sports  drawn  up  by  Bishop  Moreton  was 
first  put  forlh  in  the  reign  of  James  I.,  Ifil8,  and  afterwards 
republished,  at  the  advice  of  Laud,  by  Charles  I.,  1G33,  with 
an  injunction  that  it  should  be  "  made  public  by  order  from 
the  Bishops."  We  find  it  therein  declared,  that "  for  his  good 
people's  recreation,  his  Majesty's  pleasure  was,  that afler  the 


He  found  himself,  to  his  great  amazo, 

In  Charles  tho  First's  high  Tory  days. 

And  just  at  the  time  tliat  gravest  of  Courts 

Had  publish'd  its  Book  of  Sunday  Sports." 

Sunday  Sports!  what  a  thing  for  tho  ear 

Of  Andrew,  even  in  sleep,  to  hear! — 

It  chanced  to  be,  too,  a  Sabbath  day, 

When  the  people  from  church  were  coming  away ; 

And  Andrew  witli  horror  hoard  this  song. 

As  the  smiling  sinners  flock'd  along: — ■ 

"  Long  life  to  the  Bishops,  hurrah  I  iiurrah  I 

"  For  a  week  of  work  and  a  Sunday  of  play 

"  Make  tho  poor  man's  life  run  merrj'  away." 

"  The  Bishops  I"  quoth  Andrew,  "  Popish,  T  guess," 
And  he  grinned  with  conscious  holiness. 
But  tho  song  went  on,  and,  to  brim  the  cup 
Of  poor  Andy's  grief,  the  fiddles  stiuck  up ! 

*'Come,  take  out  tho  lasses — let's  have  a  dance — 

"  For  the  Bishops  allow  us  to  skip  our  fill, 
"Well  knowing  that  no  one's  the  more  in  advance 

"  On  tho  road  to  heaven,  for  standing  still. 
*'  Oh,  it  never  was  meant  that  grim  grimaces 

"  Should  sour  the  cream  of  a  creed  of  love  ; 
"  Or  tliat  fellows  with  long,  disastrous  faces, 

"  Alouo  should  sit  among  cherubs  above. 

*'  Then  hurrah  for  the  Bishops,  &.c. 

"  For  Sunday  fun  wo  never  can  fail, 

"  When   tlie    Cluirch    herself  each    sport   points 
out ; — 
"  There's  May -games,  archery,  Whitsun-ale, 

*'  And  a  May-pole  high  to  dance  about 
"  Or,  should  we  be  for  a  pole  hard  driven, 

"  Some  lengtliy  saint,  of  aspect  fell, 
"With  his  pockets  on  earth,  and  his  nose  in  heaven, 

"  Will  do  for  a  May -pole  just  as  well. 
"  Then  hurrah  for  the  Bishops,  hurrah  !  hurrali  ! 
"  A  week  of  work  and  a  Sabbath  of  play 
"  Make  the  poor  man's  life  run  merry  away." 

To  Andy,  who  doesn't  much  deal  in  histor}-, 

This  Sunday  scene  was  a  downright  mystery ; 

And  God  knows  where  might  have  ended  tlie  joke, 

But,  in  tr^'ing  to  stop  the  fiddles,  he  woke. 

And  the  odd  thing  is  (as  the  rumor  goes) 

Tliat  since  that  dream — which,  one  would  suppose, 


end  of  divine  ser\'ice  they  should  not  he  disturbed,  lelteri,  or 
discouraged  from  any  lawful  recreations,  such  as  dancing, 
either  of  men  or  women,  archery  for  men,  leaping,  vaulting, 
or  any  such  harmless  recreations,  nor  having  of  May-games, 
Whit5un-ales,  or  Morris-dances,  or  setting  up  of  May-poles, 
or  other  sports  therewith  used,"  &c. 


590 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Should  liave  made  his  godly  stomach  rise, 

Even  more  than  ever,  'gainst  Sunday  pies — 

He  has  view'd  things  quite  with  different  eyes  ; 

Is  bepfinning  to  take,  on  matters  divine, 

I/ike  Cliarles  and  his  Bisliops,  the  sporting  line — 

Is  all  for  Christians  jigging  in  pairs, 

As  an  interlude  'twijit  Sunday  prayers ; — 

Nay,  talks  of  getting  Archbishop  H — 1 — y 

To  bring  in  a  Bill,  enacting  duly, 

Tliat  all  good  Protestants,  from  this  date. 

Ma)',  freely  and  lawfully,  recreate, 

Of  a  Sunday  eve,  their  spirits  moody. 

With  Jack  in  the  Straw,  or  Punch  and  Judy. 


A  BLUE  LOVE-SONG 


Air. — "  Come  lire  with  me,  and  he  mij  luve.^^ 

Come  wed  with  me,  and  we  will  write, 

Jly  Blue  of  Blues,  from  morn  till  night. 

Chased  from  our  classic  souls  shall  be 

AH  thoughts  of  vulgar  progeny  ; 

And  thou  shalt  walk  through  smiling  rows 

Of  chubby  duodecimos. 

While  I,  to  match  thy  products  nearly, 

Shall  lie-in  of  a  quarto  yearly. 

'Tis  true,  ev'n  books  entail  some  trouble  ; 

But  live  productions  give  one  double. 

Correcting  cliildren  is  such  bother, — • 

While  printers'  devils  correct  the  other. 

Just  think,  my  own  Malthusian  dear, 

How  much  more  decent  'tis  to  hear 

From  male  or  female — as  it  m.iy  be — 

'*  How  is  your  book  ?"'  than  "  How's  your  baby  7" 

And,  whereas  physic  and  wet  nurses 

Do  much  exhaust  paternal  purses,   ■ 

Our  books,  if  rickety,  may  go 

And  be  well  dry-nursed  in  the  Row  ; 

And,  when  God  wills  to  take  them  henco. 

Are  buried  at  the  Roio's  expense. 

Besides  (as  'lis  well  proved  by  thee, 
In  thy  own  Works,  vol.  9.3.) 
The  march,  just  now,  of  population 
So  much  outstrips  all  moderation. 
That  even  prolific  herring-shoals 
Keep  pace  not  with  our  erring  souls. 

*  See  "  EIIii  of  Garvcloch." — Garvelnch  tieing  a  place 
where  there  was  a  large  herring-fishery,  but  where,  as  we 


Oh  far  more  proper  and  well-bred 
To  stick  to  writing  books  instead  ; 
And  show  tho  world  how  two  Blue  lovers 
Can  coalesce,  like  two  book -covers, 
(Sheep-skin,  or  calf,  or  such  wise  leather.) 
Letter'd  at  back,  and  slitch'd  together, 
Fondly  as  first  the  binder  fix'd  'em. 
With  naught  but — literature  betwixt  *em. 


SUNDAY   ETHICS. 


A  SCOTCH  ODE. 


PuiR,  profligate  Londoners,  having  hoard  tell 

That  the   De'il's  got  amang  ye,  and  fearing  'tis 
true. 
We  ha'  sent  ye  a  mon  wha's  a  match  for  his  spell, 
A  chiel  o'  our  ain,  that  the  De'il  himsel' 

Will    be   glad   to   keep   clear   of,    one    Andrew 
Agnew. 

So,  at  least,  ye  may  reckon,  for  aue  day  entire 
In  ilka  lang  week  ye'll  be  tranquil  eueugh. 

As  Auld    Nick,  do    him  justice,  abhors    a    Scotch 
squire, 

An'  would  sooner  gae  roast  by  his  ain  kitchen  firo 
Thau  pass  a  hale  Sunday  wi'  Andrew  Agnew. 

For,  bless  the  gude  mon,  giu  he  had  his  ain  way. 
He'd  na  let  a  cat  on  the  Sabbath  say  "  mew  ;'' 
Nae  birdie  maun  whistle,  uae  lambie  maun  play, 
All'  Phffibus  himsel  could  na  travel  that  day. 
As  he'd  find  a  new  Joshua  in  Andie  Agnew. 

Only  hear,  in  your  Senate,  how  awfu'  he  cries, 

*'  Wae,  wae  to  a'  sinnei-s  who  boil  an'  who  stew  ! 
"  Wae,  wae  to  a'  eaters  o'  Sabbath-baked  pies, 
"  For  as  surely  again  shall  the  crust  thereof  rise 
"  In  judgment  against  ye,"  saith  Andrew  Agnew  '. 

Ye  may  think,  from  a'  this,  that  our  Audio's  the  lad 

To  ca'  o'er  the  coals  your  nobeelity,  too  ; 
That   their   drives,  o'  a   Suuday,  wi'  flunkies,'  a" 

clad 
Like  Shawmen,  behind  'em,  would  mak  the  mon 
mad — 
But  he's  nae  sic  a  noodle,  our  Andie  Agnew. 


are  toWt  I'y  the  author, 
than  the  produce." 
3  Servants  in  livery. 


the  people  increased  much  faslci 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


591 


If  Lairds  m'  fine  Ladies,  on  Sunday,  think  right 
To  gang  to  the  deevil — as  maist  o*  cm  do — 

To  stop  them  our  Andie  would  think  na  polite ; 

And  'tis  odds  (if  the  chiel  could  get  ony  thing  by't) 
But   he'd   follow   'em,   booing,*   would   Andrew 
Aguew 


AWFUL  EVENT. 

Yes,  W— nch — Is — a,  (I  tremble  while  I  pen  it,) 
W — ncli — Is — a's  Earl  hath  cut  the  British  Senate — 
Hath  said  to  England's  Peers,  in  accent  gruff, 
"That    for   ye    all,"    [snapping   liis    fiugere,]    and 
exit,  in  a  huff! 

Disastrous  news ! — like  that,  of  old,  which  spread 
From  sliore  to  s.'iore,  "  our  mighty  Pan  is  dead," 
O'er  tlie  cross  benches  (cross  from  being  cross'd) 
Sounds  the  loud  wail,  "  Our  W — nch — Is— a  is  lost !" 

Which  of  ye.  Lords,  that  heard  him,  can  forget 
The  deep  impression  of  that  awful  throat, 
"  I  quit  your  liouse !  I" — 'midst  all  that  histories  tell, 
I  know  but  one  event  that's  parallel : — 

It  chanced  at  Drury  Lane,  one  Easter  night, 
When  the  gay  gods,  too  bless'd  to  be  polite,      ' 
Gods  at  their  ease,  like  those  of  learn'd  Lucretius, 
Laugh'd,  whistled,  groan'd,  uproariously  facetious — 
A  well-dress'd  member  of  the  middle  gallery, 
Whose  **  ears  polite"  disdain'd  such  low  canaillerie, 
Rose  in  his  p'ace — so  grand,  you'd  almost  swear 
Lord     W — nch — Is — a     himself     stood     towering 

there — 
And  like  that  Lord  of  dignity  and  nous, 
Said,  "  Silence,  fellows,  or — I'll  leave  the  house !  1" 

Hot*  brook'd  the  gods  this  speech?     Ah  well-a-day. 
That  speech  so  fine  should  be  so  thrown  awav ! 
In  vain  did  tiiis  mid-gallery  grandee 
Assert  his  own  two-shilling  dignity — 
In  vain  he  menaced  to  withdraw  the  ray 
Of  his  own  full-price  countenance  away — 

J  For  the  "  gude  effects  and  utility  of  booing,''  see  the  Man 
of  the  n'orld. 
s         Come,  Cloe,  and  give  me  sweet  kisses, 
For  sweeter  sure  never  girl  gave  ; 
But  why,  in  the  midst  of  my  blisses, 
Do  you  ask  me  how  many  I'd  have  1 
I         For  whilst  I  love  thee  above  measure, 
To  numbers  I'll  ne'er  be  confined. 


Fun  against  Dignity  is  fearful  odds. 
And  as  the  Lords  laugh  now,  so  giggled  Men  the 
gods ! 


THE  NUMBERING  OF  THE  CLERGY. 

PARODy    ON    SIR    CIIARLF.S    IIAN.    WILLIAMs'b 
FAMOUS   ODE, 

'   COME,    CLOE,   AND    GIVE    HE    SWEET    KISSES." 

"  We  want  more  Churches  and  more  Clergymen." 

Bis/top  of  London's  late  Ckarge. 
"Rectorum  numeruin,  terris  pereuntibus,  aupent." 

Ctaudian  in  Eutrop. 

Come,  give  us  more  Livings  and  Rectors, 

For,  richer  no  realm  ever  gave ; 
But  why,  ye  unchristian  objectors, 

Do  ye  ask  us  how  many  we  crave  ?" 

Oh,  there  can't  be  too  many  rich  Livings 

For  souls  of  the  Pluralist  kind. 
Who,  despising  old  Cocker's  misgivings, 

To  numbers  can  ne'er  bo  confined.' 

Count  the  cormorants  hovering  about,' 

At  the  time  their  fish  season  sets  in, 

When  tliese  models  of  keen  diners-out 

,  Are  preparing  their  beaks  to  begin. 

Count  tlie  rooks  that,  in  clerical  dresses. 
Flock  round  wiien  the  harvest's  in  play, 

And,  not  minding  the  farmer's  distresses, 
Like  devils  in  grain  peck  away. 

Go,  number  the  locusts  in  heaven,' 
On  their  way  to  some  titheahle  shore  ; 

And  when  so  many  Parsons  you've  given, 
We  still  shall  be  craving  for  more. 

Then,  unless  ye  the  Church  would  submerge,  ye 

Must  leave  us  in  peace  to  augment, 
For  the  wretch  who  could  number  the  Clergy, 

With  few  will  be  ever  content." 


Count  the  bees  that  on  Ilybia  are  playing, 
Count  the  dowers  that  cuamel  its  fields, 
Count  the  Hocks,  &c. 

Go  number  the  stars  in  the  heaven, 
Count  how  many  sands  on  the  shore; 

When  .so  many  kisses  you've  given, 
I  still  shall  be  craving  for  more. 

Cut  the  wretch  who  can  number  his  kisses. 
With  few  will  be  ever  content. 


592                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

A  SAD  CASE. 

A  DREAM  OF  HINDOSTAN. 

1 

*'  ir  il  be  Ihe  undergniluntc  season  at  which  this  rabies 

risum  teneatis,  amicl. 

;    Tcligiosn  is  to  be  so  fearful,  wlmt  security  has  Rlr.  G— lb — n 

;    against  it  at  this  moment,  when  his  son  is  actually  exposed 

"  The  longer  one  lives,  the  more  one  learns," 

'    *.o  the  full  venom  of  an  association  with  Dissenters  ?" — The 

Times,  March  25. 

Said  I,  as  off  to  sleep  I  went, 

Bemused  with  thinking  of  Tithe  concerns. 

How  sad  a  case ! — just  think  of  it — 

And  reading  a  book,  by  the  Bishop  of  Ferns," 

!        If  G — lb — n  junior  should  be  bit 

On  the  Irish  Church  Establishment. 

;        By  some  insane  Dissenter,  roaming 

But,  lo,  in  sleep,  not  long  I  lay. 

Tliroijirii  Granta's  lialls,  at  large  and  foaming, 

When  Fancy  her  usual  tricks  began, 

And  witlt  tliat  aspect,  ultra  crabbed 

And  I  found  myself  bewitch'd  away 

'        Wliich  marks  Dissenters  when  tliey're  rabid  ! 

To  a  goodly  city  in  Hindostan — 

God  only  knows  wliat  mischiefs  might 

A  city,  where  he,  who  dares  to  dine 

Result  from  this  one  single  bite, 

On  aught  but  rice,  is  deem'd  a  sinner : 

Or  how  the  venom,  once  suck'd  in. 

Where  sheep  and  kine  are  held  divine. 

Might  spread  and  rage  through  kith  and  kin. 

And,  accordingly — never  dress'd  for  dinner. 

Mad  folks,  of  all  denominations, 

First  turn  upon  their  own  relations : 

"  But  how  is  this?"  I  wond'ring  cried — 

So  that  one  G — lb — n,  fairly  bit, 

As  I  walk'd  that  city,  fair  and  wide, 

Might  end  in  maddening  the  whole  kit, 

And  saw,  in  every  marble  street. 

Till,  ah,  ye  gods,  we'd  have  to  rue 

A  row  of  beautiful  butchers'  shops — 

Our  G — lb — n  senior  bitten  too  ; 

"  What  means,  for  men  who  don't  eat  meat. 

The  Hycliurchphobia  in  those  veins, 

"  This  graud  display  of  loins  and  chops  V 

Wliere  Tory  blood  now  redly  reigns  ; — 

In  vain  I  ask'd — 'twas  plain  to  see 

1        And  that  dear  man,  who  now  perceives 

That  nobody  dared  to  answer  me. 

Salvation  only  in  lawn  sleeves. 

Might,  tainted  by  such  coarse  infection, 

So,  on,  from  street  to  street  I  strode  ; 

Run  mad  in  th'  opposite  direction, 

And  you  can't  conceive  how  vastly  odd 

And  think,  poor  man,  'tis  only  given 

The  butchers  look'd — a  roseate  crew 

To  linsey-woolsey  to  reach  Heaven  !                     ^ 

Inshrined  in  siallsy  with  naught  to  do : 

While  some  on  a  bench,  half-dozing,  sat. 

Just  fancy  what  a  sliock  'twould  be 

And  the  Sacred  Cows  were  not  more  fat 

Our  G — lb — n  in  his  fits  to  see, 

Tearing  into  a  thousand  particles 

Still  [X)sed  to  think,  what  all  this  scene 

His  once  loved  Nine  and  Tliirty  Articles  ; 

Of  sinecure  trade  was  meant  to  mean. 

(Those  Articles  his  friend,  the  Duke,' 

"  And,  pray,''  ask'd  I — "  by  whom  is  paid 

For  Gospel,  t'other  night,  mistook;) 

"The  expense  of  this  strange  masquerade?" — 

Cursing  cathedrals,  deans,  and  singers — 

"  Th'  expense  ! — oh,  that's  of  course  defray 'd 

Wishing  the  ropes  miglit  hang  the  ringers — 

(Said  one  of  these  well-fed  Hecatombers) 

Pelting  the  church  with  blaspliemies, 

"  By  yonder  rascally  rice-consumers." 

Even  worse  tlian  Parson  B — v — rl — y's  ; — 

"  What !  they,  who  mustn't  eat  meat !'" — 

And  ripe  for  severing  Church  and  State. 

"  No  matter — 

Like  any  ercedless  reprobate, 

(And,  while  he  spoke,  his  cheeks  grew  fatter.) 

Or  like  that  class  of  Methodists 

"  The  rogues  may  munch  their  Paddy  crop. 

Prince  Waterloo  styles  "  Atheists !"' 

"  But  the  rogues  must  still  support  our  shop. 

"  And,  depend  upon  it,  the  way  to  treat 

But  'tis  too  much — the  Muse  turns  pale. 

"  Heretical  stomachs  that  thus  dissent, 

And  o'er  the  picture  drops  a  veil, 

"  Is  to  burden  all  that  won't  eat  meat. 

Praying,  God  save  the  G— lb — rns  all 

"  With  a  costly  Me.vt  Estabushme.nt." 

From  mad  Dissenters,  great  and  small ! 

On  hearing  these  words  so  gravely  said. 

AVith  a  volley  of  laughter  loud  I  shook ; 

'  The  Dulre  of  Wellington,  who  styled  Ihem  the  "  Articles 

2  An  indefatigable  scribbler  of  anti-Catholic  pamphlets 

of  Christianity." 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


593 


And  my  slumber  fled,  and  niy  dream  was  sped.. 
And  I  found  I  was  lying  snug  in  bed, 

\\'ith  my  iioso  in  tho  Bishop  of  Ferns's  book. 


THE  BRUNSWICK  CLUB. 

A  letter  having  been  addressed  to  a  verj*  distinguished  per- 
sonage, requesting  him  to  become  the  Patron  of  this  Orange 
Club,  a  polite  answer  was  forthwith  returned,  of  which  we 
have  been  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  a  copy. 

Brimstone-halt,  September  1,  18^. 

Private. — Lord  Belzehib  presents 

To  the  Brunswick  Club  his  comphments, 

And  much  regrets  to  say  that  ho 

Cannot,  at  present,  their  Patron  be. 

In  stating  this,  Lord  Belzcbiib 

Assures,  on  his  honor,  tho  Brunswick  Club, 

That  'tisn't  from  any  lukewarm  lack 

Of  zeal  or  fire  he  thus  holds  back — 

As  even  Lord  Coal'  hiinself  is  not 

For  the  Orange  party  more  red-hot : 

But  the  truth  is,  till  their  Club  affords 

A  somewhat  decenter  show  of  Lords, 

And  on  its  list  of  members  gets 

A  few  less  rubbishy  Baronets, 

Lord  Belzebub  must  beg  to  bo 

Excused  from  keeping  such  company. 

Who  the  devil,  he  Immbly  begs  to  know. 

Are  Lord  Gl — nd — ne,  and  Lord  D — ulo  ' 

Or  who,  with  a  grain  of  sense,  would  go 

To  sit  aud  be  bored  by  Lord  M — yo  ? 

What  living  creature — except  his  nurse — 

For  Lord  M — ntc — sh — 1  cares  a  curse. 

Or  thiuks  'twould  matter  if  Lord  M — sk — rr.- 

Were  t'other  side  of  the  Stygian  ferry  ? 

Breathes  there  a  man  in  Dublin  town, 

Who'd  give  but  half  of  half-a-crown 

To  save  from  drowning  my  Lord  R — thd — ne, 

Or  wlio  wouldn't  also  gladly  hustle  iu 

Lords  R — d — n,  B — nd — n,  C — le,  aud  J — c— 1 — i 

In  short,  though,  from  his  teudercst  years, 

Accustom'd  to  all  sorts  of  Peers, 

Lord  Belzebub  much  questions  whether 

Ho  ever  yet  saw,  mix'd  together, 

As  'twere  in  one  capacious  tub, 

Such  a  mess  of  noble  silly-bub 

As  the  twenty  Peers  of  the  Brunswick  Club. 

'Tis  therefore  impossible  that  Lord  B. 

Could  Btoop  to  Buch  society, 

I  Usually  written  "Cole." 


Thinking,  he  owns,  (though  no  great  prig,) 
For  one  in  his  station  'twere  infra  dig. 
But  he  begs  to  propose,  in  the  interim, 
(Till  they  find  some  prop'rer  Peers  for  him,) 
His  Highness  of  C — mb — d,  as  Sub, 
To  take  his  place  at  the  Brunswick  Club — 
Begging,  meanwhile,  himself  to  dub 

Their  obedient  servant,  Belzebub. 

« 

It  luckily  happens,  tho  R — y — 1  Dulie 
Reseihbles  so  much,  in  air  and  look, 
The  head  of  the  Belzebub  family, 
That  few  can  any  diS'erence  see  ; 
Which  makes  him,  of  course,  the  better  suit 
To  serve  as  Liord  B.'s  substitute. 


PROPOSALS  FOR  A  GYN^ECOCRACY. 


ADDRESSED  TO  A  L.VTE  RADICAL  MEETING. 


"Ciuas  ipsa  decus  sibi  dia  Camilla 

Delegit  pacisque  bonus  bellique  ministras." 


Virgil 


As  Whig  Reform  has  had  its  range, 

And  none  of  us  are  yet  content, 
Suppose,  my  friends,  by  way  of  change, 

Wo  try  a  Female  Parliament  ; 
And  since,  of  late,  with  he  M.  P.'s 
We've  fared  so  badly,  take  to  she's — 
Petticoat  patriots,  flounced  John  Russells, 
Burdetts  in  blonde,  and  Broughams  in  bustles. 
The  plan  is  startling,  I  confess — 
But  'tis  but  an  affair  of  dress  ; 
Nor  see  I  much  there  is  to  choose  . 

'Twi.\t  Ladies  (so  they're  thorough  bred  ones) 
In  ribands  of  all  sorts  of  hues. 

Or  Lords  in  only  blue  or  red  ones. 

At  least,  tho  fiddlers  will  be  winners. 

Whatever  other  trade  advances ; 
As  then,  instead  of  Cabinet  dinners, 

AVe'll  have,  at  Almack's,  Cabinet  dances  ; 
Nor  let  this  world's  important  questions 
Depend  on  Ministers'  digestions. 

If  Ude's  receipts  have  done  things  ill. 

To  Weippert's  band  they  may  go  better  ; 
There's  Lady  *  *,  in  one  quadrille. 

Would  settle  Europe,  if  you'd  let  her: 
And  who  the  deuce  or  asks,  or  cares. 

When  Whigs  or  Tories  have  undone  'em, 
Whether  they've  danced  through  State  affairs, 

Or  simply,  dully,  dined  upou  'em  ? 


594 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Hurrah  then  for  the  Petticoats  ! 

To  them  we  pledge  our  free-bora  votes ; 

We'll  have  all  she,  and  only  she — 

Pert  bhies  sliall  act  as  "  best  debaters," 
Old  dowa^^ers  our  Bishops  be, 

And  termagants  our  Agitators. 

If  Vestris,  to  oblige  the  nation, 

Her  own  Olympus  will  abandon, 
And  help  to  prop  th'  Administration, 

It  cati^t  have  better  legs  to  stand  on. 
The  famed  Macaiilay  (Miss)  shall  show, 

Each  evening,  forth  in  Icarn'd  oration  ; 
Shall  move  (midst  general  cries  of  "  Oh  !") 

For  full  returns  of  population  : 
And,  finally,  to  crown  the  whole, 
Tlie  Princess  Olive,'  Royal  soul, 
Shall  from  her  bower  in  Banco  Regis, 
Descend,  to  bless  her  faithful  lieges, 
And,  'mid  our  Union's  loyal  chorus, 
Reign  jollily  forever  o'er  us. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  *     *    *. 


Bir. 


Having  heard  some  runiors  rcsppcting  the  strange  and 
awful  visitation  under  which  Lord  H — nl— y  has  for  some 
time  past  heen  suffering,  in  consequence  of  his  declared  hos- 
tility to  "anthems,  solos,  duets,"^  &c.,  I  took  the  liberty  of 
making  inquiries  at  his  Lordship's  house  this  morning,  and 
lose  no  time  in  transmitting  to  you  such  particulars  as  I  could 
collect.  It  is  said  that  the  screams  of  his  Lordship,  under 
the  operation  of  this  nightly  concert,  (which  is,  no  doubt, 
some  trick  of  the  Radicals,)  may  be  heard  all  over  the  neigh- 
borhood. The  female  who  personates  St.  Cecilia  is  supposed 
to  be  the  same  tliat,  last  year,  appeared  in  the  character  of 
Isis,  at  the  Rotunda.  How  the  cherubs  are  managed,  I  have 
not  yet  ascertained.  Yours,  &c. 

r.P. 
LORD  H— NI^Y  AND  ST.  CECILIA. 

in  Metii  desceniUit  Judiccs  aurcs.  HoRAT. 

As  snug  in  Iiis  bed  Lord  II — nl — y  lay, 

Revolving  much  his  own  renown, 
And  hoping  to  add  thereto  a  ray, 

By  putting  duets  and  anthems  down, 

Sudden  a  strain  of  choral  sounds 
Melliil  ions  o'er  his  senses  stole ; 

A  ppr-^nnagc,  so  styling  herself,  who  nttained  consider- 
aljle  nutoriely  at  that  period. 

3  In  a  worlt  on  Church  Reform,  puhlished  by  his  Lord- 
ship in  1B32. 


Whereat  the  Reformer  multcr'd,  "  Zounds!" 
For  he  loathed  sweet  music  with  all  his  soul. 

Then,  starting  up,  he  saw  a  sight 

That  well  might  shock  so  leam"d  a  snorer — 
Saint  Cecilia,  robed  in  light. 

With  a  portable  organ  slung  before  her 

And  round  were  Cherubs,  on  rainbow  wings, 
Who,  his  Lordship  fcar'd,  might  tire  of  flitting, 

So  begg'd  they'd  s!t — but  ah  !  poor  things, 

Tiiey'd,  none  of  them,  got  the  means  of  sitting' 

"  Having  heard,"  said  the  Saint,  "  you're  I'oi  d  of 
hymns, 

"  And  indt^il,  that  musical  snore  betray'd  you, 
*'  Myself,  and  my  choir  of  cliernbims, 

"  Are  come,  for  a  while,  to  serenade  you." 

In  vain  did  the  horrified  H — nl — y  say 

"  'Twas  all  a  mistake" — '*  she  was  misdirected  ;" 

And  point  to  a  concert  over  the  way. 
Where  fiddlers  and  angels  were  expected. 

In  vain — the  Saint  could  see  in  his  loolis 
(She  civilly  said)  much  tuneful  lore ; 

So,  at  once,  all  open'd  their  music-books. 
And  herself  and  her  Cherubs  set  off  at  score. 

All  night  duets,  terzets,  quartets. 

Nay,  long  quintets  most  dire  to  hear  ; 

Ay,  and  old  motets,  and  canzonets, 
And  glees,  in  sets,  kept  boring  his  ear. 

He  tried  to  sleep — but  it  wouldn't  do  ; 

So  loud  they  squall'd,  he  must  attend  to  'em  ; 
Though  Cherubs'  songs,  to  his  cost  he  knew. 

Were  like  tliemselves,  and  had  no  end  to  'em. 

Oh  judgment  dire  on  judges  bold. 

Who  meddle  with  music's  sacred  strains  ! 

Judge  Midas  tried  the  same  of  old. 

And  was  punish'd,  like  H — nl — y,  for  his  pains. 

But  worse  on  the  modern  judge,  alas ! 

Is  the  sentence  launch'd  from  Apollo's  throne  ; 
For  Midas  was  given  the  ears  of  an  ass. 

While  H — nl — y  is  doom'd  to  keep  his  own ! 


3  "  Asseyez-vons,  mes  enfans." — "II  n'y  a  pas  de  quoi, 
mon  Seigneur."' 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS.                            595 

As,  once  the  thing's  well  set  about. 

ADVERTISEMENT.' 

1830. 
Missing  or  lost,  last  Sunday  night, 

No  doubt  but  we  shall  hunt  him  out. 

His  Lordship's  mind,  of  late,  they  say, 

A  Waterloo  coin,  whereon  was  traced 

Hath  been  in  an  nneasy  waj'. 

Th'  inscription,  *'  Cotirago  !"  in  letters  bright, 

Himself  and  colleagues  not  being  let 

Though  a  little  by  rust  of  years  defaced. 

To  climb  into  the  Cabinet, 

To  settle  England's  state  affaire, 

The  metal  thereof  is  rough  and  hard, 

Hatli  much,  it  seems,  unsettled  theirs  ; 

And  ('tis  thought  of  late)  mix'd  up  with  brass ; 

And  chief  to  this  stray  Plenipo 

But  it  beai-s  the  stamp  of  Fame's  award, 

Hath  been  a  most  distressing  blow. 

And  through  all  Posterity's  hands  will  pass. 

Already, — certain  to  receive  a 

Well-paid  mission  to  the  Neva, 

Hota  it  was  lost,  God  only  knows. 

And  be  the  bearer  of  kind  words 

But  certain  City  thieves,  they  say, 

To  tyrant  Nick  from  Tor)'  Lords, — 

Broke  in  on  the  owner's  evening  doze. 

To  fit  himself  for  free  discussion. 

And  filch'd  this  "  gift  of  gods"  away  ! 

His  Lordship  had  been  learning  Russian  ; 

And  all  so  natural  to  him  were 

One  ne'er  could,  of  course,  the  Cits  suspect, 

The  accents  of  the  Northern  bear. 

If  we  hadn't,  that  evening,  chanced  to  see. 

Tiiat,  while  his  tones  were  in  yonr  ear,  you 

At  the  robb'd  man's  door,  a  Mare  elect, 

Might  swear  you  were  in  sweet  Siberia. 

With  an  ass  to  keep  her  company. 

And  still,  poor  Peer,  to  old  and  young, 

He  goes  on  raving  in  that  tongue  ; 

Whosoe'er  of  this  lost  treasure  knows. 

Tells  you  how  much  you  would  enjoy  a 

Is  begg'd  to  state  all  facts  about  it. 

Trip  to  Dalnodonbrowskoya  ;' 

As  tlie  owner  can't  well  face  his  foes. 

Talks  of  such  places,  by  the  score,  on 

Nor  even  his  friends,  just  now,  without  it 

As  Oulisfflirmcbinagoboron,' 

And  swears  (for  he  at  nothing  sticks) 

And  if  Sir  Clod  will  bring  it  back,      ' 

That  Russia  swarms  with  Raskol-uiks 

Like  a  trusty  Baronet,  wise  and  able, 

Though  one  such  Nick,  God  knows,  mnbt  ^-3 

lie  shall  have  a  ride  on  the  whitest  hack' 

A  more  than  ample  quantity. 

That's  left  in  old  King  George's  stable. 

Such  are  the  marks  by  which  to  know 

This  stray'd  or  stolen  Plenipo  ; 
And  whosoever  brings  or  sends 

The  unhappy  statesman  to  his  friends. 

MISSING. 

On  Carlton  Terrace,  shall  have  thanks, 

And — any  paper  but  the  Bank's. 

Carlton  Terrace,  1832. 

WiiEUEAs,  Lord  »»»***  do  *»**«* 

P.  S. — Some  think,  the  disappearance 

Left  his  liorae  last  Satm-day, 

Of  this  our  diplomatic  Peer  hence 

And,  ll>  ugh  inquired  for,  round  and  round, 

Is  for  the  purpose  of  reviewing. 

Through  certain  purlieus,  can't  be  found  ; 

III  person,  what  dear-Mig  is  doing, 

And  whereas,  none  can  solve  our  queries 

So  as  to  'scape  all  tell-tale  letters 

As  to  where  this  virtuous  Peer  is, 
Notice  is  hereby  given  that  all 

The  ouly  "  wretches"  for  whose  aid* 

May  forthwith  to  inquiring  fall, 

Letters  seem  not  to  have  been  made. 

1  Writlen  at  that  memorable  crisis  when  a  distinguished 

*  Territory  belonging  to  the  mines  of  KoUvano-Kosskres- 

Dulie,  then  Prime  Minister,  acting  under  the  inspirations  of 

sense. 

Sir  CI— il — s  11 — nl— r  and  other  City  wortliies,  advised  his 

^The  name  of  a  religious  sect  in  Russia.     "Ilexisteen 

Majesty  to  give  up  his  announced  intention  of  dining  with 

Russie  plusieurs  sectes  ;  la  plus   nombrense  est  celle  des 

the  Lnrd  M:iyor. 

Raskol-niks,   ou  vrai-croyants." — Gamba.,   Voyage   dans  la 

*  Among   other    remarltabie    attributes    by    which    Sir 

Russie  Jileridionale. 

CI— d— s  distinguished  himself,  the  dazzling  whiteness  of 

6"  Heaven  first  laughl  letters  for  some  wretch's  aid." 

his  fjivorite  steed  was  not  the  least  conspicuous. 

Topi 

'  In  the  Government  of  Perm, 

596 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  DANCE  OF  BISHOPS  ; 

OR,    THE    EPISCOrAL    QUAUHILI.E.' 

A  DREAM. 

Solemn  dances  were,  on  great  festivals  and  n-lelinitiona, 
admitted  aracng  the  primitive  Christians,  in  wliii-h  even  tlic 
Bishops  and  dignified  Clcrjiy  were  performers.  Scalijjer 
says,  that  the  first  Bishops  were  called  Prtcfulrs^i  Cor  no 
other  reason  than  that  they  led  oIT  these  dances." — Cyclo- 
paedia, art.  Dances. 

I've  had  such  a  dream — a  frightful  dream — 
Though  funny,  mayhap,  to  wags  'twill  seem, 
By  all  who  regard  the  Church,  like  us, 
'Twill  be  thought  exceedingly  ominous  ! 

As  reading  iu  bed  I  lay  la.st  night — 
Which  (being  insured)  is  my  delight — 
I  happen'd  to  doze  ofFjust  as  I  got  to 
The  singular  fact  wliicli  forms  my  motto. 
Only  think,  thought  I,  as  I  dozed  away. 
Of  a  party  of  Churchmen  dancing  the  hay  ! 
Clerics,  curates,  and  rectors,  capering  all. 
With  a  neat-legg'd  Bisliop  to  open  the  ball  ! 

Scarce  had  my  eyelids  time  to  close. 

When  the  scene  I  had  fancied  before  me  rose — 

An  Episcopal  Hop,  on  a  scale  so  grand 

As  my  dazzled  eyes  could  hardly  stand. 

For,  Britain  and  Erin  clubb'd  their  Sees 

To  make  it  a  Dance  of  Dignities, 

And  I  saw — oh  brightest  of  Church  events  I 

A  quadrille  of  the  two  Establishments, 

Bishop  to  Bishop  vis-a-vis, 

Footing  away  prodigiously. 

Tliero  was  Bristol  capering  up  to  Derry, 
And  Cork  with  London  making  merry  ; 
While  huge  Llandaff,  with  a  See,  so  so. 
Was  to  dear  old  Dublin  pointing  his  toe. 
There  was  Chester,  hatch'd  by  woman's  smile, 
Performing  a  chaine  dcs  Dames  in  etyle  ; 
While  he  who,  whene'er  the  Lords'  House  dozes. 
Can  waken  them  up  by  citing  Moses,' 
The  portly  Tuam  was  all  in  a  hurry 
To  set,  en  avant,  to  Canterbury. 

Meanwhile,  while  pamphlets  stuff'd  his  pockets, 
(All  out  of  date,  like  spent  sky-rockets,) 

*  Written  on  the  passing  of  the  memorable  Bill,  in  the 
year  IgSli,  for  the  abolition  often  Irish  Bishoprics. 

s  I^iterally,  First  Dancers. 

3  "  And  wliat  does  Moses  say?" — One  of  the  ejaculations 
with  which  this  eminent  prelate  enlivened  his  famous 
speech  on  the  Catholic  question. 


Our  Exeter  stood  forth  to  caper. 

As  high  on  the  floor  as  he  doth  on  paper — 

Much  like  a  dapper  Dancing  Dervise, 

Who  pirouettes  his  whole  clmrch-service — 

Performing,  'midst  those  reverend  souls, 

Such  entrechats,  such  calrioles, 

Such  halonnes,'  such — rigmaroles, 

Now  high,  now  low,  now  this,  now  that. 

That  none  could  guess,  what  tho  devil  he'd  be  at ; 

Tiioiijh,  watching  his  various  steps,  some  tliought 

That  a  step  in  the  Church  was  all  he  sought. 

But  alas,  alas  I  while  thus  so  gay, 

These  reverend  dancers  frisk'd  away. 

Nor  Paul  himself  (not  the  saint,  but  he 

Of  the  Opera-house)  could  brisker  be. 

There  gather'd  a  gloom  around  tlieir  glee — 

A  shadow,  which  came  and  went  so  fast, 

That  ere  one  could  say  "  'Tis  tliere,"  'tK:s  past — 

And,  lo,  when  the  scene  again  was  clear'd, 

Ten  of  the  dancers  had  disappear'd  ! 

Ten  able-bodied  quadrillers  swept 

From  the  hallow'd  floor  where  late  they  stepp'd. 

While  twelve  was  all  that  footed  it  stilj. 

On  the  Irish  side  of  that  grand  Quadrille  ! 

Nor  this  tho  worst : — still  danced  they  on, ' 

But  the  pomp  was  sadden'd,  the  smile  was  gone  ; 

And  again,  fio"ni  time  to  time,  the  same 

Ill-omen'd  darkness  round  them  came — 

While  still,  as  the  light  broke  out  anew. 

Their  ranks  look'd  less  by  a  dozen  or  two  ; 

Till  ah  I  at  last  there  were  only  found 

Just  Bishops  enough  for  a  four-hands-round  ; 

And  when  I  awoke,  impatient  getting, 

I  left  the  last  holy  pair  pousseiting .' 

N.  B. — As  ladies  in  years,  it  seems. 
Have  the  happiest  knack  at  solving  dreams, 
I  shall  leave  to  my  ancient  feminine  friends 
Of  the  Standard  to  say  what  this  portends. 


DICK   »    »    *    • 


A    CHARACTER. 


Of  various  scraps  and  fragments  built, 
Borrow'd  alike  from  fools  and  wits, 

*  A  description  of  the  method  of  executing  this  step  may 
he  useful  to  future  performers  in  the  same  line  : — "Ce  pas 
est  compose  dc  deu.x  niouvemens  differens,  savoir,  ptitr,  et 
sauter  sur  un  pied,  et  se  rejeter  sur  t'autrc." — Dictiunnairt 
dt  Danse,  art.  Contre-tcmps. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


597 


Dick's  mind  was  like  a  patchwork  quilt, 
Made  up  of  now,  old,  motley  bits — 

Where,  if  the  Co.  call'd  in  their  shares. 
If  petticoats  their  quota  g;ot. 

And  gowns  were  all  refunded  theirs. 
The  quilt  would  look  but  shy,  God  wot. 

And  thus  he  still,  new  plagiaries  seeking, 

Reversed  ventriloquism's  trick. 
For,  'stead  of  Dick  through  others  spccdiing, 

'Twas  others  wo  heard  speak  through  Dick. 
A  Tory  now,  all  bounds  exceeding, 

Now  best  of  Whigs,  now  worst  of  rats  ; 
One  day,  with  Malthus,  foe  to  breeding, 

The  no.\t,  with  Sadler,  all  for  brats. 

Poor  Dick  I — and  how  else  could  it  be  ? 

With  notions  all  at  random  caught, 
A  sort  of  mental  fricassee. 

Made  up  of  legs  and  wings  of  thought — 
The  leavings  of  the  last  Debate,  or 

A  dinner,  yesterday,  of  wits. 
Where  Dick  sat  by,  and,  like  a  waiter, 

Had  the  scraps  for  perquisites. 


A  CORRECTED  REPORT  OF  SOME  LATE 
SPEECHES. 


"  Then  I  heard  one  saint  speaking,  and  auolher  saint  said 
unto  that  saint." 


St.  S — NCL — a  rose  and  declared  in  sooth, 
Tliat  he  wouldn't  give  sixpence  to  Muyuooth. 
He  had  hated  priests  the  whole  of  his  life. 
For  a  priest  was  a  man  who  had  no  wife,' 
And,  having  no  wife,  the  Church  was  his  mother, 
The  Church  was  his  father,  sister,  and  brother. 
This  being  the  case,  he  was  sorry  to  say. 
That  a  gulf  'twixt  Papi.st  and  Protestant  lay,^ 
So  deep  and  wide,  scarce  possible  was  it 
To  say  even  "  how  d'ye  do?''  across  it : 

'  "He  objected  tii  the  maintenance  and  edno:ilion  of  a 
clergy  bound  by  the  particular  VOTCS  of  eelibacij,  uhich,  as  it 
were,  ^ave  them  the  church  as  their oniy  family,  ma/.iji^  itJiU 
tjie places  offaVitr  and  mother  andbrotker" — Debate  on  the 
Grant  to  Maynooth  College,  The  Times,  April  J9. 

2  "  It  had  always  appeared  to  him  that  between  the  Catholic 
and  Protestant  a  great  gvlf  intervened,  which  rendered  it 
impossible,"  &c. 

3  "The  Baptist  might  accepLably  extend  the  offices  of 
religion  to  the  Prcsl  vterian  and  the  Independent,  or  the 


And  though  your  Liberals,  nimble  as  fleas, 

Could  clear  such  gulfs  with  perfect  ease, 

'Twas  a  jump  that  naught  on  earth  could  make 

Your  jiropcr,  heavy-built  Christian  take. 

No,  no, — if  a  Dance  of  Sects  must  be. 

He  would  set  to  the  Baptist  willingly," 

At  the  Lidepeudcnt  deign  to  smirk. 

And  rigadoon  with  old  Mother  Kirk  ; 

Nay  even,  for  once,  if  needs  must  be. 

He'd  take  hands  round  with  all  the  three ; 

But,  as  to  a  jig  with  Pojiery,  no, — 

To  the  Harlot  ne'er  would  he  point  his  toe. 

St  M — n — d — v — le  was  the  next  that  ijse, — 

A  Saint  who  round,  as  pedler,  goes, 

With  his  pack  of  piety  and  prose, 

Heavy  and  hot  enough,  God  knows, — 

And  he  said  that  Papists  were  much  inclined 

To  extirpate  all  of  Protestant  kind. 

Which  he  couldn't,  in  truth,  so  much  condemn. 

Having  mthcr  a  wish  to  extirpate  them  ; 

That  is, — to  guard  against  mistake, — 

To  extirpate  tliem  for  their  doctrine's  sake  ; 

A  distinction  Churchmen  always  make, — 

Insomuch  that,  when  they've  prime  control, 

Thougli  sometimes  roasting  heretics  whole, 

They  but  cook  the  body  for  sake  of  the  soul. 

Next  junip'd  St.  J — hiist — n  jollily  forth. 
The  spiritual  Dogberry  of  the  North,' 
A  right  "  wise  fellow,  and,  what's  more. 
An  ofEcer,''^  like  his  typo  of  yore  ; 
And  he  ask'd,  if  we  grant  such  toleration, 
Pray,  what's  tlie  use  of  our  Reformation  ?° 
What  is  the  use  of  our  Church  and  State  ? 
Our  Bishops,  Articles,  Tithe,  and  Rate? 
And,  still  as  he  yelTd  out  "  what's  the  use?" 
Old  Echoes,  from  their  cells  recluse 
Where  they'd  for  centuries  slept,  broke  loose, 
Yelling  responsive,  "  Vfhal's  the  ttse?" 


member  of  the  Church  of  England  to  any  of  the  other  three; 
but  the  Catholic,"  &c. 

<  "  Could  he  then,  holding  as  he  did  a  spiritual  office  in 
the  Church  of  Scotland,  (cries  of  hear,  and  laughter,)  with 
any  consistency  give  his  consent  to  a  grant  of  money  1"  &c. 

6  "I  am  a  wise  fellow,  and,  which  is  more,  an  officer." 
Jtft^cA  .fido  about  J^othin^. 

*  "  What,  ho  asked,  was  the  use  of  the  Reformation  "i 
What  was  the  use  of  the  Articlesuf  the  Chiuch  of  England, 
or  of  the  Church  of  Scotland  1"  &.c. 


598 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


MORAL  POSITIONS. 


"  His  lri)r(iship  said  that  it  took  a  lonp  time  for  a  moral 
position  to  find  its  way  across  the  Atlantic,  lie  was  very 
sorry  that  its  voyage  had  been  so  lone,"  &.C. — Speech  of 
Lord  Dudley  and  Ward  on  Colonial  Slavery,  March  8. 

T'other  night,  after  hearing  Lord  Dudley's  oration, 
(A  treat  that  comes  once  a-year  as  May-day  does,) 

I  dreamt  that  I  savp — what  a  strange  operation ! 
A  "  moral  position"  sliipp'd  off  for  Barbadoes. 

The  whole  Bench  of  Bishops  stood  by  in  grave  at- 
titudes. 

Packing  the  article  tidy  and  neat ; — 
As  their  Rev'rences  know,  that  in  southerly  latitudes 

"  Moral  positions"  don't  keep  very  sweet. 

There  was  B — th — st  arranging  the  custom-house 

pass ;  [routing. 

And,  to  guard  the  frail  package  from  lousing  and 

There  stood  my  Lord  Eld — n,  endorsing  it  "  Gliiss," 

Though  as  to  which  side   should  lie  uppermost, 

doubting. 

The  freight  was,  however,  stow'd  safe  in  the  hold  ; 

The  winds  were  polite,  and  the  moon  look'd  ro- 
mantic, [roll'd. 
While  off  in  the  good  ship  "  The  Truth"  we  were 

With  our  ethical  cargo,  across  the  Atlantic. 

Long,  dolefully  long,  seem'd  the  voyage  we  made ; 
For  "  The  Truth,"  at  all  times  but  a  very  slow 
sailer. 
By  friends,  near  as  much  as  by  foes,  is  delay'd. 
And  few  come  aboard  hor,  though  so  many  hail 
her. 

At  length  safe  arrived,  I  went  through  "  tare  and 
tret," 
Dcliver'd  my  goods  in  the  primest  condition," 
And  next  morning  read,  in  the  Bridgctoron  GazetTe, 
"  Just  arrived  by  '  The  Truth,'  a  new  moral  po- 
sition." 

*'  The  Captain" — here,  startled  to  find  myself  named 

As   "  the    Captain" — (a  thing    wliich,  I  own   it 

with  pain,  [ashamed, 

I  through  life  have  avoided,)  I  woke — look'd 
Found  I  wasn't  a  captain,  and  dozed  off  again. 

1  Eclipses  and  comeu  have  been  always  looked  to  as  great 
changers  of  administrations.  Thus  Wilton,  speaking  of  the 
f'irii>ir ; — 

"  With  fear  of  change 
Perplexing  monarchs." 


THE  MAD  TORY  AND  THE  COMET. 


FOUNDED  ON  A  L-\TE  DISTKESSl.NG  I.NCIDENT. 


^Mntanteni  regna  coiuetcm.  ' 


1832-3 

LUCAN.I 


*'  TnouGir   all   the   pet   mischiefs   wo   coimt  upon 
fail, 
"  Though  Cholera,  hurricanes,  Wellington  leave 
us, 
"  W^e've  still  in  reserve,  mighty  Comet,  thy  tail ; — 
"  Last  liope  of  the  Tories,  wilt  thou  too  deceive 
us? 

"  No — 'tis  coming,  'tis  coming,  th'  avenger  is  nigh  ; 

'  Heed,  heed  not,  ye  placemen,  how  Herapath 
flatters ; 
"  One  whisk  from  that  tail,  as  it  passes  us  by, 

"  Will  settle,  at  once,  all  political  matters; — 

"  The  East-India    Question,  the    Bank,  the    Five 
Powers, 
("  Now    turn'd    into    two)  with    their    rigmarole 
Protocols  ;^ — 
"  Ha !  ha  I  ye  gods,  how  tliis  new  friend  of  ours 
"  Will   knock,   right   and   left,   all    diplomacy's 
what-d'ye-calls  I 

"  Yes,  rather  than  Whigs  at  our  downfall  should 
mock, 
"  Meet  planets,  and  suns,  in  one  general  hustle  ! 
"  While,  happy    in    vengeance,    we    welcome    the 
shock 
"  That  shall  jerk  from  their  places.  Grey,  Allhorp, 
and  Russell." 

Thus  spoke  a  mad  Lord,  as,  with  telescope  raised. 

His  wild  Tory  eye  on  the  heavens  ho  set; 
And,  though    nothing  destructive   ai)pear'd   as   he 
gazed. 
Much  hoped  that  there  would,  before  Parliament 
met. 

And  still,  as  odd  shapes  seem'd  to  flit  through  his 

glass, 

"  Ha  !  there  it  is  now,"  the  poor  maniac  cries  ; 

While    his    fancy  with    forms  but    too    monstrous, 

alas ! 

From  his  own  Tory  zodiac,  peoples  the  skies : — 

And  in  Statius  we  find, 

"Mutant  qiiffi  sceptra  conielae.'' 
a  See,  for  some  of  these  Protocols,  the  Annual  Register, 
for  the  year  1833. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


599 


"  Now  1  ppy  a  big  body,  good  heav^is,  how  big  ! 

"  Wliether    Bucky'    or    Taurus    I    caunot    well 
say  : — 
"  And,  yonder,  there's  Eld — ii's  old  Chaucery-wig, 

"  lu  its  dusty  aphelion  fast  fading  away. 

"  I  see,  'mong  those  fatuous  meteors  behind, 
"  L — nd — nd — r)',  in  vacuo,  flaring  about ; — 

"  While  tliat  dim  double  star,  of  the  nebulous  kind, 
"  Is    the    Gemiui,    R — den    and   L — rt — n,    no 
doubt, 

"  Ah,  El— b"r— h  !  'faith,  I  first  thought  'twas  the 

Comet ; 

"  So  like  that  in  Milton,  it  made  mo  quite  pale  ; 

"  The  head  with  the    same  '  horrid  hair'^   coming 

from  it, 

"  And  plenty  of  vapor,  but — where  is  tlic  tail?" 

Just  then,  up  aloft  jump'd  the  gazer  elated — 
For,  lo,  his  bright  glass  a  phenomenon  show'd. 

Which    he    took    to    be    C — mb — rl — d,    upwards 
translated. 
Instead  of  liis  natural  course,  t'other  road  ! 

But  too  awful  that  sight  for  a  spirit  so  shaken, — 
Down     dropp'd     the     poor     Tory    in    fits    and 
grimaces,  [taken. 

Then    off  to    the    Bedlam    in   Charles  Street  was 
And  is  now  one  of  Halford's  most  favorite  eases. 


FROM  THE  HON.  HENRY  ■ 
TO  LADY  EMMA 


Paris,  March  30,  1832. 

You  bid  me  explain,  my  dear  angry  Ma'amselle, 
How  I  came  thus  to  bolt  without  saying  farewell ; 
And  the  truth  is, — as  truth  you  will  have,  my  sweet 
railer, — 
There  are  two  worthy  pei*sons  I  always  feel  loath 
To  take  leave  of   at    starting, — my  mistress    and 
tailor, — 
As  somehow  one  always  has  scenes  with  them 
both  ; 
The  Snip  in  ill-humor,  the  SjTen  in  tears, 

She  calling  on  Heaven,  and  he  on  th'  attorney, — 
Till  sometimes,   in  short,   'twixt  his  duns  and  his 
dears, 
A   young  gentleman  risks  being  stopp'd   in  his 
journey. 

Tlie  D— €  of  B— ck— 111. 

"  .And  from  his  horrid  hair 
Shakes  pestilence  ami  war." 


But,  to  come  to  the  point, — though  you  think,    I 

dare  say, 
Tha;  'tis  debt  or  the  Cholera  drives  ne  away, 
'Pon    honor    you're   wrong  ; — such   a  mere    baga» 

telle 
As  a  pestilence,  nobody,  now-a-days,  fears ; 
AmH  the  fact  is,  my  love,  I'm  thus  bolting,  pell- 

mell. 
To   get    out    of   the  way  of  these    horrid   new 

Peers  f 
This  deluge  of  coronets,  frightful  to  think  of, 
Which  England  is  now,  for  her  sins,  on  tlio  brink  of; 
This  coinage  of  nobles, — coin'd,  all  of  'em,  badly. 
And  sure  to  bring  Counts  to  a  discount  most  sadly. 

Only  think,  to  have  Lords  overrunning  the  nation. 
As  plenty  :.s  frogs  in  a  Dutch  inundation  ; 
No  shelter  from  Barons,  from  Earls  no  protection. 
And  tadpole  young  Lords,  too,  m  every  direction, — 
Things  created  in  haste,  just  to  make  a  Court  list 

of, 
Two  legs  and  a  coronet  all  they  consist  of ! 
The  prospect's  quite  frightful,  and  what  Sir  George 

R— se 
(My  particular  friend)  says  is  perfectly  true. 
That,  so  dire  the  alternative,  nobody  knows, 

'Twi.xt  the  Peers  and  the  Pestilence,  what  he's  to 

do; 
And  Sir  George  even  doubts, — could  he  choose  his 

disorder, — 
'Twixt  coffin  and  coronet,  which  he  would  order 

This  being  the  case,  why,  I  thought,  my  dear  Emma, 
"Fwere  best  to  figlit  shy  of  so  cursed  a  dilemma ; 
And  though  I  confess  myself  somewhat  a  villain, 

To've  left  idol  mio  without  an  addio, 
Console  your  sweet  heart,  and,  a  week  hence,  from 
Milan 

I'll  send  you — some  news  of  Bellini's  last  trio. 

N.  B. — Have  just  pack'd  up  my  travelling  set-out. 

Things  a  tourist  in  Italy  cant  go  without — 

Viz.,  a  pair  of  gants  gras,  from  old  Houbigaut's 

shop. 
Good  for  hands  that  the  air  of  Mont  Cenis  might 

chap. 
Small  presents  for  ladies, — and  nothing  so  wlieedles 
The  creatures  abroad  as  your  golden-eyed  needles. 
A  neat  pocket  Horace,  by  which  folks  are  cozen'd 
To  thinlc  one  knows   Latin,  when — one,  perhaps, 

doesn't ; 
With  some  little  book  about  heathen  mythology, 
Just  large  enough  to  refrcsli  one's  theology  ; 

3  A  new  creation  of  Peers  was  generally  e-xpected  at  *his 
tinie. 


600 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


and 


Nothirg  on  earth  being  lialf  such  a  bore  as 
Not    knowing   the    difference    'twixt   Virgins 

Floras. 
Once  more,  love,  farewell,  best  regards  to  the  girls. 
And  mind  you  beware  of  damp  feet  anJ  new  Earls. 

Henry. 


TRIUMPH  OF  BIGOTRY. 

"  College. — We  announced,  in  our  last,  that  Lefroyand 
Shaw  were  returned.  They  were  chaired  yesterday;  the 
Students  of  the  Coilcge  determined,  it  would  seem,  to  imi- 
tate the  inch  in  all  things,  harnessing  themselves  to  the  car, 
and  the  Masters  of  Arts  bearing  Orange  flags  and  bludgeons 
before,  beside,  and  behind  the  car." 

Dublin  Evening  Post,  Dec.  20,  1832. 

Ay,  yoke  ye  to  the  bigots'  car, 

Ye  chosen  of  Alma  Mater's  scions  ; — 
Fleet  chargers  drew  the  God  of  War, 

Great  Cybele  was  drawn  by  lions, 
And  Sylvan  Pan,  as  Poets  dream. 
Drove  four  young  panthers  in  his  team. 
Thus  classical  L — fr — y,  for  once,  is, 

Thus,  studious  of  a  like  turn-out, 
He  harnesses  young  sucking  dimces, 

To  draw  him,  as  their  Chief,  about, 
And  let  the  world  a  picture  see 
Of  Dulness  yoked  to  Bigotry : 
Showing  us  how  young  College  hacks 
Can  pace  with  bigots  at  their  backs. 
As  though  the  cubs  were  born  to  draw 
Such  luggage  as  L — fr — y  and  Sh — w. 

Oh  shade  of  Goldsmith,  shade  of  Swift, 

Bright  spirits  whom,  in  days  of  yore. 
This  Queen  of  Dulness  sent  adrift. 

As  aliens  to  her  foggy  sliore ;' — 
Shade  of  our  glorious  Grattan,  too, 

AVliose  very  name  her  shame  recalls  ; 
Whose  effigy  her  bigot  crew 

Reversed  upon  their  monkish  walls,^ — 
Bear  witness  (lest  the  world  should  doubt) 

To  your  mute  Mother's  dull  renown, 
Then  famous  but  for  Wit  tuni'd  out, 

And  Eloquence  turnd  upside  down  ; 
But  now  ordain'd  new  w'reaths  to  win, 

Beyond  all  fatne  of  former  days, 


1  See  the  lives  of  these  two  poets  for  the  circumstances 
under  which  they  left  Dublin  Coilepc. 

2  In  the  year  17911,  the  Board  of  Trinity  College.  Dublin, 
thought  proper,  as  a  mndc  of  exprcssingtheirdisapprdliation 
o(  Mr.  Graltan's  public  conduct,  to  order  his  portrait,  in  the 


By  breaking  thus  j'oung  donkeys  in 

To  draw  M.  P.s,  amid  the  brays 

Alike  of  donkeys  and  M.  A.B  ; — 

Defying  0.\ford  to  surpass  'em 

In  tliis  new  "  Gradus  ad  Parnassum.' 


TRANSLATION  FROM  THE  GULL 
LANGUAGE. 

Scripla  manet. 

1833 
'TwAS  graved  on  the  Stono  of  Destiny,' 
In  letters  four,  and  letters  three  ; 
And  ne'er  did  the  King  of  the  Gulls  go  by 
But  those  awfid  letters  scared  his  eye  ; 
For  he  knew  tliat  a  Prophet  Voice  had  said, 
"  As  long  as  those  words  by  man  were  read, 
"  The  ancient  race  of  the  Gulls  should  ne'er 
"  One  hour  of  peace  or  plenty  share." 
But  years  on  years  successive  flew, 
And  the  letters  still  more  legible  grew, — 
At  top,  a  T,  an  H,  an  E, 
And  underneath,  D.  E.  B.  T. 

Some  thought  them  Hebrew, — such  as  Jews, 
.More  skill'd  in  Scrip  than  Scripture,  use ; 
While  some  surmised  'twas  an  ancient  way 
Of  keeping  accounts,  (well  known  in  the  day 
Of  the  famed  Didlerius  Jeremias, 
Who  had  thereto  a  wonderful  bias,) 
And  proved  in  books  most  learnedly  boring, 
'Twas  call'd  the  Pondci  way  of  scoring. 

Howe'er  this  he,  there  never  were  yet 

Seven  letters  of  the  alphabet. 

That,  'twi.xt  tlicm  form'd  so  grim  a  spell, 

Or  scared  a  Land  of  Gulls  so  well, 

As  did  this  awful  riddle-me-ree 

Of  T.  H.  E.  D.  E.  B.  T. 


Hark  I — it  ig  struggling  Freedom's  cry  ; 

"  Help,  help,  ye  nations,  or  I  die ; 

"  'Tis  freedom's  figlit,  and,  on  the  field 

*'  Where  I  expire,  your  doom  is  seal'd." 

The  Gull-King  hears  the  awakening  call. 

He  hath  summon'd  his  Peers  and  Patriots  all, 


Great  Hal!  of  the  University,  to  he  turned  upside  down,  Jnd 
ju  this  position  it  remained  for  some  time. 

3  Liafail,  or  the  Stone  of  Destiny, — for  which,  see  West- 
minster Abbey 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


601    j 


And  he  asks,  "  Ye  noble  Gulls,  shall  we 

"  Stand  basely  by  at  the  fall  of  the  Free, 

"  Nor  utter  a  curse,  nor  deal  a  blow  ?" 

And  they  answer,  with  voice  of  thunder,  "  No.' 

Out  fly  their  flasliing  swords  in  the  air  I — 
Bui, — why  do  they  rest  suspended  there? 
What  sudden  blight,  what  baleful  charm, 
Hatli  cliih'd  each  eye,  and  check'd  each  arm  ^ 
Alas  !  some  withoriuj  hand  hath  tlirown 
The  veil  from  off  that  fatal  stone. 
And  pointing  now,  with  sapless  finger, 
Showetii  whore  dark  those  Icttere  linger, — 
Letters  four,  and  letters  three, 
T.  H.  E.    D.  E.  B.  T. 

At  sight  thereof,  each  lifted  brand 

Powerless  falls  from  every  hand  ; 

In  vain  the  Patriot  knits  his  brow,— 

E?  en  talk,  his  staple,  fails  him  now. 

In  vain  the  King  Idte  a  hero  treads, 

Ilis  Lords  of  the  Treasury  shake  their  heads  ; 

And  to  all  his  talk  of  "  brave  and  free," 

No  answer  getteth  His  Majesty 

But"T.  H.  E.   D.  E.  B.  T" 

In  short,  the  whole  Gull  nation  feels 
They're  fairly  spell-bound,  neck  and  heels  ; 
And  so,  in  the  face  of  the  laughing  world. 
Must  e'en  sit  down,  with  banners  furl'd. 
Adjourning  all  their  dreams  sublime 
Of  glory  and  war  to — some  other  time. 


NOTIONS  ON  REFORM. 

BY  A  MODERN  nEFORMER. 

Of  all  the  misfortunes  as  yet  brought  to  pass 

By  this    comet-like    Bill,  with    its    long    tail    of 
speeches. 
The  saddest  and  worst  is  the  schism  which,  alas ! 
It  has  caused  between  W — th — r — I's  waistcoat 
and  breeches. 

Some  symptoms  of  this  Anti-Union  propensity 
Had  oft  broken  out  in  that  quarter  before  ; 

But  the  breach,  since  the  Bill,  has  attain'd  such  im- 
mensity, 
Daniel  himself  could  have  scarce  wish'd  it  more. 


1  It  will  be  recollected  that  the  learned  gentleman  himself 
boasted  one  niglit  in  the  House  of  Commons,  of  having  sat 
in  the  very  chair  which  this  allegorical  lady  had  occu- 
pied. 

*  Lucan's  de.scriplion  of  the  ctTects  of  the  tripod  on  the 


Oh  !  haste  to  repair  it,  ye  friends  of  good  order, 
Ye  Atw — ds  and  W — tins,  ere  the  moment  is  past ; 

Who  can  doubt  that  we  tread  upon  Anarchy's  border, 
When  the  ties  that  should  hold  men  are  loosenuig 
so  fast  ? 

Make  W — th^r — 1  yield  to  "  some  sort  of  Reform," 
(As  we  all  must,  God  help  us !  with  very  wry 
faces,) 

And  loud  as  he  likes  let  him  bluster  and  storm 
About  Corporate  Rights,  so  he'll  only  wear  braces. 

Should  those  he  now  sports  have  been  long  in  pos- 
session. 
And,  like  his  own  borough,  the  worse  for    l:e 
wear. 
Advise  him,  at  least,  as  a  prudent  concession 
To  Intellect's  progress,  to  buy  a  new  pair. 

Oh  !  who  that  e'er  saw  liira,  when  vocal  he  stands 
With  a  look  something   midway  'twi.xt  Filch's 
and  Lockit's, 
While  still,  to  inspire  him,  his  deeply  thrast  hands 
Keep  jingling  the  rhino  in  both  breeches-pock- 
et."— 

Who    that    ever    has  listen'd,  through  groan  and 
through  cough. 
To  the  speeches  inspired  by  this  music  of  pence, — 
But  must  grieve  that  there's  any  thmg  like  falling 
off 
In  that  great  nether  source  of  his  wit  and  his 
sense  ? 

Who  that  knows  how  he  look'd  when,  with  grace 
debonair. 
He  began  first  to  court — rather  late  in  the  season — 
Or  when,  less  fastidious,  he  sat  in  the  chair 

Of  his  old   friend,  the   Nottingham   Goddess   of 
Reason  ;' 

That  Goddess,  whose  borough-like  virtue  attracted 
All  mongers  in  both  w^ares  to  proffer  their  love  ; 

W^hose  chair  like  the  stool  of  the  Pythoness  acted. 
As  W — th — r — I's  rants,  ever  since,  go  to  prove  •' 

Who,  in  short,  would  not  giieve,  if  a  man  of  his 
gi'aces 

Shoidd  go  on  rejecting,  unwarn'd  by  the  past. 
The  "  moderate  Reform"  of  a  pair  of  new  braces. 

Till,  some  day, — he'll  all  fall  to  pieces  at  last. 


appearance  and  voice  of  the  sitter,  shows  that  the  symptoms 
are,  at  least,  very  similar; 

Spumca  tunc  primum  rabies  vesana  per  ora 

Efflult 

tunc  raffistus  vaslis  ululntus  in  antria. 


602                                               MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

From  the  Anti-Tory,  Colonel  J — cs. 

TORY  PLEDGES. 

To  the  Anti-Suttee,  Mr  P— ynd— r. 

I  FLEDUE  myself  througli  thick  and  thin, 

Such  are  the  Pledges  I  propose  ; 

To  labcr  still,  with  zeal  devout. 

And  though  I  can't  now  offer  gold, 

To  fjet  the  OiiLs,  poor  devils,  in. 

There's  many  a  way  of  buying  those 

And  turn  the  Inus,  the  wretches,  out. 

W^ho've  but  the  taste  for  being  sold. 

I  pledge  myself,  though  much  bereft 

So  hero's,  with  three  times  three  hurrahs, 

Of  ways  and  means  of  ruling  ill. 

A  toast,  of  which  you'll  not  complain, — 

To  make  the  most  of  what  are  left. 

"  Lon'  '.'%  to  jobbing  :  may  the  days 

And  stick  to  all  tliat's  rotten  still. 

"  Of  Peculation  shine  again  1" 

Though  gone  the  days  of  place  and  pelf. 

And  drones  no  more  take  all  the  h.-ncy, 
I  pledge  myself  to  cram  myself 

With  all  I  can  of  public  money  ; 

To  quarter  on  that  social  purse 

ST.  JEROME  ON  E..RTH. 

My  nephews,  nieces,  sisters,  brothers. 

Nor,  so  we  prosper,  care  a  curse 

FIRST    VISIT. 

How  much  'tis  at  th'  expense  of  others. 

1832. 

I  pledge  myself,  whenever  Right 

As  St.  Jerome,  who  died  some  ages  ago. 

And  ftlight  on  any  point  divide, 

Was  sitting,  one  day,  in  the  shades  below. 

Not  to  ask  which  is  black  or  white. 

"  I've  heard  much  of  English  bishops,"  quoth  he. 

But  take,  at  once,  the  strongest  side. 

"  And  shall  now  take  a  trip  to  earth,  to  see 

"  How  far  they  agree,  in  their  lives  and  ways, 

For  instance,  ia  all  Tithe  discussions. 

"  With  our  good  old  bishops  of  ancient  days." 

I'm  for  the  Reverend  encroaeliers  :— 

I  loathe  the  Poles,  applaud  the  Russians, — 

lie  had  learn'd — but  learn'd  without  misgivings — 

Am /or  the  Squires  against  the  Poachers. 

Their  love  for  good  living,  and  eke  good  livings  ; 

Not  knowing  (as  ne'er  having  taken  degrees) 

Betwixt  the  Corn-Lords  and  the  Poor 

That  good  limng  means  claret  and  fricassees. 

j            Pve  not  the  slightest  hesitation, — 

While  its  plural  means  simply — pluralities. 

1        The  people  must  bo  starved  t"  ensure 

"  From  all  I  hear,"  said  the  innocent  man, 

1 

The  Land  its  due  remuneration. 

"  They  are  quite  on  the  good  old  primitive  plan. 

"  For  wealth  and  pomp  they  little  can  care. 

!         I  pledge  myself  to  be  no  more 

'*  As  they  all  say  '  No^  to  th'  Episcopal  chair  : 
"  And  their  vestal  virtue  it  well  denotes, 

Witii  Ireland's  wrongs  beprosed  or  shamm'd — 
I  vote  her  grievances  a  bore^ 

"  That  they  all,  good  men,  weal-  petticoats." 

So  she  may  suffer,  and  be  d — d. 

Thus  saying,  post-haste  to  eai'th  he  hurries, 

And  knocks  at  th'  Archbishop  of  Canterbury's. 

Or  if  she  kick,  let  it  console  us, 

The  door  was  oped  by  a  lackey  in  lace. 

We  still  have  plenty  of  red  coats, 

Saying,  "  What's  your  business  with  his  Grace  ?" 

To  cram  the  Church,  that  general  bolus. 

"  His  grace  !"  quoth  Jerome — for  posed  was  he. 

Down  any  giv'n  amount  of  throats. 

Not  knowing  what  sort  this  Grace  could  be  ; 

Whether  Grace  preventing,  Grace  particular. 

I  dearly  love  the  Frankfort  Diet, — 

Grace  of  that  breed  called  Quinquarticular^ — 

Think  newspapers  the  worst  of  crimes  ; 

In  short,  he  rummaged  his  holy  mind, 

And  would,  to  give  some  chance  of  quiet, 

Th'  exact  description  of  Grace  to  find, 

Hang  all  the  writers  of  Tlie  Times  ; 

Which  thus  could  represented  be 

By  a  footman  in  full  livery. 

Break  all  their  correspondents'  bones. 

All  authors  of  "  Reply,"  "  Rejoinder," 

*  So  called  from  the  proceedings  of  the  Synod  of  Dort. 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


603 


At  last,  out  loud  in  a  laugh  lie  broke, 
(For  dearly  the  good  saint  loved  his  joke,') 
And  said — sun'eying,  as  sly  he  spoke, 
Tlie  costly  palace  from  roof  to  hasn — 
"  Well,  it  isn't,  at  least,  a  sarins  Grace  !" 
"Umpli,"  said  the  lackev,  a  man  of  fow  words, 
"  Tir  Arclibishop  is  gone  to  the  Honsc  of  Lords." 
•'  To  the  House  of  the  Lord,  you  moan,  my  eon, 
'•  For  in  my  time,  at  least,  there  was  but  one  ; 
"  Unless  such  niany-/oZ(i  priests  as  these 
"Seek,  ev'n  in  their  Lord,  phiralities!"" 
"  No  time  for  gab,"  quotli  the  man  in  lace: 
Then,  slamming  the  door  in  St.  .Jerome's  face, 
With  a  curse  to  the  single  knockers  all, 
Went  to  tinish  his  port  in  the  sejTants'  hall, 
And  jiropose  a  toast  (humanely  meant 
To  include  even  Curates  in  its  extent) 
''  To  all  as  serves  th'  F.stablishment." 


ST.  JEROME  ON  EARTH. 

SECOND    VISIT. 

"This  much  I  dare  say.  thiit,  since  lording  and  loitering 
hath  come  up,  preaching  hath  come  down,  contrary  (o  the 
Apostles'  times.  For  they  preached  and  lorded  not:  and 
now  they  lordv.nd.  pretich  not Ever  since  the  Pre- 
lates were  made  Lords  and  Nohlcs,  the  plough  standeth ; 
there  is  no  work  done,  the  people  starve." — Latimer,  Ser- 
mon of  the  Plough. 

"  Once  more,"  said  Jerome,  "  I'll  run  up  and  see 

"How  the  Church  goes  on," — and  offset  he. 

Just  then  the  packet-boat,  which  trades 

Betwixt  our  planet  and  the  shades, 

Had  arrived  below,  with  a  freiglit  so  queer, 

"  My  eyes  I*'  said  Jerome,  "  what  have  we  here  ?"- — 

For  he  saw,  when  nearer  he  explored. 

They'd  a  cargo  of  Bishops'  wigs  aboard. 

"  They  are  ghosts  of  wigs,"  said  Charon,  *'  all, 

"  Once  worn  by  nobs  Episcopal.^ 

"  For  folks  on  earth,  wlioVe  got  a  store 

"  Of  cast  off  things  they'll  want  no  more, 

"  Oft  send  them  down,  as  gifts,  you  know, 

"  To  a  certain  Gentleman  here  below." 


1  Witness  his  well-known  pun  on  the  name  of  his  adver- 
sary, Vigilanlius,  whom  he  calls  facetiously  Dormitantius. 

2  The  suspicion  attached  to  some  of  the  early  Fathers  of 
being  Arians  in  their  doctrine  would  appear  to  derive  some 
confirmation  from  this  passage. 

3  The  wig,  which  had  so  long  formed  an  essential  part  of 
the  dress  of  an  English  bishop,  was  at  this  time  beginning 
U  be  dispensed  with. 


"  A  sign  of  the  times,  I  plainly  see," 
Said  the  Saint  to  himself  as,  pondering,  he 
Sail'd  off  in  the  death-boat  gallantly. 

Arrived  on  earth,  quoth  ho,  "  No  more 

*'  ril  affect  a  body,  as  before  ; 

"  For  I  think  Fd  best,  in  the  company 

"  Of  Spiritual  Lords,  a  spirit  be, 

"  And  glide,  unseen,  from  See  to  See." 

But  oh  !  to  tell  what  scenes  lie  saw, — ■ 

It  was  more  than  Rabelais'  pen  could  draw 

For  instance,  Ite  found  Ex — t — r, 

Soul,  body,  inkstand,  all  in  a  stir, — 

For  love  of  God  ?  for  sake  of  King? 

For  good  of  people? — no  such  thing  ; 

But  to  get  for  himself,  by  some  new  trick, 

A  shove  to  a  better  bishoprick. 

He  found  that  pious  soul,  Van  M — Id — t, 

Much  with  his  money-bags  bewilder'd; 

Snubbing  the  Clerks  of  the  Diocese,* 

Because  the  rojrues  show'd  restlessness 

At  having  too  little  cash  to  loucli, 

While  he  so  Christianly  bears  too  much. 

He  found  old  Sarum's  wits  as  gone 

As  his  own  beloved  text  in  John,^ — 

Text  he  hath  prosed  so  long  upon, 

That  'lis  ihou^rhtwhen  ask'd,  at  the  gate  of  heaven, 

His  name,  he'll  answer  "John,  v.  7." 

*'  But  enough  of  Bishops  I've  had  to-day," 

Said  the  weary  Saint, — "  I  must  away. 

"  Tliough  I  own  I  slionld  like,  before  I  go, 

"  To  see  for  once  (as  I'm  ask'd  below 

*'  If  really  such  odd  sights  exist) 

"  A  regular  six-fold  Pluralist." 

Just  then  he  heard  a  general  cry — 

"  There's  Doctor  Hodgson  galloping  by  !" 

*'  Ay,  that's  the  man,"  says  the  Saint,  *'  to  follow," 

And  off  he  sets,  with  a  loud  view-hollo. 

At  Hodgson's  heels,  to  catch,  if  lie  can, 

A  glimpse  of  this  singular  plural  man. 

But,— talk  of  Sir  Boy>  Roche's  bird  !" 

To  compare  him  with  Hodgson  is  absurd. 

"  Which  way,  sir,  pray,  is  the  doctor  gone  ?" — 

*'  He  is  now  at  his  living  at  Hillingdon." — 

''  No,  no, — you're  out,  by  many  a  mile, 

"  He's  away  at  his  Deanery,  in  Carlisle." — 


■1   See  the  Bishop' •  Letter  to  Clergy  of  his  Diocese. 

t  1  John,  v.  7.  A  text  which,  though  Inrg  given  up  by  all 
the  rest  of  the  nrthoilox  world,  is  still  pertinaciously  adhered 
to  liy  this  Right  Reverend  scholar. 

6  It  was  a  saying  uf  the  wcll-kuown  Sir  Boyle,  that  "a 
man  could  nut  be  in  two  places  at  unce,  imless  he  wai  a 
bird." 


604 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  Pardon  mc,  sir ;  but  I  understand 

"  He's  gone  to  his  living  in  Cumberland." — 

"  God  bless  me,  no, — he  can't  be  there  ; 

"  You  must  try  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square." 

Thus  all  in  vain  the  Saint  inquired, 

From  living  to  living,  mock'd  and  tired ; — 

'Twas  Hodgson  here,  'twas  Hodgson  there, 

'Twas  Hodgson  nowhere,  everywhere  ; 

Till,  fairly  beat,  the  Saint  gave  o'er, 

And  flitted  away  to  the  Stygian  shore. 

To  astonish  the  natives  under  ground 

With  the  comical  things  he  on  earth  had  found. 


THOUGHTS  ON  TAR  BARRELS. 

(Vide  Description  of  a  late  Fete.'  ) 

1833. 
W  ViAT  a  pleasing  contrivance  !  how  aptly  devised 
'Twixt  tar  and  magnolias  to  puzzle  one's  noses  ! 
And  how  the  tar-barrels  must  all  be  surprised 
To   find   themselves   seated    like  "  Love  among 


What  a  pity  we  can't,  by  precautions  like  these, 
Clear  the  air  of  that  other  still  viler  infection  ; 

1  hat  radical  pest,  that  old  whigglsh  disease, 

Of  which  cases,  true-blue,  are  iu  every  direction. 

'Stead  of  barrels,  let's  light  up  an  Auto  da  F^ 

Of  a  few  good  combustible  Lords  of  "  the  Club;" 
They  would  fume,   iu   a  trice,  the  Whig  cholera 
away. 
And  there's  B — cky  would  burn  like  a  barrel  of 
bub. 

How    R — d — n    would  blaze  !    and    what    rubbish 
throw  out !  ' 

A  volcano  of  nonsense,  in  active  display  ; 
While  V — ne,   as  a  butt,   amidst  laughter,  would 
spout 
The  hot  nothings  he's  full  of,  all  night  and  all  day. 

And  then,  for  a  finish,  there's  C — mb — d's  Duke, — 
Good  Lord,  how  his  chin-tuft  would  crackle  in 
air! 

Unless  (as  is  shrewdly  surmised  from  his  look) 
He's  already  bespoke  for  combustion  elsewhere. 


1  The  M s  of  H— If— d's  F61o.— From  ilreiii!  of  cholera 

Ins  Lorilship  had  ordcrcJ  tar-barrels  to  be  burnetl  in  every 
direction. 

^  These  verses,  as  well  as  some  others  tlKitfoIInw,  (p.  (J08,) 
were  extorted  from  me  by  that  himentable  measure  of  the 
Whig  ministry,  the  Irish  Coercion  Act. 


THE  CONSULTATION.' 


"  When  they  do  agree,  their  tinanimity  is  rt'onderful. " 

Tie  Critic 


Scene  discovers  Dr.  U^titr  avd  Dr.  Tory  in  eonctdlation. 
Patient  on  thejloor  between  them. 

Dr.  Whig. — Tins  wild  Irish  patient  does  pester  me 

so. 
That  what  to  do  with  him,  I'm  cursed  if  I  know  ; 

I've  jivomised  him  anodynes 

Dr.  Tory.  Anodynes  ! — Stuff 

Tie   him  doOTi — gag   him    well — he'll   be    trannuil 

enough. 
That's  my  mode  of  practice. 

Dr.  Whig.  True,  quite  in  your  line 

But  unluckily  not  much,  till  lately,  in  mine. 

'Tis  so  painful 

Dr.    Tory. — Pooh,  nonsense — ask  Ude  how  he 

feels, 
When,  for  Epictire  feasts,  he  prepares  his  live  eels. 
By  flinging  them  in,  'twixt  the  bars  of  the  fire. 
And  letting  them  wriggle  on  there  till  they  tire. 
He,  too,  says  "  'tis  painful" — "  quite  maltes  his  heart 

bleed" — 
But  "  your  eels  are  a  vile,  oleaginous  breed." — 
He  would  fain  use  them  gently,  but  Cookery  says 

"  No," 
And — in  short — eels  were  horn  to  bo  treated  just 

so.= 
'Tis  the  same  with  these  Irish, — who're  odder  fish 

still,— 
Your  tender  Whig  heart  shrinks  from  using  them 

ill; 
I,  myself,  iu  my  youth,  ere  I  came  to  get  wise. 
Used,  at  some  operations,  to  blush  to  the  eyes  ; — 
But,  in  fact,  my  dear  brother, — if  I  may  make  Iwld 
To  style  you,  as  Feachum  did  Lockit,  of  old, — 
We,  Doctoi*s,  wist  act  with  the  firmness  of  Ude, 
And,    indifl'erent    like    him, — so    the    fish    is    biti 

stew'd, — • 
Must  torture  live  Pats  for  the  general  good. 

[Here  patient  groans  and  kicks  a  little. 
Dr.  Whig. — But  what,  if  one's  patient's  so   devilish 

per\'erse, 
That  he  wo'n^t  be  thus  tortured  ? 

Dr.  Tory.  Coerce,  sir,  coerce. 


3  This  eminent  artist,  in  the  second  edition  nf  the  work 
wherein  he  propounds  this  jtiodc  of  purifying  his  etls,  pro- 
fesses himself  murh  concerned  at  the  charge  of  inhumanity 
brought  against  his  practice,  lull  still  begs  leave  respcctflltly 
to  repeat  that  it  is  the  only  proper  mode  of  prei»aring  eels 
for  the  table. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


605 


You're  a  juvenile  performer,  but  once  you  begin, 
You   can't    tliiiik    how  fast    you    may  train    your 

liand  in  : 
Ajid  {smiling)  who  knows  hut  old  Tory  may  take 

to  the  shelf, 
With  the  comforting  thought  tliat,  in  place  and  in 

pelf. 
He's  succeeded  by  one  juyt  as — bad  as  himself? 
Dr.  Whigj  {looking  jlattcrciL) — Why,  to  tell  you 

the  truth.  I've  a  small  matter  here, 
Wliich  you  help'd  me  to  make  for  my  patient  last 

year, — 

[Goes -to  a  Clipboard  and  brings  out 
a  strait  jcaistcoat  and  gag. 
And  Fut'u  .-est  I've*  enjoy 'd  from  his  raving  since 

then, 
That  I  have  made  up  my  mind  he  shall  wear  it 

again. 
Dr.  Tori/f  {embracing  him.) — Oh,  charming  I 

My  dear  Doctor  Whig,  you're  a  treasure. 
Next  to  torturing  myself ,  to  help  you  is  a  pleasure. 

[Assisting  Dr.  Whig. 
Give  me    leave — I've  some  practice  in  these  mad 

machines  ; 
There  —  tighter  —  the    gag    in    the    mouth,  by  all 

r  leans. 
Delightful!' — -all's  snug  —  not  a  squeak   need  you 

fear, — 
You  may  now  put  your  anodynes  off  till  next  year. 

[Scene  closes. 


TO  THE  REV.  CH— RL— S  OV— RT— N, 

CURATE    OF    ROMALDKIRE. 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  POETICAL  PORTRAITURE    OP    TBB    CHURCH. 1 

1833. 
Sweet  singer  of  Romaldkirk,  tlion  who  ai*     eck- 

on'd. 
By  critics  Episcopal,  David  the  Second,' 
If  thus,  as  a  Curate,  so  lofty  your  fligiit. 
Only  think,  in  a  Rectory,  how  you  would  write  I 
Once  fairly  inspired  by  the  **  Tithe-crown'd  Apollo," 
(Who  beats,  I  confess  it,  our  lay  Phoebus  hollow, 


1  See  Edinburgh  Review,  No.  117. 

s  "  Your  Lordship."  says  Mr.  Ov — rt — n,  in  the  Dedication 
of  his  Poem  to  the  Bisliop  of  Chester, '*  has  kindly  expressed 
your  persuasion  that  my  '  Muse  will  always  be  a  Muse  of 
sacred  song,  and  that  it  will  be  tuned  as  David^s  was.*  " 
*  Sophocles. 

4  album  nmtor  in  aliteni 

Superne;  nascunturque  laves 
Per  digitus,  humerosque  plums. 


Having  gotten,  besides  the  old  Nine''s  inspiration, 
The  Tenth  of  all  eatable  things  in  creation.) 
There's  nothing,  in  fact,  that  a  poet  like  you. 
So  he-nined  and  he-tenth'd,  couldn't  easily  do. 
Round  the    lips  of   tlie    sweet-tongued    Athenian,^ 

they  say, 
While  yet  but  a  babe  in  his  cradle  he  lay, 
Wild  honey-bees  swarm'd,  as  a  presage  to  teil 
Of  the  sweet-flowing  words  that  thence  afterwards 

fell. 
Just  so  round  our  Ov — rt — n's  cradle,  no  doubt, 
Tenth  ducklings  and  chicks  were  seen  fllUing  about ; 
Goose  embryos,  waiting  their  doom'd  decimation, 
Came,  shadowing  forth  his  adult  destination. 
And  small,  sucking  tithe-pigs,  iu  musical  droves, 
Announced    the    Church    poet  wliom  Chester  ap- 
proves. 

O  Horace  I  when  thou,  iu  thy  vision  c;.  ^or**. 
Didst  dream  that  a  suowy-wiiite  plumage  came  o'er 
Thy  etherealized  limbs,  stealing  downily  on, 
Till,  by  Fancy's  strong  spell,  thou  wert  tura'd  to  a 

swan  ,* 
Little  tliought'st  thou  such  fate  could  a  poet  befall, 
Without  any  effort  of  fancy,  at  all ; 
Little  tliought'st  thou  the  world  would  in  Ov — rt — n 

find 
A  bird,  ready-made,  somewhat  different  iu  kind, 
But  as  perfect  as  Michaelmas'  self  could  produce, 
By  gods  yclept  anser,  by  mortals  a  goose. 


SCENE 


FROM    A    PLAY,    ACTED    AT    OXFORD,    CALLED 

"  MATRICULATION."- 

1834. 

[Boy  discovered  al  a  table,  with  the  Thirly-nine  Articles 
before  him.— Knler  the  Rt.  Rev.  Doctor  Ph— lip— ts.] 

Doctor  P. — ^TuERE,  my  lad,  lie  the  Articles — {Boy 
begins  to  count  them)— just  tliirty-uine — 

No  occasion  to  count^you'vo  now  only  to  sign. 

At  Cambridge,  where  folks  are  less  High-church 
than  we. 

The  whole  Nine -and -Thirty  are  lump'd  into  Three. 


6  "  It  appears  that  when  a  youth  of  fineen  goes  to  be  ma- 
triculated at  Oxford,  and  is  required  first  to  sub-scribe  Tliirty- 
nine  Articles  of  Religious  Belief,  this  only  means  that  he 
engages  himself  afterwards  to  understand  wh:it  is  now 
above  his  comprehension  ;  that  he  expresses  no  assent  al  all 
to  what  he  signs;  and  that  he  is  (or,  ouffht  to  bej  at  full 
liberty,  when  he  has  studied  the  sulyect,  to  withdraw  his 
provisional  assent." — Edinburgk  Review,  No   120. 


606 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Let's  run  o'er  the  items  ; — ^there's  Justification, 
Predestination,  and  Supereroiratiou, — 
Not  forgettin<;  Salvation  and  Creed  Atliauasian, 
Till  we  reach,  at  last,  Queen  Bess's  Ratification. 
That's    sufficient — now,    sign — liavuig    read    quite 

enough. 
You  "  believe  in  the  full  and  trae  meaning  thereof?" 

{Boy  stares.) 
Oh,  a  mere  form  of  words,  to  make  things  smooth 

and  brief, — 
A  commodious  and  short  make-believe  of  belief, 
Wliicli  our  Chm-ch  has  drawn  up,  in  a  form  thus 

articular, 
To  keep  out,  in  general,  all  who're  particular. 
3ut    what's    the    boy    doing  ?    what !    reading  all 

througli. 
And  my  luncheon  fast  cooling ! — this  never  will  do. 
lioij,  (poring  over  the  Articles.) — Here  are  points 

whicli  —  pray.    Doctor,   what's    "Grace    of 

Cougruity  ?"' 
Dr.  P.   (sharply.) — You'll   find    ont,    young  sir, 

when  you've  more  ingenuity. 
At  present,  by  signing,  you  pledge  youreelf  merely, 
Whate'er  it  may  be,  to  believe  it  sincerely. 
Both  in  dining  and  signing  wo  take  tlie  same  plan — 
First,  swallow  all  down,  then  digest — as  we  can. 
Boy,    (still  reading.) — Vvi  to   gulp,   I   see,   St. 

Athanasius's  Creed, 
Which,  I'm  told,  is  a  very  tough  morsel,  indeed  ; 

As  he  damns 

Dr.  P.  (aside.) — Ay,  and  so  would  /,  willingly, 

too, 
All  confounded  particular  young  boobies,  like  you. 
Tills  comes  of  Reforming  ! — all's  o'er  with  our  laud, 
Wheu  people  won't  stand  what  they  can't  nndcr- 

stand  ; 
Nor  perceive  that  onr  ever-revered  Thirty-Nino 
Were  made,  not  for  men  to  heliete,  but  to  sign. 

[Exit  Dr.  P.  in  a  passion. 


LATE  TITHE  CASE. 


'  Sic  vos  nnn  voUis." 


183.1. 


"  The  Vicar  of  H— nih— m  desires  me  to  stale  lliat,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  pnssing  ofa  recent  Act  of  Parliiinient,  he  is 
cniiipelleti  to  adopt  measures  whicli  may  by  snnic  be  con- 
sidered harsh  (ir  precipitate  ;  but,  in  duty  tit  what  he  owes  to 
his  successors,  he  feels  bound  to  preserve  the  rights  of  the 
vicarage." — Letter  from  Mr.  S.  Powell,  August  G. 

No,  not  for  youi-selves,  ye  reverend  men, 
Do  you  take  one  pig  in  every  ten, 

1  Fourteen  agricultural  laborers  (one  of  whom  received 
so  little  as  six  guineas  for  yearly  wages,  one  eight,  one  nine, 
another  ten  guineas,  and  the  best  paid  of  the  whole  not  more 
than  18/.  annually)  were  all,  in  the  course  nf  the  autumn  of 
1832,  serveil  with  demands  of  tithe  at  the  rate  of  4d.  in  the 


But  for  Holy  Church's  future  heirs, 

Who've  an  abstract  right  to  that  pig,  as  theirs  ; — 

The  law  supposing  that  such  heirs  i»ale 

Are  already  seised  of  the  pig,  in  tail 

No,  not  for  himself  hath  B— nih — m's  priest 

His  "  well-beloved"  of  their  pennies  fleeced  : 

But  it  is  that,  before  his  prescient  eyes, 

All  future  Vicars  of  B — nih — m  rise. 

With  their  embryo  daughters,  nephews,  nieces. 

And  'tis  for  thcjn  the  poor  he  ileeces. 

He  hearcth  their  voices,  ages  hence, 

Sayiug,  "  Take  the  pig" — "  oh  take  the  ponce  ;" 

The  cries  of  little  Vicarial  dears. 

The  unborn  B — mh — mites,  reach  his  ears ; 

And,  did  he  resist  that  soft  appeal. 

Ho  would  not  like  a  true-born  Vicar  feel. 

Thou,  too,  L — ndy  of     j — ck — ngt — n  ; 

A  Rector  true,  if  e'er  there  was  one. 

Who,  for  sake  of  the  L— ndies  of  coming  ages, 

Gripest  the  tenth  of  laborers'  wages.' 

'Tis  true,  in  the  pockets  of  thy  small-clothes 

The  claim'd  "  obvention"^  of  four-pence  goes  ; 

But  its  abstract  spirit,  unconfiued. 

Spreads  to  all  future  Rector-kind, 

Warning  them  all  to  their  rights  to  wake. 

And  rather  to  face  the  block,  the  stake. 

Than  give  up  their  darling  right  to  take 

One  grain  of  musk,  it  is  said,  perfumes 
(So  subtle  its  spirit)  a  thousand  rooms. 
And  a  single  four-pence,  pocketed  well, 
Through  a  thousand  rectors'  lives  will  tell. 
Then  still  continue,  ye  reverend  souls, 
And  still  as  your  rich  Pactolus  rolls, 
Grasp  every  penny  on  every  side. 
From  every  wretch,  to  swell  its  tide: 
Remembering  still  what  the  Law  lays  down, 
In  that  pure  poetic  style  of  its  own, 
"  If  the  parson  in  esse  submits  to  loss,  he 
"  Inflicts  the  same  on  the  parson  in  posse." 


FOOL'S  PARADISE. 

DREAM    THE    FIRST 

I  HAVE  been,  like  Puck,  I  have  been,  in  a  trice. 
To  a  realm  they  call  Fool's  Paradise, 

M.  sterling,  on  behalf  of  the  Hev.  F.  T, — dy,  Rector  of — , 

fcc.  &c. — The  Times,  Angust,  lc;jj 

2  One  of  the  various  general  terms  under  wiiicli  oblations, 
tithes,  &c.,  are  comprised. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


607 


Lying  N.  N,  E.  of  the  Land  of  Sense, 

And  seldom  bless'd  with  a  ghmmer  thence. 

But  they  want  it  not  in  this  happy  place, 

Where  a  light  of  its  own  gilds  every  face  ; 

Or,  if  some  wear  a  shadowy  brow, 

'Tis  the  ipish  to  look  wise, — not  knowing  koiv. 

Self-glory  glistens  o'er  all  that's  there, 

Tlie  trees,  tlie  flowers  have  a  jaunty  air  ; 

Tlie  well-bred  wind  in  a  whisper  blows, 

Tlie  snow,  if  it  snows,  is  couleur  de  rose. 

The  falling  founts  in  a  titter  fall, 

And  tlio  sun  looks  simpering  down  on  all. 

Oh,  'tisn't  in  tongue  or  pen  to  trace 

The  scenes  I  saw  in  that  joyous  place. 

There  were  Lords  and  Ladies  sitting  together. 

In  converse  sweet,  *'  What  charming  weather  !— 

"You'll  all  rejoice  to  hear,  I'm  sure, 

"  Lord  Charles  has  got  a  good  sinecure  ; 

"  And  the  Premier  says,  my  youngest  brother 

"  (Him  in  the  Guards)  sliall  have  another. 

"  Isn't  this  very,  very  gallant ! — 

"  As  for  my  poor  old  virgin  aunt, 

"  Who  has  lost  her  all,  poor  thing,  at  whist, 

'•'  We  must  quarter  her  on  the  Pension  List." 

Thus  smoothly  time  in  that  Eden  roU'd  ; 

It  seem'd  like  an  Age  of  real  gold, 

Where  all  who  liked  might  have  a  slice, 

So  rich  was  that  Fool's  Paradise. 

But  the  sport  at  which  most  time  they  spent, 
Was  a  puppet-show,  call'd  Parliament, 
Perform'd  by  wooden  Ciceros, 
As  large  as  life,  who  rose  to  prose, 
While,  hid  behind  them,  lords  and  squires. 
Who  own'd  the  puppets,  pull'd  the  wires  ; 
And  thought  it  the  very  best  device 
Of  that  most  prosperous  Paradise, 
To  make  tlie  vulgar  pay  through  the  nose 
For  them  and  their  wooden  Ciceros. 

And  many  more  sucli  things  I  saw 

In  this  Eden  of  Church,  and  State,  and  Law  ; 

Nor  e'er  were  known  such  pleasant  folk 

As  those  wlio  had  the  best  of  the  joke. 

There  were  Irish  Rectors,  snch  as  resort 

To  Cheltenham  yearly,  to  drink — port. 

And  bumper,  "  Long  may  the  Church  endure, 

"  IMay  her  cure  of  souls  be  a  sinecure, 

"  And  a  score  of  Parsons  to  eveiy  soul — 

"  A  moderate  allowance  on  the  whole." 

There  were  Heads  of  Colleges,  lying  about, 

Fro:ri  wliich  the  sense  had  all  run  out. 

Even  to  the  lowest  classic  lees, 

Till  nothing  was  left  but  quantities; 


Which  made  them  heads  most  fit  to  be 
Stuck  up  on  a  University, 
Which  yearly  hatches,  in  its  schools. 
Such  fiights  of  young  Elysian  fools. 

Thus  all  went  on,  so  snug  and  nice, 

In  this  liappiest  possiDio  Paradise. 

But  plain  it  was  to  see,  alas  I 

That  a  downfall  soon  must  come  to  pas& 

For  grief  is  a  lot  tlie  good  and  wise 

Don't  quite  so  much  monopolize, 

But  that  ("  lapt  in  Elysium"  as  tliey  are) 

Even  blessed  fools  must  have  their  share. 

And  so  it  happen'd  : — but  what  befell, 

In  Dream  the  Second  I  mean  to  tell. 


THE  RECTOR  AND  HIS  CURATE  ; 

OR,  ONE  POUND  TWO. 

"  I  tru-st  we  shall  part,  as  we  met,  in  peace  and  charity. 
My  la-.:  payment  to  you  paid  your  s;vlar>'up  tothe  1st  of  this 
month.  Since  that,  I  owe  you  for  one  month,  which,  lieing 
a  long  month,  of  thirly-une  days,  amounts,  as  near  as  I  can 
calculTite.  tfi  six  pounds  eiglit  shillings.  My  steward  returns 
you  as  a  debtor  to  the  amount  of  seven  pounds  ten  shil- 
lings FOR  coN-ACRE-OROUND,  whlch  leaves  some  trifling 
balance  in  my  favor." — Letter  of  Dismissal  from  the  Rev. 
Marcus  Beresford  to  his   Curate,  the  Rev.  7*.  ^.  Lyons. 

The  account  is  balanced — tiie  bill  drawn  out, — 
Tiie  debit  and  credit  all  right,  no  doubt — 
The  Rector,  rolling  in  wealtli  and  state. 
Owes  to  his  Curate  six  pound  eight ; 
The  Curate,  that  least  well-fed  of  men, 
Owes  to  his  Rector  seven  pound  ten, 
Which  maketh  the  balance  clearly  due 
From  Curate  to  Rector,  one  pound  two. 

Ah  balance,  on  eartli  unfair,  uneven  ! 
But  sure  to  be  all  set  right  in  Iieaven, 
Where  bills  hke  tliese  will  be  check'd,  some  day, 
And  the  balance  settled  the  otiier  way : 
Where  Lyons  the  curate's  hard-wrung  sum 
Will  back  to  his  shade  with  interest  come ; 
And  Marcus,  tiie  rector,  deep  may  rue 
This  tot,  in  his  favor,  of  one  pound  two. 


608 


MOORE'S    WORKS. 


PADDY'S  METAMORPHOSIS." 


1833. 


About  fifty  years  since,  in  the  days  of  our  daddies, 
That  plan  was  eonmienced  which  the  wise  now 
applaud, 

Of  shipping  off  Ireland's  most  turbulent  Paddies, 
As  good  raw  materials  for  settlers,  abroad. 

Some  West-Indian  island,  whose  name  I  forget, 
Was  the  region  then    chosen  for  this  sclieme  so 
romantic  ; 
And  such  the  success  the  first  colony  met, 

Tliat    a    second,    soon    after,    set    sail    o'er   tli" 
Atlantic. 

Behold  them  now  safe  at  the  long-look'd  for  shore, 
Sailing  in  between  banks  that  the  Shannon  might 
greet, 
And  thinking    of    friends    whom,   but    two    years 
before. 
They  had  sorrow'd  to  lose,  but  would  soon  again 
meet. 

And,  hark !  from  the  shore  a  glad  welcome  there 
came — 
"  Arrah,  Paddy  from  Cork,  is  it  you,  my  sweet 
boy  ?" 
While  Pat  stood  astounded,  to  hear  his  own  name 
Thus  hail'd  by  black  devils,  who  caper'd  for  joy  I 

Can  it  possibly  be  ? — half  amazement — half  doubt, 
Pat    listens     again — rubs    his    eyes    and    looks 
steady ; 
Then  heaves  a  deep  sigh,  and  m  horror  yells  out, 
"  Good    Lord !     only    think — black    and    ciu-Iy 
already !" 

Deceived  by  that  well-mimick'd  brogue  in  liis  eai-s, 
Pat    read    his    own    doom  in  these    wool-headed 
figures. 
And   thought,  what   a   climate,  in  less   than    two 
years, 
To  turn  a  whole  cargo  of  Fata  into  niggers  ! 

MORAL. 

*Tis  thus, — but  alas  I — by  a  mar\'el  more  true 
Than  is  told  in  this  rival  of  Ovid's  best  stories,^ 

Your  Whigs,  when  in  otllcc  a  short  year  or  two. 
By  a  lusus  naturae,  all  turn  into  Tories. 


1 1  have  already  in  a  preceding  page  referred  to  Ihis  squib, 
as  being  one  of  those  wrung  from  mo  by  the  Irish  Coercion 
Act  of  my  friends,  Iho  Whigs. 


And  thus,  when  I  hear   them  "  strong  measures" 
advise,  [steady, 

Ere  the  seats  that  they  sit  on  have  time  to  get 
I  say,  while  I  listen,  with  tears  in  my  eyes, 

"  Good    Lord ! — only    think, — black    and    curly 
already  I" 


COCKER,  ON  CHURCH  REFORM. 

rOUiNDED    UPON    SC^ME    LATE    CALCULATIONS. 

1832. 
Fi.v'E  figures  of  speech  let  your  orators  follow. 

Old  Cocker  has  figures  that  beat  them  all  hollow  ; 

Though  famed  for  his  rules  Anstotle  may  be. 

In  but  fialf  of  this  Sago  any  merit  I  sec, 

For,  as  honest  .loo  Ilume  says,  the  "  tottle"''  for  me ! 

For  instance,  while  others  discuss  and  debate, 
It  is  thus  about  Bishops  /  ratiocinate. 

In  England,  where,  spite  of  the  infidel's  laughter, 
'Tis  certain  our  souls  are  look'd  very  well  after, 
Two  Bishops  can  weii  (if  judiciously  sunder'd) 
Of  parishes  manage  two  tliousand  two  hundred, — 
Said  nimiber  of  parishes,  under  said  teachers. 
Containing  three  millions  of  Protestant  creatures, — 
So  that  each  of  said  Bishops  full  ably  controls 
One  million  and  five  hundred  thousands  of  souls. 
And  now  comes  old  Cocker.     In  Ireland  we're  told. 
Half  a  million  mcludes  tlie  whole  Protestant  fold  : 
If,  therefore,  for  three  million  souls  'tis  conceded 
Two  proper-sized  Bishops  are  all  that  is  needed, 
'Tis  plain,  for  the  Irish  half  million  who  want  "em. 
One  third  of  one  Bishop  is  just  the  right  quantum. 
And  thus,  by  old  Cocker's  sublime  Rule  of  Three, 
The  Irish  Church  question's  resolved  to  a  T ; 
Keeping  always  that  excellent  maxim  in  view. 
That,  in  saving  men's  souls,  we  must  save  money  too. 

Nay,  if — as  St.  Rodeu  complains  is  the  case — - 
Tiie  half  million  of  soul  is  decreasing  apace, 
The  demand,  too,  for  bishop  will  also  fall  off. 
Till  the  tithe  of  one,  taken  in  kind,  he  enough. 
But,  as  fractions  imply  that  we'd  have  to  dissect. 
And  to  cutting  up  Bishops  I  strongly  object. 
We've  a  small,  fractious  prelate  whom  well  we  could 

spare, 
Who  has  just  the  same  decimal  worth,  to  a  hair  ; 
And,  not  to  leave  Ireland  too  much  in  the  lurch. 
We'll  let  her  have  Ex — t — r,  sole,'  as  her  Church. 


2  The  totfU, — so  pronounced  by  this  Indiistrions  senator. 

3  Cori)cration  sole. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


609 


LES  HOMMES  AUTOMATES. 

1834. 
*'  We  are  persuaded  that  this  our  artificial  man  will  not 
only  walk  and  speak.and  perform  mostof  the  outward  luac- 
tions  of  animal  lite,  but  (being  wound  up  once  a  week)  will 
perhaps  reason  as  well  as  most  of  your  country  parsons." — 
Memoirs  of  jMartcnus  Scriblerus,  chap.  xii. 

It  being  an  object  now  to  meet 
Witli  Parsons  that  don't  want  to  eat, 
Fit  men  to  fill  those  Irish  rectories, 
Which  soon  will  have  but  scant  refectories, 
It  has  been  suggested, — lest  that  Church 
Should,  all  at  once,  be  left  in  the  lurch. 
For  want  of  reverend  men  endued 
With  this  gift  of  ne'er  requiring  food, — 
To  trj',  by  way  of  e.vperimeut,  whether 
There  couldn't  be  made,  of  wood  and  leather,' 
(Howe'er  the  notion  may  sound  chimerical,) 
Jointed  figures  not  lay,"^  but  clerical. 
Which,  woimd  up  careftilly  once  a  week, 
Might  just  like  parsons  look  and  speak, 
Nay  even,  if  requisite,  reason  too, 
As  well  as  most  Irish  parsons  do. 

Th'  experiment  having  succeeded  quite, 

(Whereat  those  Lords  must  much  delight, 

Who've  shown,  by  stopping  the  Cliurch's  food, 

Tiiey  think  it  isn't  for  her  spiritual  good 

To  be  served  by  parsons  of  flesh  and  blood, 

The  Patentees  of  this  new  invention 

Beg  leave  respectfully  to  mention. 

They  now  are  enabled  to  produce 

An  ample  supply,  for  present  use. 

Of  these  reverend  pieces  of  machinery, 

Ready  for  vicarage,  rectory,  deanery, 

Or  any  such-like  post  of  skill 

That  wood  and  leather  are  fit  to  fill. 

N.  B. — In  places  addicted  to  arson. 

We  can't  recommend  a  wooden  parson : 

But,  if  the  Church  any  such  appoints. 

They'd  better,  at  least,  have  iron  joints. 

In  parts,  not  much  by  Protestants  haunted, 

A  figure  to  look  a/'s  all  that's  wanted — 

A  block  in  black,  to  eat  and  sleep, 

Which  (now  that  the  eating's  o'er)  comes  cheap. 

P.  S. — Should  the  Lords,  by  way  of  a  treat, 
Permit  the  clergy  again  to  eat. 
The  Church  will,  of  course,  no  longer  need 
Imitation-parsons  that  never  feed ; 

1  The  materials  of  which  those  Nuremberg  Savans,  men- 
tioned by  Scriblerus,  constructed  their  artificial  man. 

a  The  wooden  models  used  by  painters  are,  it  is  well 
known,  "  lay  figures." 


And  these  wood  creatures  of  ours  will  sell 
For  secular  purposes  just  as  well — 
Our  Beresfords,  turn'd  to  bludgeons  stout. 
May,  'stead  of  beating  their  own  about, 
Be  knocking  the  brains  of  Papists  out ; 
While  our  smooth  O'Sullivans,  by  all  means, 
Should  transmigrate  into  turning  machines. 


HOW  TO  MAKE  ONE'S  SELF  A  PEER, 

ACCORDING    TO    THE    NEWEST    RECEIPT,    AS    DISCLOSED 
L\    A    LATE    IIERALDH;    WORK.' 

1834. 
Choose  some  title  that's  dormant — the  Peerage  hath 

many — 
Lord  Baron  of  Shamdos  sounds  nobly  as  any. 
Next,  catch  a  dead  cousin  of  said  defunct  Peer, 
And  marry  him  olf-hand,  in  some  given  year. 
To  the  daugliter  of  somebody, — no  matter  who, — 
Fig,  the  grocer  himself,  if  you're  hard  run,  will  do  ; 
For,  the  Medici  pills  still  in  heraldry  tell, 
And  w  hy  shouldn't  lollypops  quarter  as  well  ? 
Thus,  having  your  couple,  f  nd  one  a  lord's  cousin. 
Young  materials  for  peers  mKj'  be  had  by  the  dozen  ; 
And  'tis  hard  if,  inventing  each  small  mother's  son 

of  'em, 
You  can't  somehow  manage  to  prove  yourself  one 

of  'em. 
Should  registere,  deeds,  and  such  matters  refractory, 
Stand  in  the  way  of  this  lord-manufactory, 
I've  merely  to  hint,  as  a  secret  auricular. 
One  grand  rule  of  enterprise, — dont  be  particular. 
A  man  who  once  takes  such  a  jump  at  nobility, 
Must  not  mince  the  matter,  like  folks  of  nihility,* 
But  clear  thick  and  thin  with  true  lordly  agility. 

'Tis  true,  to  a  would-be  descendant  from  Kings, 
Parish-registers  sometimes  are  troublesome  things  ; 
As  oft,  when  the  vision  is  near  brought  about. 
Some  goblin,  in  shape  of  a  grocer,  grins  out ; 
Or  some  barber,  perhaps,  with  my  Lord  mingles 

bloods, 
And  one's  patent  of  peerage  is  left  in  the  suds. 

But  there  are  ways — when  folks  are  resolved  to  be 

lords — 
Of  expurging  ev'n  troublesome  parish  records : 

3  The  Claim  to  the  barony  of  Chandos  (if  I  recollect  right) 
advanced  by  the  late  Sir  Eg — r~t— n  Br — d— s. 

*  '*  This  we  call  pure  nihility,  or  mere  nothing." —  iVatU'n 
Lpffic. 


610 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


AVhat  think  yo  of  scissors  ?  depend  on't  no  heir 
Of  a  Shanidos  should  go  unsiipplied  witli  a  pair, 
As,  wliate'er  else  Ihe  leam'd  in  sucli  lore  may  invent, 
Your  scissors  does  wonders  in  proving  descent. 
Yes,  poets  may  sing  of  those  terrible  shears 
With  which  Atropos  snips  off  both  bumpkins  and 

peers, 
But  they're  naught  to  that  weapon  which  shines  in 

the  hands 
Of  some  would-be  Patrician,  when  proudly  he  stands 
0"er  the  careless  cluirchwarden's  baptismal  array. 
And  sweeps  at  each  cut  generations  away. 
By  some  babe  of  old  times  is  his  peerage  resisted? 
One  snip, — and  the  urchin  hath  never  existed ! 
Does  some  marriage,  iu  days  near  the  Flood,  inter- 
fere 
With  his  one  sublime  object  of  being  a  Peer  ? 
Quick  the  shears  at  once  mdlify  bridegroom  and 

bride, — 
No  such  people  have  ever  lived,  married,  or  died  ! 

Such  the  newest  receipt  for  those  high-minded  elves, 
Who've  a  fancy  for  making  great  lords  of  themselves. 
Follow  this,  young  aspirer,  who  pant'st  for  a  peerage. 
Take  S — m  for  thy  model  and  \i~z  for  thy  steerage. 
Do  all  and  much  worse  than  old  Nicholas  Flam  does, 
And — who  knows  but  you'll  be  Lord  Baron  of 
Shamdos  ? 


THE  DUKE  IS  THE  LAD. 

jjlr.~"  A  master  I  h.ive,  and  I  am  his  man, 
Galloping  dreary  dun." 

Castie  of  Andalusia. 

The  Duke  is  U>-  lad  to  frighten  a  lass. 
Galloping,  dreary  duke  ; 
The  Duke  is  the  lad  to  frighten  a  lass, 
He's  an  ogre  to  meet,  and  the  d — I  to  pass, 
With  his  cliargcr  prancing, 
Grim  eye  glancing, 
Chin,  like  a  JMul'ti, 
Grizzled  and  tufty. 
Galloping,  dreary  Duke. 

Ye  misses,  beware  of  the  neighborhood 
Of  this  galloping  dreary  Duke  ; 
Avoid  him,  all  who  see  no  good 
In  being  run  o'er  by  a  Prince  of  the  Blood. 


'  See  his  Letters  to  Friends,  lib.  ix.  cpist.  19,  20,  &c. 


For,  surelj',  no  nymph  is 
Fond  of  a  grim  phiz. 
And  of  the  married. 
Whole  crowds  have  miscarried 
At  sight  of  this  dreary  Duke. 


EPISTLE 


FROM       RASMUS    ON    EARTH    TO    CICEnO    IN    THE 
SHADES. 

Soulhampton. 
As  'tis  now,  my  dear  Tully,  some  weeks  since  I 

started 
By  rail-road,  for  earth,  having  vow'd,  ere  we  parted. 
To  drop  you  a  line,  by  the  Dead-Letter  post. 
Just  to  say  how  I  thrive,  in  my  new  line  of  ghost, 
And  how  deucedly  odd  this  live  world  all  appears, 
To  a  man  who's  been  dead  now  for  three  liundred 

years, 
I  take  lip  my  pen,  and,  with  news  of  this  earth, 
Hope  to  waken,  by  turns,  both  your  spleen  and  your 

mirth. 

In  my  way  to  these  shores,  taking  Italy  first, 

Lest  the  change  from  Elysium  too  sudden  should 

burst, 
I  forgot  not  to  visit  those  haunts  where,  of  yore. 
You  took  lessons  from  Partus  in  cookery's  lore,' 
Turn'd  aside  from  the  calls  of  the  rostrum  and  Muse, 
To  discuss  the  rich  merits  of  rotis  and  stews, 
And  preferr'd  to  all  honors  of  triumph  or  trophy, 
A  supper  on  prawns  with  that  rogue,  little  Sophy.* 

Having  dwelt  on  such  classical  musings  awhile, 

I  set-oir,  by  a  steamboat,  for  this  happy  isle, 

(A  conveyance  you  ne'er,  I  think,  sail'd   by,   my 

Tully, 
And  therefore,  per  next,  I'll  describe  it  more  fully,) 
Having    heard,    on    the  way,  what    distresses   me 

greatly, 
That  England's  o'errun  by  idolaters  lately, 
Stark,  staring  adorers  of  wood  and  of  stone. 
Who  will  let  neither  stick,  stock,  or  statue  alone. 
Such  the  sad  news  I  heard  from  a  tall  man  in  black, 
Who  from  sports  continental  was  hurrying  back. 
To  look  after  his  tithes ; — seeing,  doubtless,  'twould 

follow. 
That,  just  as,  of  old,  your  great  idol,  Apollo, 


2  InRCnlium  sciuillarura  cum  Sophia  Septimia;.- 
episL  10. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


611 


Devour'd  all  the  Tenths,'  so  the  idols  in  question, 

These  wood  and  stoue  gods,  may  have  equal  diges- 
tion, 

And  th'  idolatrous  crew,  whom  this  Rector  de- 
spises. 

May  eat  up  the  tithe-pig  which  he  idolizes. 

London. 
'Tis  all  but  too  true — grim  Idolatry  reigns. 
In  full  pomp,  over  England's  lost  cities  and  plains ! 
On  arriving  just  now,  as  my  first  thought  and  care 
Was,  as  usual,  to    seek  out   some    near  House  of 

Prayer, 
Some  calm,  holy  spot,  fit  for  Christians  to  pray  on, 
I  was  shown  to — what   think  you? — a  downright 

Pantheon  ! 
A  grand,  piUar'd  temple,  witli  niches  and  halls,' 
Full  of  idols  and  gods,  which  they  nickname  St. 

Paul's  ;— 
Though  'tis  clearly  the  place  where  the   idolatrous 

crew, 
Whom  the  Rector  complain'd  of,  their  dark  rites 

pursue ; 
And,  'raong  all  the  "  strange  gods"  Abraham's  fath- 
er carved  out,^ 
That  he  ever  carved  stranger  than  these  I  much 

doubt. 

Were  it  even,  my  dear  Tully,  your  Hebes  and 
Graces, 

Ar.d  such  pretty  things,  that  usurp'd  the  Samts' 
places, 

I  shouldn't  much  mind, — for,  in  this  classic  dome. 

Such  folks  from  Olympus  would  feel  quite  at  home. 

But  the  gods  tliey've  got  here  ! — such  a  queer  om- 
nium gatherum 

Of  misbegot  things,  that  no  poet  would  fatlier  'em  ; — 

Britannias,  in  light,  summer-wear  for  the  skies, — 

Old  Thames,  turn'd  to  stoue,  to  his  no  small  sur- 
prise,— 

Father  Nile,  too, —  a  portrait,  (in  spite  of  what's 
said. 

That  no  mortal  e'er  yet  got  a  glimpse  of  his  head,') 

And  a  Ganges,  which  India  would  tliiuk  somewhat 
fat  for't. 

Unless  'twas  some  full-grown  Director  had  sat 
for't  ;— 

Not  to  mention  th'  et  cueteras  of  Genii  and 
Sphin.\es, 

Fame,  Victory,  and  other  such  semi-clad  minxes ; — 


1  Tillies  were  paid  to  the  Pythian  Apollo. 

2  See  Dr.  Wiseman's  learned  and  able  letter  to  Mr.  Poynder. 

3  Jushua,  xxiv.  2. 

*  "  Nee  contigit  uUi 

Hoc  vidisse  caput."  Claddun. 

A  Captains  Mosse,  Rioa,  &c.  &c. 


Sea  Captains,' — the  idols  here  most  idolized ; 

And  of  whom  some,  alas,  might  too  well  be  com- 
prised 

Among  ready-made  Saints,  as  they  died  caiiiion- 
izcd ; — 

With  a  multitude  more  of  odd  cockneyfied  deities, 

Sluincd  in  such  pomp  that  quite  shocking  to  see  it 
'tis; 

Nor  know  I  what  better  the  Rector  could  do 

Than  to  shriue  there  his  own  beloved  quadruped  too ; 

As  most  surely  a  tithe-pig,  wliate'er  the  world 
thinks,  is 

A  much  fitter  beast  for  a  church  than  a  Sphin.\  is. 

But  I'm  call'd  ofT  to  dinner — grace  just  has  been 

said. 
And  my  host  waits  for  nobody,  living  or  dead. 


LINES' 


ON   THE    DEP.\RTURE    OF    LORDS    C ST R GH    AND 

ST W RT    FOR    THE    CONTINENT. 

Jit  Paris''  el  Fratres,  et  qui  rapu6re  sub  illis, 
Vi.\  lenufire  inanus  (scis  hoc,  Menelai^)  nefandas. 

Ovid,  Metam.  lib.  xiii.  v.  202. 

Go,  Brothers  in  wisdom — go,  bright  pair  of  Peers, 
And  may  Cupid  and  Fame  fan  you  both  with 
their  pinions  ! 

The  one,  the  best  lover  we  have — of  his  years, 
And  the  other  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain's  do- 


Go,  Hero  of  Chancery,  blest  with  the  smile 

Of  the  Misses  that  love,  and  the  monarchs  that 
prize  thee  ; 
Forget  IMrs.  Aug — lo  T.— yl — r  awhile. 

And  all  tailors  but    him  who  so  well  dandifies 
thee. 

Never  mind  how  thy  juniors  in  gallantry  scofT, 
Never  heed  how  perverse   affidavits  may  thwart 
thee, 

But  show  the  young  Misses  thou'rt  scholar  enough 
To  translate  "  Amor  Fortis"  a  love,  abuut  furlij  .' 


'  This  and  the  following  squib,  which  must  have  been 
written  about  the  year  1815-16,  have  been  by  some  over- 
sight misplaced. 

'  Ovid  is  mistaken  in  saying  that  it  was  "  at  Paris"  these 
rapacious  transactions  took  place  —  we  should  read  "at 
Vienna." 


613 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  sure  'tis   no  wonder,   when,  frosli  as  young 
Mars, 
From  the  battle  you  came,  with  tlic  Orders  you'd 
earn'd  in't, 
That  sweet  Lady  Fanny  should  cry  out  "  My  stars  .•' 
And  forget  tliat  tlie  Moon,  too,  was  some  way 
coucern'd  in't. 

For  not  the  great  R — g — t  Iiimself  has  endured 
(Though  I've  seen  him  with  badges  and  orders 
all  sliine. 

Till  he  look'd  like  a  house  that  was  oi;er  insured) 
A  much  heavier  burden  of  glories  than  thine. 

And  'tis   plain,   when  a   wealthy    young   lady  so 
mad  is. 
Or  anij  young  ladies  can  so  go  astray, 
As  to  marry  old  Dandies  tliat  might  be  their  dad- 
dies. 
The  stars^  are  in  fault,  my  Lord  St — w — rt,  not 
they  ! 

Thou,  too,  t'other  brother,  thou  Tully  of  Tories, 

Thou  Malaprop  Cicero,  over  whose  lips 
Such  a  smooth  rigmarole  about  "  monarchs,"  and 
"  glories," 
And  "  mdlidge,"'  and  "  features,"  like  syllabub 
slips. 

Go,  haste,  at  the  Congress  pursue  thy  vocation 
Of  adding  fresh  sums  to  this  National   Debt  of 
ours. 
Leaguing  with  Kings,  who,  for  mere  recreation, 
Break  promises,  fast  as  your  Lordship  breaks  met- 
apliors. 

Fare  ye  well,  fare  yo  well,  bright  Pair  of  Peers, 
And  may  Cupid  and  Fame  fan  you  both  with 
their  pinions  ! 
The  one,  the  best  lover  we  have — of  his  years, 
And  the  other.  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain's  do- 
minions. 


*  "When  weak  women  go  astr.iy, 

The  stars  are  more  in  fault  than  tftey." 

*  It  is  thus  the  nnble  lord  pronounces  the  word  "know- 
ledge"— deriving  it,  as  fur  as  his  own  share  is  concerned, 
from  the  Latin,  "  nuUus." 

»  Sic  te  Diva  potens  Cj-pri, 

Sic  fratres  IlelentB,  lucida  sidera, 
Ventorumque  regat  pater. 
<  See  a  description  of  the  aoKot,  or  Ba^s  of  Eolus,  In  the 
Odyssey,  lib.  10. 
K  Navis,  qns  tibt  credltam 

Debes  Virgiiium. 

*  Animfc  dimidium  menm. 


TO  THE  SHIP 

IN    WHICH     LORD    C ST R CII    BAILED     FOR    THE 

CONTINENT. 

imitated  from  Horace,  lib.  i.,  ode  3. 

So  may  my  Lady's  prayers  prevail,' 

And  C — nn— g's  too,  and  lucid  Br — gge's, 
And  Eld — n  beg  a  favoring  gale 

From  Eolus,  tliat  older  Bags,* 
To  speed  thee  on  thy  destined  way. 
Oh  ship,  that  bear'st  our  C — ^st — r — gh,' 
Our  gracious  R — g — t's  better  half,° 

And,  therefore,  quarter  of  a  King — 
(As  Van,  or  any  other  calf, 

May  find,  without  mucli  figuring.) 
Waft  him,  oh  ye  kindly  breezes. 

Waft  tliis  Lord  of  place  and  pelf, 
Anywhere  his  Lordship  pleases. 

Though  'twere  to  Old  Nick  himself ! 

Oil,  what  a  face  of  brass  was  his," 
Who  first  at  Congress  show'd  his  phiz — 
To  sign  away  the  Rights  of  Man 

To  Russian  tlireats  and  Austrian  juggle  ; 
And  leave  the  sinking  African' 

To  fall  without  one  saving  struggle — 
'Mong  ministers  from  North  and  South, 

To  show  his  lack  of  shame  and  sense. 
And  hoist  the  Sign  of  "  Bull  and  Mouth" 

For  blunders  and  for  eloquence  '. 

In  vain  we  wish  our  Sees,  at  home^ 

To  mind  their  papers,  desks,  and  shelves. 

If  silly  Sees,  abroad  tcill  roam. 

And  make  sucli  noodles  of  themselves. 

But  such  hath  always  been  the  case — 

For  matchless  impudence  of  face. 

There's  notliing  like  your  Tory  race  ."" 

First,  Pitt,"  the  chosen  of  England,  taught  her 

A  taste  for  famine,  fire,  and  slaughter. 

'  Illi  robur  ct  a:s  triplex 

Circa  pectus  erat,  qui,  &c. 

'  prffcipitein  Africum 

Decertantem  Aquilonibus. 
"  Nequicquam  Dens  abscidit 

Prudens  oceano  dissociiibili 
Terras,  si  tamen  inipis 

Non  tangenda  Rates  transilitint  vada. 
This  last  line,  we  may  suppose,  alludes  to  some  distin^ 
guished  Hats  that  attended  the  voyager. 
w  Auda.\  omnia  perpeti 

Gens  ruit  per  vetitum  nefas. 
n  Audax  Japeti  genus 

Ignem  fraude  maU  gentibus  intulit. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


613 


Then  camo  the  Doctor,'  for  our  ease, 

With  E— d— lis,  Ch— th— ms,  H— wk— b— s, 

And  other  deadly  maladies. 

When  each,  in  turn,  had  run  their  rigs, 

Necessity  brouglit  in  tlie  Whigs  :^ 

Aiid  oh,  I  blush,  I  bhish  to  say. 

When  these,  in  turn,  were  put  to  flight,  too. 
Illustrious  T — MP — E  flew  away 

With  lots  of  pens  he  had  no  right  to  .'^ 
In  short,  what  will  not  mortal  man  do?' 

And  now,  that — strife  and  bloodshed  past — 
We've  done  on  earth  what  harm  we  can  do, 

We  gravely  take  to  Heaven  at  last,' 
And  think  its  favorite  smile  to  purchase 
(Oh  Lord,  good  Lord  I)  by — building  churches  I 


SKETCH  OF  THE  FIRST  ACT  OF  A 
NEW  ROMANTIC  DRAMA. 

"  And  now,"  quoth  the  goddess,  in  accents  jocose, 
"  Having  got  good  materials,  I'll  brew  such  a  dose 
"  Of  Double  X  mischief  as,  mortals  shall  say, 
"  They've  not  known  its  equal  for  many  a  long  day." 
Here  she  wink'd  to  her  subaltern  imps  to  be  steady. 
And  all  wagg'd  their  fire-tipp'd  tails  and  stood  ready. 

"  So,  now  for  th'  ingredients : — first,  hand  me  that 

bishop ;"  ^ 

Whereon,  a  whole  bevy  of  imps  run  to  fish  up. 
From  cut  a  large  resen'oir,  wherein  they  pen  'em. 
The  blackest  of  all  its  black  dabblers  in  venom  ; 
And  wrapping  him  up  (lest  the  virus  should  ooze, 
And  one  "  drop  of  th'  immortal'"  Right  Rev.'  they 

might  lose) 
In  the  sheets  of  his  own  speeches,  charges,  reviews. 
Pop  him  into  the  caldron,  while  loudly  a  buret 
From  the  by-standers  welcomes  ingredient  the  first  I 

"  Now   fetch    the    Ex-Chancellor,"   mutter'd    the 

dame — 
"  He  who's  call'd  after  Harry  the  Older,  by  name." 
"The  E.\-Chaucellor  !"  echo'd  her  imps,  the  whole 

crew  of  'em — 
"  Why  talk  of  one  Ex,  when  your  Mischief  has  two 

of  'em?" 


Post 

.    .    .    macies,  et  nova  febrium 
Terris  incubit  cohors. 


tarda  necessitas  • 

Letbl  corripuit  gradiim. 

Expertus  vacuum  Daedalus  atira 
Pennis  non  homiiii  datis. 


••  True,  true,''  said  the  hag,  looking    arch    at    her 

elves, 
'*  And   a  double-£x  dose  they  compose,  in  them- 
selves." 
This  joke,  thosly  meaning  of  which  was  seen  lucidly. 
Set  all  the  devils  a  laugliing  most  deucedly. 
So,  in  went   the   pair,   and   (what   none   thought 

surprising) 
Show'd  talents  for  sinking  as  great  as  for  rising ; 
While  not   a   grim   phiz   in   that   realm   but   was 

lighted 
With  joy  to  see  spirits  so  twin-like  united — 
Or  (plainly  io  speak)  two  such  birds  of  a  feather. 
In  one  mess  of  venom  thus  spitted  together. 
Here  a  flashy  imp  rose — some  connection,  no  doubt. 
Of   the    young    lord    in    question — and,   scowling 

about, 
"  Hoped  his  fiery  friend,  St — nl — y,  would  not  be  left 

out ; 
"  As  no  schoolboy  unwhipp'd,  the  whole  world  must 

agree, 
"  Loved  mischief,  pure  mischief,  more  dearly  than 

he." 

But,    no — the    wise    hag    wouldn't    hear    of    the 

whipster  ; 
Not  merely  because,  as  a  shrew,  he  eclipsed  her. 
And  nature  had  given  him,  to  keep  him  still  young. 
Much  tongue  in  his  liead  and  no  head  in  his  tongue  ; 
But  because  she  well  knew  that,  for  change  ever 

ready. 
He'd  not  even  to  mischief  keep  properly  steady  ; 
That  soon  even  the  wrong  side  would  cease  to  delight. 
And,  for  want  of  a  change,  he  must  sweiTe  to  the 

right  ; 
While,  on  each,  so  at  random  his  missiles  he  threw, 
Tliat  the  side  he  attack'd  was  most  safe  of  the  two. — 
This  ingredient  was  therefore  put  by  on  the  shelf. 
There  to  bubble,  a  bitter,  hot  mess,  by  itself. 
"  And  now,"  quoth  the  hag,  as  her  caldron  she  eyed, 
And  the  titbits  so  friendlily  ranklmg  inside, 
"  There  wants  but  some  seasoning ; — so,  come,  ere 

I  stew  'em, 
"  By  way  of  a  relish,  we'll  throw  in  '  -f  John  Tuam.' 
"  In  cooking  up  mischief,  there's  no  flesh  or  fish 
"  Like  your  meddling  High  Priest,  to  add  zest  to  the 

dish." 
Thus  saying,  she  pops  in  the  Irish  Grand  Lama — 
Which  great  event  ends  the  First  Act  of  the  Drama. 

This  allndes  to  the  I200;.  worth  of  stationerj',  which  his 
Lordf>hip  is  said  to  have  ordered,  when  on  the  point  o(vaca- 
tinff  his  place. 

*  Nil  niortalibus  arduum  est. 

fi  Ccelum  ipsutn  pctinius  stullitiS. 

*  "  To  lose  no  drop  of  the  imitinrtal  man." 
'     The  present  Bishop  of  Ex — t — r. 


614 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ANIMAL  MAGNETISM. 

Though  famed  was  Mcsmer,  in  his  day, 

Nor  less  so,  in  ours,  is  Dupotet, 

To  say  notliing  of  all  the  wonders  done 

By  that  wizard,  Dr.  Elliotsou, 

When,  standing  as  if  the  gods  to  invoke,  ho 

Up  waves  his  arm,  and — down  drops  Okey !' 

Though  strange  these  things,  to  mind  and  sense, 
If  you  wish  still  stranger  things  to  see — 

If  you  wish  to  know  the  power  immense 

Of  the  true  magnetic  influence, 
Just  go  to  her  Majesty's  Treasury, 

And  learn  the  wonders  working  there — 

And  I'll  be  hang'd  if  you  don't  stare ! 

Talk  of  your  animal  magiietists, 

And  that  wave  of  the  hand  no  soul  resists. 

Not  all  its  witcheries  can  compete 

With  the  friendly  beckon  towards  Downing  Street, 

Which  a  Premier  gives  t<>  one  who  wishes 

To  taste  of  the  Treasury  loaves  and  fishes. 

It  actually  lifts  the  lucky  elf. 

Thus  acted  upon,  aboce  himself; — 

He  jumps  to  a  state  of  clairvoyance, 

And  is  placeman,  statesman,  all,  at  once ! 

These  effects  observe,  (with  which  I  begin,) 
Take  place  when  the  patient's  motion'd  in ; 
Far  different,  of  course,  the  mode  of  affection, 
When  the  wave  of  the  hand's  in  the  out  direction  ; 
The  effects  being  then  extremely  unpleasant. 

As  is  seen  in  the  case  of  Lord  B m,  at  present ; 

In  whom  this  sort  of  manipulation 

Has  lately  produced  such  inflammation, 

Attended  with  constant  irritation, 

That,  in  short — not  to  mince  his  situation — 

It  has  work'd  in  the  man  a  transformation 

Tliat  puzzles  all  human  calculation  ! 

Ever  since  the  fatal  day  which  saw 

That  "  pass""  perform'd  on  this  Lord  of  Law — 

A  pass  potential,  none  can  doubt, 

As  it  sent  Harry  B m  to  tlie  right  about — 

The  condition  in  which  tlie  patient  has  been 
Is  a  thing  quite  awful  to  be  seen. 
Not  that  a  casual  eye  could  scan 

This  wondrous  change  by  outward  survey  ; 
It  being,  in  fact,  th'  interior  man 

That's  turn'd  completely  topsy-turvy  : — 
Like  a  case  that  lately,  in  reading  o'er  'em, 
I  found  in  the  Ada  Eruditoriim, 

1  The  name  of  the  heroine  of  the  performances  Qt  the 
North  London  Hospital. 

3  The  technical  term  for  the  movement)  of  the  mognetizer's 
hand. 


Of  a  man  in  whose  inside,  when  disclosed, 

The  whole  order  of  things  was  found  transposed  ;* 

By  a  litsus  vaturte,  strange  to  see. 

The  liver  placed  where  the  heart  should  be, 

And  the  spleen  (like  B m's,  since  laid  en  the 

shelf) 
As  diseased  and  as  much  out  of  jilace  as  himself. 

In  short,  'tis  a  case  for  consultation. 

If  e'er  there  was  "one,  in  this  thinking  nation  ; 

And  therefore  I  humbly  beg  to  propose. 

That  those  savans  who  mean,  as  the  rumor  goes, 

To  sit  on  Mi.ss  Okey's  wonderful  case. 

Should  also  Lord  Harry's  case  embrace  ; 

And  infomi  us,  in  both  these  patients'  states, 

Which  ism  it  is  that  predominates. 

Whether  magnetism  and  somnambulism. 

Or,  simply  and  solely,  mountebankism. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  BOX. 

Let  History  boast  of  her  Romans  and  Spartans, 
And  tell  how  they  stood  against  tyranny's  shocks  ; 

They  were  all,  I  confess,  in  my  eye,  Betty  Martins, 
Compared  to  George  Gr — te  and  his  wonderful 
Box. 

Ask,  where  Liberty  now  has  her  seat? — Oh,  it  isn't 
By  Delaware's  banks  or  on  Switzerland's  rocks ; — 

Like  an  imp  in  some  conjuror's  bottle  imprison'd, 
She's  slyly  shut  up  in  Gr — te's  wonderful  Box. 

How  snug ! — 'stead  of  floating  through  ether's  do- 
minions. 

Blown  this  way  and  that,  by  the  "  populi  vox," 
To  fold  thus  in  silence  her  sinecure  pinions. 

And  go  fast  asleep  in  Gr — te's  wonderful  Box. 

Time  was,  when  free  speech  was  the  life-breath  of 
freedom — 
So  thought  once  the  Seldens,  the  Hampdeos,  the 
Lockes ; 
But  mute  be  our  troops,  when  to  ambush  we  lead 
'em. 
For  "  Mum"  is  the  word  with  us  Knights  of  the 
Box. 

Pure,  exquisite  Box !  no  corruption  can  soil  it ; 
There's  Otto  of  Rose,  in  each  breath  it  unlocks ; 

3  Omnes  fere  intemas  corporis  partes  inverse  ordine  sitas. 
—^ct.  Erudit.  1G90. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


615 


AVhile  Gr — te  is  the  "  Betty,"  that  serves  at  tlie  toilet, 
And  breathes  all  Arabia  around  from  his  Box.' 

'Tis  a  singular  fact,  that  the  famed  Hugo  Grotius,' 
(A  namesake  of  Gr — te's — being  both  of  Dutch 
stocks,) 

Like  Gr — te,  too,  a  genius  profound  as  precocious. 
Was  also,  like  him,  much  renowu'd  for  a  Box ; — 

An  immortal  old   clothes-box,  in  which  the  great 
Grotius 

When  suifering,  in  prison,  for  views  heterodox. 
Was  pack*d  up  incog.,  spite  of  jailers  ferocious,^ 

And  sent  to  his  wife,'  carriage  free,  in  a  Box  ! 

But  the  fame  of  old  Hugo  now  rests  ou  the  shelf, 
Suice  a  rival  hath  lisen  that  all  parallel  mocks  ; — 

That  Grotius  iugloriously  saved  but  himself. 
While  ours  saves  the  whole   British  realm  by  a 

Box; 

And  oh  when,  at  last,  even  this  greatest  of  Gr — tes 
Must   bend   to   the   Power  that   at   every   door 
knocks," 
May  he   drop    in    the    urn   like    his   own  "silent 
votes," 
And  the  tomb  of  his  rest  be  a  large  Ballot-Box. 

While  long  at  his  shrine,  both  from  county  and  city. 

Shall  pilgrims  triennially  gather  in  flocks. 
And    sing,    while    they    whimper,    th*    appropriate 
ditty, 
"  Oh  breathe  not  his  name,  let  it  sleep — in  the 
Box." 


ANNOUNCEMENT  OF  A  NEW  THALABA. 

ADDRESSED  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  ESQ. 

When  erst,  my  Southey,  thy  tuneful  tongue 
The  terrible  tale  of  Thalaba  sung — 
Of  him,  the  Destroyer,  doom'd  to  rout 
That  grim  divan  of  conjurors  out, 


»         And  all  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  box. 

Popi's  Rape  of  the  Lock. 

3  Qroot,  or  Groie,  Latinized  into  Grotius. 

3  For  the  particulars  of  this  escape  of  Grotius  from  the 
Castle  of  Louvensteio,  by  means  of  a  box  (only  three  feet 
and  a  half  long,  it  is  said)  in  which  books  used  to  be  occa- 
sionally sent  to  him  and  foul  linen  returned,  see  any  of  the 
Biographical  Dictionaries. 


Whose  dweUing  dark,  as  legends  say. 
Beneath  the  roots  of  the  ocean  lay, 
(Fit  place  for  deep  ones,  such  as  they,) 
How  little  thou  knew'st,  dear  Dr.  Southoy, 
Although  bright  genius  all  allow  thee. 
That,  some  years  thence,  thy  wond'riug  eyes 
Should  see  a  second  Thalaba  rise — 
As  ripe  for  ruinous  rigs  as  thine. 
Though  his  havoc  lie  in  a  different  line, 
And  should  find  this  new,  improved  Destroyer 
Beneath  the  wig  of  a  Yankee  lawyer  ; 
A  sort  of  an  "  alien,"  alias  man. 
Whoso  country  or  party  guess  who  can, 
Being  Cockney  hiS',  half  Jonathan  ; 
And  his  life,  to  make  the  tiling  completer. 
Being  all  in  the  genuine  Tlialaba  metre, 
Loose  and  irregular  as  thy  feet  are  ; — 
First,  into  Whig  Pindarics  rambling, 
Tlien  in  low  Tory  doggrel  scrambling ; 
Now  love  his  tlieme,  now  Church  liis  glory, 
(At  once  both  Tory  and  ama-toiy,) 
Now  in  th"  Old  Bailey-^iy  meandering, 
Now  in  soft  couplet  style  philandering  ; 
And,  lastly,  in  lame  Alexandrine, 
Dragging  his  wounded  length  aloug,^ 
When  scourged  by  Holland's  silken  thong. 

In  short,  dear  Bob,  Destroyer  the  Second 

May  fairly  a  match  for  the  First  be  reckon'd  ; 

Save  that  your  Thalaba's  talent  lay 

In  sweeping  old  conjurors  clean  away. 

While  ours  at  aldermen  deals  his  blows, 

(Who  no  great  conjurors  are,  God  knows,) 

Lays  Corporations,  by  wholesale,  level. 

Sends  Acts  of  Parliameut  to  the  devil, 

Bullies  the  whole  Milesian  race — 

Seven  millions  of  Paddies,  face  to  face  ; 

And,  seizing  that  magic  wand,  himself. 

Which  erst  tliy  conjurors  left  ou  the  shelf, 

Transforms  the  boys  of  the  Boyne  aud  Lifley 

All  into  foreigners,  in  a  jifFey — 

Aliens,  outcasts,  every  soul  of  'em. 

Born  but  for  whips  and  chains,  the  whole  of  'em ! 

Never,  in  short,  did  parallel 
Betwixt  two  heroes  gee  so  well ; 
And,  among  the  points  in  which  they  fit, 
There's  one,  dear  Bob,  I  can't  omit. 


4  This  is  not  quite  according  to  the  facts  of  the  case  ;  his 
wife  having  been  the  contriver  of  the  stratagem,  and  re- 
mained in  the  prison  herself  to  give  him  time  for  escape. 
&  Pallida  Mors  ^quo  pulsat  pede,  &c. — HoRAT 
8  "A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song 

That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags   its   sl0w   length 
along." 


616                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

That  hacking,  hectoring  blade  of  thine 

Where'er  I  sit,  or  stand,  or  run. 

Dealt  much  in  the  Domdaniel  line  ;' 

Ye  haunt  me  everywhere. 

And  'tis  but  renderiig  justice  due, 

Though  Job  had  patience  tough  enough, 

To  say  tliat  ours  and  his  Toiy  crew 

Such  duplicates  would  tr)'  it ; 

Damn  Daniel  most  devoutly  toa 

Till  one's  turn'd  out  and  t'other  off, 

We  shan't  have  peace  or  quiet 

But  small's  the  chance  that  Law  aiTords — 
Some  folks  are  daily  let  off; 

And,  'twixt  th'  Old  Bailey  and  the  Lords, 

RIVAL  TOPICS.' 

They  both,  I  fear,  will  get  off. 

AN  EXTRAVAGANZA. 

Oh  W — 11 — ngt — n  and  Stephenson, 

Oh  morn  and  evening  papers, 

Times,  Herald,  Courier,  Globe,  and  Sun, 

When  will  ye  cease  our  ears  to  stun 

THE  BOY  STATESMAN. 

With  these  two  heroes'  capers  ? 

Still  "  Stephenson"  and  •'  W— 11— ngt— n," 

BV  A  TORT. 

The  everlasting  two  ! — 

Still  doora'd,  from  rise  to  set  of  sun. 

"That  boy  will  be  the  death  of  me."         Mathews  at  Home. 

To  hear  what  mischief  one  has  done. 

And  t'other  means  to  do  : — 

An,  Tories  dear,  our  niin  is  near. 

What  bills  the  banker  pass'd  to  friends, 

With  St — nl — y  to  help  us,  we  can't  but  fall ; 

But  never  meant  to  pay  ; 

Already  a  warning  voice  I  hear. 

What  Bills  the  other  wight  intends, 

Like  the  late  Charles  Mathews'  croak  in  my  ear. 

As  honest,  in  their  way  ; — 

"  That  boy— that  boy '11  be  the  death  of  you  all." 

Bills,  payable  at  distant  sight. 
Beyond  the  Grecian  kalends. 

He  will,  God  help  us  1 — not  even  Scriblerius 

When  all  good  deeds  will  come  to  light. 
When  W — 11 — ngt — n  will  do  what's  right, 

In  the  "  Art  of  Sinking"  his  match  could  be  ; 

And  our  case  is  growing  exceeding  serious. 

And  Rowland  pay  his  balance. 

For,  all  being  in  the  same  boat  as  he. 

If  down  my  Lord  goes,  down  go  we. 

To  catch  the  banker  all  have  sought, 

Lord  Baron  St — nl — y  and  Company, 

But  still  the  rogue  unhurt  is  ; 

As  deep  in  Oblivion's  swamp  below 

While  t'other  juggler — who'd  have  thought? 

As  such  "  Masters  Shallow"  well  could  go  ; 

Though  slippery  long,  has  just  been  caught 

And  where  we  shall  all,  both  low  and  high. 

By  old  Archbishop  Curtis  ; — 

Embalm'd  in  mud,  as  forgotten  lie 

And,  such  the  power  of  papal  crook, 

As  already  doth  Gr — h — m  of  Netherby  ! 

The  crosier  scarce  had  quiver'd 

But  that  boy,  that  boy  ! — there's  a  tale  I  know. 

About  his  ears,  when,  lo,  the  Duke 

Which  in  talking  of  him  comes  a  propos. 

Was  of  a  Bull  deliver'd ! 

Sir  Thomas  More  had  an  only  son, 

And  a  foolish  lad  was  that  only  one. 

Su'  Richard  Bimie  doth  decide 

And  Sir  Thomas  said,  one  day,  to  his  wife. 

That  Rowland  "  must  be  mad," 

"  My  dear,  I  can't  but  wish  you  joy. 

In  private  coacli,  with*  crest,  to  ride. 

"  For  you  pray'd  for  a  boy,  aud  you  now  have  a  boy, 

When  chaises  could  be  had. 

"  Who'll  continue  a  boy  to  the  end  of  his  life." 

And  t'other  hero,  all  agree. 

, 

St.  Luke's  will  soon  arrive  at. 

Even  such  is  our  own  distressing  lot. 

If  thus  he  shows  off  publicly, 

With  the  ever-young  statesman  we  have  got ; — 

When  he  might  pass  in  private. 

Nay  even  still  worse  ;  for  Master  More 

Wasn't  more  a  youth  than  he'd  been  before. 

Oh  W — 11 — ngt — n,  oh  Stephenson, 

While  ours  such  power  of  boyhood  shows. 

Ye  ever-boring  pair. 

That,  the  older  he  gets,  the  more  juvenile  he  grows. 

1            "  Vain  .ire  the  spells,  the  Deslroyer 

3  The  date  of  this  squib  must  have  beeo,  1  Ibiok,  Lbont 

Treads  the  Douidanie!  floor." 

1828-9. 

ThalabtL,  a  Metrical  Romance. 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


617 


And,  at  what  extreme  old  age  he'll  close 
His  Bcliooll)oy  couree,  heaven  only  knows  ; — 
Some  century  hence,  should  ho  reach  so  far, 

And  ourselves  to  witness  it  heaven  condemn, 
We  shall  find  him  a  sort  of  cub  Old  Parr, 

A  whipper-snapper  Metlmsaleni ; 
Nay,  ev'n  sliould  he  make  still  longer  stay  of  it. 
The  boy'll  v:mA  judgment,  ev'n  to  the  day  of  it  I 
Meanwhile,  'tis  a  serious,  sad  infliction  ; 

And,  day  and  night,  with  awe  1  recall 
The  late  Mr.  Alathews'  solemn  prediction, 

"That  boy'll  he  the  death,  the  death  of  you  all." 


LETTER 


FROM    LARRY    o'bRANIGAN    TO    THE    REV.    MURTAGH 

o'mulligan. 

[Abrau,  where  were  you,  Murthagh,  that  beautiful 
day? — 
Or,  how  came  it  your  riverence  was  laid  on  the 
shelf. 
When   that  poor  craythur,  Bobby — as   you   were 
away — 
Had  to  malte  twice  as  big  a  Tom-fool  of  hinself. 

Throth,  it  wasn't  at  all  civil  to  lave  in  the  lurch 
A  boy  so  desarving  your  tindh'rest  affection ; — 

Two  such  iligant  Siamase  twins  of  the  Churcli, 
As  Bob  and  yourself,  ne'er  should  cut  the  con- 
nection. 

If.thns  in  two  different  directions  you  pull, 

'Faith,    they'll    swear    that    yourself    and    your 
riverend  brother 
Are  like  those  quare  fo.xes,  in  Gregory's  Bull, 

Whose    tails    were   join'd    one   way,  while  they 
look'd  another  !^ 

Och  bless'd  he  bo,  whosomdever  he  be. 

That  help'd  soft  Magee  to  that  Bull  of  a  Letther! 
Not  ev'n  my  own  self,  though  I  sometimes  make 
free 
At   such    bull-manufacture,  could   make    him  a 
betther. 


1  "You  will  increase  the  enmity  with  which  Ihey  are  re- 
garded by  tiieir  associates  in  heresy,  thus  tying  tiiese  foxes 
by  the  tails,  that  their  foces  may  tend  in  opposite  directions.' 
—Bon's  Bull,  read  at  Exeter  Hall,  July  14. 

3  "An  ingenious  device  of  my  learned  friend." — Bob's 
Letter  to  Standard. 

3  Had  I  consulted  only  my  own  wishes,  I  should  not  have 
allowed  this  hasty  attack  on  Dr.  Todd  to  have  made  its  ap- 


To  be  sure,  when  a  lad  takes  to  forgin',  this  way, 
'Tisathriok  he's  much  timpted  to  carry  on  gayly; 

Till,  at  last,  his  "  injanious  devices,"^  some  day, 
Show  him  up,  not  at  E.xether  Hall,  but  tb'  Ould 
Bailey. 

That  parsons  should  forgo  thus  appears  mighty  odd, 
And  (as  if  somethin'  "  odd"'  in  their  names,  too, 
must  be,) 

One  forger,  of  ould,  was  a  riverend  Dod, 
While  a  riverend  Todd's  now  his  match,  to  a  T.* 

But,  no  matther  who  did  it — all  blessins  betide  him. 

For  dishin'  up  Bob,  in  a  manner  so  nate  ; 
And  there   wanted  but  i/ou,  Murthagh  'vourneen, 
beside  him, 
To  make  the  whole  grand  dish  of  6uH-c»  If  com- 
plate. 


MUSINGS   OF  AN   UNREFORMED  PEER. 

Of  all  the  odd  plans  of  this  monstrously  queer  age, 
The  oddest  is  that  of  reforming  the  peerage  ; — 
Just  as  if  we,  great  dons,  with  a  title  and  star, 
Did  not  get  on  exceedingly  well,  as  we  are, 
.\nd  perform  all  the  functions  of  noodles,  by  birth, 
As  completely  as  any  born  noodles  on  earth. 

How  acres  descend,  is  in  law-books  display'd. 
But  we  as  wiseacres  descend,  ready  made  ; 
And,  by  right   of  our   rank   in  Debrett's   nomen- 
clature, 
Are,  all  of  us,  born  legislators  by  nature  ; — 
Like  ducklings,  to  wdter  instinctively  taking. 
So  we,  with  like  quackery,  take  to  law-making  ; 
And  God  forbid  any  reform  should  come  o'er  us, 
To  make  us  more  wise  than  our  sires  were  before  ua. 

Th'  Egyptians  of  old  the  same  policy  knew — 
If  yotu-  sire  was  a  cook,  you  must  be  a  cook  too  : 
Thus   making,  from  father   to   son,  a   good   trade 

of  it. 
Poisoners  brj  right,  (so  no  more  could  be  said  of  it,) 
The  cooks,  like  our  lordsliips,  a  pretty  mess  made 

of  it: 


pearance  in  this  Collection  ;  being  now  fully  convinced  that 
the  charge  brought  against  that  reverend  gentleman  of  in- 
tending to  pass  offas  genuine  his  famous  mock  Papal  Letter 
was  altogether  unfounded.  Finding  it  to  be  the  wish,  how- 
ever, of  my  reverend  friend — as  I  am  now  glad  to  be  permitted 
to  call  him— that  both  the  wrong  and  the  reparation,  the  Ode 
and  the  Palinode,  should  be  thus  placed  in  juxtaposition,! 
have  thought  it  but  due  to  iiim  to  comply  with  his  request. 


618                                             MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Wliile,  famed  for  conservative  stomachs,  th'  Egyp- 

That wonderful  jump  to  Exeter 

tians 

With  the  Reverend  Pamplileteer 

Without  a  wry  face  bolted  all  the  prescriptions. 

Set  a  beggar  on  horseback,  wise  men  say, 

It  is  true,  we've  among  lis  some  peers  of  the  past, 

The  coui-se  he  will  take  is  clear  ; 

Who  lieep  pace  witli  tlie  present  most  awfully  fast — 

And  in  that  direction  lay  the  way 

Fruits,  tliat  ripen  beneath  the  new  light  now  arising 

Of  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

With  speed  that  to  us,  old  conserves,  is  surprising, 

Conserves,    in    whom — potted,    for    grandmamma 

"  Stop,  stop,"  said  Truth,  but  vain  her  cry — 

uses — 

Left  far  away  in  the  rear. 

'Twould  puzzle  a  sunbeam  to  find  any  juices. 

She  heard  but  the  usual  gay  "  Good-by" 

'Tis  true,  too,  I  fear,  midst  the  general  movement, 

From  her  faithless  Pamphleteer. 

Ev'n    our    House,  God    help  it,  is  doom'd    to    im- 

provement, 

You  may  talk  of  the  jumps  of  Homer's  gods, 

And  all  its  live  furniture,  nobly  descended. 

When  cantering  o'er  our  sphere — 

But  sadly  worn  out,  must  be  sent  to  be  mended. 

I'd  back  for  a  bounce,  'gainst  any  odds. 

With  moveables  'mong  us,  like  Br m  and  like 

This  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

D^rh — m, 

No  wonder  ev'n  fixtures  should  learn  to  bestir  'era  ; 

But  ah,  what  tumbles  5  jockey  hath  ! 

And,  distant,  ye  gods,  be  that  terrible  day, 

'In  the  midst  of  his  career. 

When— as    playful    Old    Nick,    for    his    pastime, 

A  file  of  the  Times  lay  right  in  the  path 

they  say. 

Of  the  headlong  Pamphleteer. 

Flies  off  with  old  houses,  sometimes,  in  a  storm — 

So  ours  may  be  whipp'd  off,  some  night,  by  Reform ; 

Whether  he  tripp'd  or  shy'd  thereat. 

And,  as  up,  like   Lorctto's  famed  house,'  through 

Doth  not  so  clear  appear : 

the  air, 

But  down  he  came,  as  his  sennons  fiat — 

Not  angels,  but  devils,  our  lordships  shall  bear. 

This  Reverend  Pamphleteer ! 

Grim,  radical  phizzes,  unused  to  the  sky, 

Shall  flit  round,  like  cherubs,  to  wish  us  "  good-by," 

Lord  King  himself  could  scarce  desire 

While,  percird    up   on   clouds,  little   imps  of   ple- 

To see  a  spiritual  Peer 

beians. 

Fall  much  more  dead,  in  the  dirt  and  mire. 

Small  Grotes  and  O'Connells,  shall  sing  lo  Poeans. 

Than  did  this  Pamphleteer. 

Yet  pitying  parsons,  many  a  day, 

Shall  visit  his  silent  bier. 

And,  thinking  the  while  of  Stanhope,  say, 

"  Poor  dear  old  Pamphleteer !                           , 

THE  REVEREND  PAMPHLETEER. 

■'  He  has  finish'd,  at  last,  his  busy  span, 

"  And  now  lies  coolly  here — 

A    ROMANTIC    BALLAD. 

"  As  often  he  did  in  life,  good  man, 

"  Good,  Reverend  Pamphleteer  I" 

On,  have  you  heard  what  happ'd  of  late? 

If  not,  come  len:  an  ear. 

While  sad  I  state  the  piteous  fato 

Of  the  Reverend  Pamplileteer. 

All  praised  liis  skilful  jockeyship, 

Loud  rung  the  Tory  cheer. 

While  away,  away,  with  spur  and  whip, 

A  RECENT  DIALOGUE. 

Went  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

1825. 

A  Bishop  and  a  bold  dragoon. 

The  nag  he  rodo — how  could  it  err? 

Both  heroes  in  their  way. 

'Twas  the  same  that  took,  last  year. 

Did  tims,  of  late,  one  afternoon, 

Unto  each  other  say  ; — 

1  The  Cmo  Santa,  supposed  to  have  been  carried  by  angels 

"  Dear  bishop,"  quoth  the  brave  hsffiar, 

through  the  air  from  Galilee  to  Italy. 

"  As  nobody  denies 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


619 


*'  Tliat  you  a  wise  logician  are, 

"  Aud  I  am — otherwise, 
"  'Tis  fil  tliat  ill  tliis  question,  we 

"  Stick  eacli  to  Iiis  own  art — 
*'  Tiiat  yours  sliould  be  tlie  sopiiistry, 

"  Aud  7nine  the  fighting  part. 
"  My  creed,  I  need  uot  tell  you,  is 

"  Like  that  of  W n, 

**  To  wiioni  no  harlot  comes  amiss, 

"  Save  her  of  Babylon  ;' 
"  And  wlien  we're  at  a  loss  for  words, 

"  If  laughing  reasouers  flout  us, 
"  For  lack  of  sense  we'll  draw  our  sworas — ■ 

*'  The  sole  thing  sharp  about  ns." — 
"  Dear  bold  dragoon,"  the  bishop  said, 

"  'Tis  true  for  war  tliou  art  meant ; 
"  And  reasoning — bless  that  dandy  head  I 

"  Is  not  in  thy  department. 
**  So  leave  the  argument  to  me — 

"  And,  when  my  holy  labor 
"  Hath  lit  the  fires  of  bigotrj', 

'•  Thou'lt  poke  them  with  thy  sabre. 
"  From  pulpit  and  from  sentry-box, 

"  We'll  make  our  joint  attacks, 
*'  I  at  the  head  of  my  Cassocks, 

**  And  you  of  your  Cossacks. 
"  So  here's  your  health,  my  brave  hussar, 

"  My  exquisite  old  fighter — 
"  Success  to  bigotry  and  war, 

"  The  musket  and  the  mitre  1" 
Thus  pray'd  the  minister  of  heaven — 

While  Y — k,  just  entering  then, 
Snored  out,  (as  if  some  Clerk  had  given 
His  nose  the  cue,)  *'  Amen." 

T.  B. 


THE  WELLINGTON  SPA. 

"  And  drink  oblivion  to  our  woes." — .\nna  Matilda. 

1829. 
Talk  no  more  of  your  Cheltenham  aud  Harrowgate 
springs, 
'Tis  from  Lethe  we  now  our  potations  must  draw ; 
Your  Lethe's  a  cure  for — all  possible  things, 

And  the  doctors  have  named  it  the  Wellington 
Spa. 

Other  physical  waters  but  cure  you  hi  part ; 

One  cobbles  your  gout — t'other  menda  your  di- 
gestion— 

•  Cui  nulla  meretrix  displicuit  priEter  Babylonicam. 


Some    settle    your   stomach,  but    this — bless    your 
heart  I — 
It  will  settle,  forever,  your  Catholic  Question. 

Unlike,  too,  the  potions  in  fashion  at  present. 
This  Wellington  nostrum,  restoring  by  stealth, 

So  purges  the  meni'ry  of  all  that's  unpleasant. 
That  patients  forget  themselves  into  rude  health. 

For  instance,  th'  inventor — his  having  once  said 
"  He  should  think  himself  mad,  if,  at  any  one's 
call, 
"  He  became  what  he  is" — is  so  purged  from  his 
head. 
That  he  now  doesn't  think  he's  a  madman  at  all. 

Of  course,  for  your  mem'ries  of  very  long  stand- 
ing- 
Old  chronic  diseases,  that  date  back,  undaunted. 

To  Brian  Boroo  and  Fitz-Stephens'  first  landing — 
A  dev'l  of  a  dose  of  the  Lethe  is  wanted. 

But  ev'n  Irish  patients  can  hardly  regret 

An  oblivion,  so  much  in  their  own  native  style, 

So  conveniently  plann'd,  that,  whate'er  tliey  forget, 
They  may  go  on   rememb'ring    it  still,  all    the 
while  I" 


A   CHARACTER. 

1834. 
Half  Whig,  half  Tory,  like  those  midway  things, 
'Twixt  bird  and  beast,  that  by  mistake  have  winga ; 
A  mongrel  Statesman,  'twi.\t  two  factions  nursed, 
Who,  of  the  faults  of  each,  combines  the  worst — 
The  Tory's  loftiness,  the  Whigling's  sneer, 
The  leveller's  rashness,  and  the  bigot's  fear  ; 
The  thirst  for  meddling,  restless  still  to  show 
How  Freedom's  clock,  repair'd  by  Whigs,  will  go ; 
Th'  alarm  when  others,  more  sincere  than  they, 
Advance  the  hands  to  the  true  time  of  day. 

By  Mother  Church,  high-fed  and  haughty  dame. 
The  boy  was  dandled,  in  his  dawn  of  fame  ; 
List'uing,    she    smiled,    and    bless'd    the    flippant 

tongue 
On  which  the  fate  of  unborn  tithe-pigs  hung. 
Ah,  who  shall  paint  the  grandam's  grim  dismay, 
When  loose  Reform  enticed  her  boy  away ; 
When,  shock'd,  she  heard  him  ape  the  rabble's  tone, 
Aud,  in  Old  Sarum's  fate,  foredoom  her  own  ! 


3  The  only  parallel  I  know  to  this  sort  of  oblivion  is  to  be 
found  In  a  hne  of  the  lale  Mr.  R.  P.  Knight. 

"Tlie  pleasiN<  -nfn/:,:  r  of  things  forgot." 


620                                              MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Groaning   she   cried,   while  tears  roH'd  down  her 

"  Oh,  Lord  I.,— ndh— rst, 

cheeks, 

'■  Unmerciful  Ixird  L — ndh — rst. 

"  Poor,  glib-tougucd  youth,  lie  means  not  what  he 

"  Corpses  we. 

speaks. 

"  All  burk'd  by  thee. 

"  Like  oil  at  top,  these  Whig  professions  flow, 

"  Unmercifid  Lord  L. — ndh — rst !" 

"  But,  pure  as  lymph,  runs  Toryism  below. 

"  Alas,  that  tongue  should  start  thus,  in  the  race, 

"  Avaunt,  ye  frights  1"  his  Lordship  cried. 

"  Ere  niiud  can  reach  and  regulate  its  pace  1 — 

"  Ye  look  most  glum  and  whitely." 

"  For,  once   outstripp'd   by  tongue,   poor,   lagging 

"  Ah,  L — ndh — rst,  dear !"  the  frights  replied, 

niiud, 

"  You've  used  us  unpolitely. 

"  At  every  step,  still  further  limps  behind. 

"  And  now,  ungrateful  man !  to  drive 

"  But,  bless  the  boy  ! — whate'er  his  wandering  be. 

"  Dead  bodies  from  your  door  so, 

"  Still  turns  his  heart  to  Toryism  and  me. 

"  Who  quite  corrupt  enough,  alive. 

"  Like  those  odd  shapes,  portray 'd  in  Dante's  lay,* 

"  You've  made,  by  death,  still  more  so. 

"With   heads  fix'd   on,  the  wrong  and  backward 

"  Oh,  Ex-Chancellor, 

way. 

"  Destructive  Ex-Chancellor 

"  His  feet  and  eyes  pursue  a  diverse  track. 

"  See  thy  work. 

"  While    those   march  onward,  these    look    fondly 

"  Thou  second  Burke, 

back." 

"  Destructive  Ex-Chancellor !" 

And  well  she  knew  him — well  foresaw  the  day, 

Which  now  hath  come,  when  suatch'd  from  Whigs 

Bold  L — ndh — rst  then,  whom  naught  could  keep 

away, 

Awake,  or  surely  that  would, 

The  self-same  changeling  drops  the  mask  he  wore. 

Cried  "  Curse  you  ajl" — fell  fast  asleep — 

And  rests,  restored,  in  granny's  arms  once  more. 

And  dreamt  of  "  Small  v.  Attwood." 

While,  shock'd,  the  bodies  flew  down  stairs. 

But  whither  now,  mix'd  brood  of  modern  light 

But,  courteous  in  their  panic, 

And  ancient  darkness,  caust  thou  bend  thy  fliglit  7 

Precedence  gave  to  ghosts  of  mayors. 

Tried  bv  both  factions,  and  to  neither  true. 

And  corpses  aldermanic, 

Fear'd  by  the  old  scliool,  laugh'd  at  by  the  new ; 

Crying,  "  Oh,  Lord  L — ndh — rst, 

For  this  too  feeble,  and  for  that  too  rasli. 

"  That  terrible  Lord  L — ndh— rst. 

This  wanting  more  of  fire,  that  less  of  tiash  ; 

"  Not  Old  Scratch 

Lone  shalt  tliou  stand,  in  isolation  cold. 

"  Himself  could  match 

Bet\vi.\t  two  worlds,  the  new  one  and  the  old. 

"  That  terrible  Lord  L— ndh— rst." 

A  small  and  "  vex'd  Bermoothes,"  which  the  eye 

Of  venturous  seaman  sees — and  passes  by. 

THOUGHTS 

ON   TDE    LATE 

A  GHOST  STORY. 

DESTEUCTIVE  PROPOSITIONS  OF  THE  TORIES  l 

TO  THE  AIR  OF   "  UNFOKTUNATE   MISS  BAILEV." 

BY    A    COMMON-COUNCILMAN. 

1835. 

1835. 

Not  long  'm  bed  had  L — ndh — rst  lain, 

I  SAT  me  down  in  my  easy  chair. 

When,  as  his  lamp  burn'd  dimly, 

To  read,  as  usual,  the  morning  papers ; 

The  ghosts  of  corporate  bodies  slain,^ 

But — who  shall  describe  my  look  of  despair, 

Stood  by  his  bedside  grimly. 

When  I  came  to  Lefroy's  "  destructive'*  capers ! 

Dead  aldermen,  who  once  could  feast. 

That  he — that,  of  all  live  men,  Lefroy 

But  now,  themselves,  are  fed  on, 

Should  join  in  the  cry,  "  Destroy,  destroy  1" 

And  skeletons  of  mayors  deceased, 

Who,  ev'n  when  a  babe,  as  I've  heard  said, 

This  doleful  chorus  led  on  : — 

On  Orange  conserve  was  chiefly  fed, 

"Che  dalle  reni  er.i  tomato  '1  volto, 

3  These   verses   were  written    in    reference    to  the  Bill 

E  indietro  venir  li  convcnia, 

brnucht  in  at  this  time,  for  the  reform  of  Corporations,  and 

Perch^  '1  vedcr  d'manzi  era  lor  tolto." 

the  sweeping  amendments  proposed  by  Lord  Lyndhurst  and 

*  Reforrins  to  I^^e  line  taken  by  Lord  L — ndh— rst,  on  the 

other  Tory  Peers,  in  order  to  obstruct  the  measure. 

question  of  Municipal  Reform. 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


621 


And  never,  till  now,  a  movement  made 
That  wasn't  most  manfully  retrograde  ! 
Only  think — to  sweep  from  the  ligiit  of  day 
Mayors,  maces,  cri;;rs,  and  \v\gs  awaj' ; 
To  annihilate — never  to  rise  again — 
A  whole  generation  of  aldermen. 
Nor  leave  them  ev'n  th'  accustom'd  tolls, 
To  keep  together  their  bodies  and  souls! — 
At  a  time,  too,  when  snug  posls  and  places 

Are  falling  away  from  us  one  by  one, 
Crnsii — crash — like  the  mummy-cases 

Belzoni,  in  Egypt,  sat  upon, 
Wherein  lay  pickled,  in  state  sublime, 
Conservatives  of  the  ancient  time  ; — 
To  choose  such  a  moment  to  overset 
Tlie  few  snug  nuisances  left  us  yet ; 
To  add  to  the  ruin  that  round  us  reigns. 
By  knocking  out  mayoi-s'  and  tonTi-cIerks'  brains  ; 
By  dooming  c.   corporate  bodies  to  fall, 
Till  they  leave,  at  last,  no  bodies  at  all — 
Naught  but  the  ghosts  of  by-gone  glory. 
Wrecks  of  a  world  that  once  was  Tory  ! 
Where  pensive  criers,  like  owls  nnblest, 

Robb'd  of  their  roosts,  shall  still  hoot  o'er  them  ! 
Nor  mayors  shall  know  where  to  seek  a  ncst^ 

Till  Gaily  Knight  sXmWfind  one  for  them; — 
Till  mayors  and  kings,  with  none  to  rue  *em, 

Shall  perish  all  in  one  common  plague ; 
And  the  sovereigns  of  Belfast  and  Tuam 

Must  join  their  brother,  Charles  Dix,  at  Prague. 

Thus  mused  I,  in  my  chair,  alone, 

(As  above  described,)  till  dozy  grown. 

And  nodding  assent  to  my  own  opinions, 

I  found  myself  borne  to  sleep's  dominions, 

Where,  lo,  before  my  dreaming  eyes, 

A  new  House  of  Commons  appear'd  to  rise. 

Whose  living  contents,  to  fancy's  survey, 

Seem'd  to  me  all  turn'd  topsy-turvy — 

A  jumble  of  polypi—nobody  knew 

Whicli  was  the  head  or  which  the  queue. 

HerCf  Ingl's,  turn'd  to  a  sans-culotte, 

Was  dancing  the  hays  with  Hume  and  Grote  ; 

There,  ripe  for  riot,  Recorder  Shaw 

Was  learning  from  Roebuck  "  Qa-ira  ;" 

While  Stanley  and  Graham,  as  poissarde  wenches, 

Scream'd  "  a  has  /"  from  the  Tory  benches  ; 

And  Peel  and  O'Connell,  cheek  by  jowl, 

Were  dancing  an  Irish  carmagnole. 

Th5  Lord  preserve  us  ! — if  dreams  come  true. 
What  is  this  hapless  realm  to  do  ? 


»  A  term  formed  on  the  model  of  the  Mastodon,  &c. 


ANTICIPATED  MEETING 

OF  THE 

BRITISH  ASSOCIATION  IN  THE  YEAR  2B3G. 

1836. 
After  some  observations  from  Dr.  M'Grig 
On  that  fossile  reliquum  call'd  Petrified  Wig, 
Or  Perruquolithus — a  specimen  rare     . 
Of  those  wigs,  made  for  antediluvian  wear, 
Which,  it  seems,  stood  the  Flood  without  turning  a 

hair — 
Mr.  Tomkins  rose  up,  ind  requested  attention 
To  facts  no  less  wondrous  which  he  had  to  mention. 

Some  larsre  fossil  creatures  had  lately  been  found 
Of  a  species  no  longer  now  seen  above  ground, 
But  the  same  (as  to  Tomkins  most  clearly  appears) 
With  those  animals,  lost  now  for  hundreds  of  years, 
Which  our    ancestor    used  to  call   "  Bishops*'  and 
"  Peers,"  [stow'd  on, 

But  which  Tomkins  more  erudite  names  has  be- 
Having  call'd  the  Peer  fossil  th'  Aristocratodon,' 
And,  finding  much  food  under  t'other  one's  tliorax, 
Has  cliristen'd  that  creature  th'  Episcopus  Vorax. 

Lest  the  savantes  and  dandies  should  think  this  all 

fable, 
Mr.  Tomkins  most  kindly  produced  on  the  table, 
A  sample  of  each  of  these  species  of  creatures, 
Both  tol'rably  Imman,  in  structure  and  featines, 
Except  that  th'  Episcopus  seems.  Lord  deliver  us  I 
To've  been  carnivorous  as  well  as  granivorous  ; 
And  Tomkins,  on  searcliing  its  stomach,  found  there 
Large  lumps,  such  as  no  modern  stomach  could  bear, 
Of  a  substance  call'd  Tithe,  upon  which,  as  'tis  said, 
The  whole  Genus  Ciericum  formerly  fed ; 
And  which  having  lately  himself  decompounded. 
Just  to  see  what  'twas  made  of,  he  actually  found  it 
Composed  of  all  possible  cookable  things 
That    e'er   tripp'd    upon    trotters    or    soar'd    upon 

win^ — 
AH  products  of  eartli,  both  gramineous,  herbaceous, 
Hordeaceous,  fabaceous,  and  eke  farinaceous. 
All  clubbing  their  quotas  to  glut  the  cpsophagus 
Of  this  ever  greedy  and  grasping  Tithophagus.- 
"  Admire,"  exclaim'd  Tomkixis,  "  the  kind  dispensa- 
tion 
"  By  Providence  shed  on  this  much-favor'd  nation, 
"  In  sweeping  so  ravenous  a  race  from  the  earth, 
"That    might    else     have    occasion'd     a    general 

dearth — 
"  And  thus  bur)''ing  'em,  deep  as  even  Joe  Hume 

would  sink  'em, 
"  With  the  Ichtliyosaurus  and  Paleeorynchwn, 

3   The  zoological  term  for  a  tiihe-eater. 


622 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  And  otlier  queer  ci-devant  things,  under  ground — 
"  Not  forgetting  that  fossilized  youth,"  so  reuown'd, 
"  Who  lived  just  to  witness  the  Deluge — was  grati- 
fied 
"  Much  by  the  sight,  and  has  since  been  found 
stratified  /" 

This  picturesque  touch — <]\iito  in  Tomkins's  way — 
Caird  forth  from  the  savuntes  a  genera!  hurrali  ; 
While  inquiries  among  them  went  rapidly  round, 
As  to  where  this  young  stratified    man    could    be 

found. 
Tlio  "  learn'd  Theban's"  discourse  next  as  livelily 

fiow'd  on, 
To  sketcli  t'other  wonder,  th'  Ar/stocratodon — 
An  animal,  differing  from  most  human  creatures 
No  so  nuich  in  speech,  inward  structure,  or  features. 
As  in  having  a  certain  excrescence,  T.  said, 
Which  in  form  of  a  coronet  grew  from  its  head. 
And  devolved  to  its  heii-s,  when  the  creatiu-e  was 

dead ; 
Nor  matter'd  it,  while   this  heir-loom  was  trans- 
mitted, 
How  unfit  were  the  heads,  so  the  coronet  fitted. 

He  then  mentiou'd  a  strange  zoological  fact, 
Whoso  announcement  appear'd  much  applause  to 

attract. 
In  France,  said  the  learned  professor,  this  race 
Had  so  noxious  become,  in  some  centuries'  space, 
From  their  numbere  and  strength,  that  the  land  was 

o'enun  with  'em. 
Every  one's  qnestiou  being,  "What's  to  be  done 

with  'em  ?" 
Wlien,  lo  !  cerlaiu  knowing  ones— savans,  mayhap, 
Wlio,  like    Buckland's   deep   followers,  uudei-stood 

Slyly  hinleo  that  naught  upon  earth  was  so  good. 
For  Ari,«tocratodons,  when  rampant  and  rude. 
As  to  .slop,  or  curtail,  their  allowance  of  food. 
This  exjiedient  was  tried,  and  a  proof  it  afl^ords 
Of  th'  elFect  that  short  commons  will  liave  upon 


lords ; 
For  this  whole  race  of  bipeds,  one  fine   summer's 

morn,  » 

Shed  their  coronets,  just  as  a  deer  sheds  his  horn, 
And  the  moment  these  gewgaws  fell  off,  tliey  became 
Quite  a  new  sort  of  creature — so  harmless  and  tame. 
That  zoologists  might,  for  the  first  time,  maintain  'em 
To  he  near  akin  lo  the  genus  fiiimaniim, 
And  th'  experiment,  tried  so  successfully  then, 
Sliould  he  kept  in  remembrance,  when  wanted  ao-ain. 


1  The  in;\n  found  by  Schclichzer,  and  supposed  liy  him  to 
have  witnessed  the  Deluge,  (•  homodiliivii  testis,")  Ijut  who 
turned  out,  I  am  sorry  lo  say,  to  be  merely  a  great  lizard. 


SONGS  OF  THE  CHURCH. 

No.  1. 

LEAVE  ME  ALONE. 

A  P.VSTORAL  BALLAD. 

"We  are  ever  standing  on  the  defensive.  All  that  we  say 
to  them  is,  '  leave  vs  aJone:  The  Established  Church  is  pan 
and  parrel  of  the  constitutinn  of  this  country.  You  are  bound 
to  conform  to  this  constitution.  We  ask  of  you  nothing 
more  -—let  us  aione."— Letter  in  The  Timts,  Nov.  J838. 

1838. 


Come,  list  to  my  pastoral  tones, 

In  clover  my  shepherds  I  keep  ; 
My  stalls  are  all  funiish'd  with  drones. 

Whose  preaching  invites  one  to  sleep. 
At  my  spirit  let  infidels  scoff, 

So  they  leave  but  the  substance  my  own ; 
For,  in  sooth,  I'm  extremely  well  off. 

If  the  world  will  but  let  me  alone. 

Dissenters  are  grumblers,  wo  know ; — 

Though  excellent  men,  in  their  way, 
They  never  like  things  to  be  so. 

Let  things  be  however  they  may. 
But  dissenting's  a  trick  I  detest ; 

And,  besides,  'tis  an  axiom  well  known, 
The  creed  that's  best  paid  is  the  best, 

If  the  t/npaid  would  let  it  alone 

To  me,  I  own,  very  surprising 

Your  Newmans  and  Puseys  all  seem. 
Who  start  first  with  rationalizing. 

Then  jump  to  the  other  extreme. 
Far  better,  'twixt  nonsense  and  sense, 

A  nice  /(n//-way  concern,  like  oiu-  own. 
Where  piety's  mix'd  up  with  pence. 

And  tlie  latter  are  ne'er  left  alone. 

Of  all  our  tormentors,  tlie  Press  is 

The  one  that  most  tears  us  to  bits ; 
And,  now,  Mrs.  Woolfrcy's  "  excesses" 

Have  thrown  all  its  imps  into  fits. 
The  dev'ls  have  been  at  us,  for  weeks, 

And  there's  no  saying  when  they'll  have  done ; 
Oh  dear,  how  I  wish  Mr.  Breeks 

Had  left  Mrs.  \Voolfrey  alone ! 

If  any  need  pray  for  the  dead, 

'Tis  those  to  whom  post-obits  fall ; 
Since  wisely  hath  Solomon  said, 

'Tis  "  money  that  answereth  all." 

'  Tarlicularly  the  formation  called  Transition  Trap. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


623 


But  oure  be  the  patrons  who  live  ; — 

For,  once  in  their  glebe  they  are  thrown, 
Tlio  dead  have  no  hving  to  give, 
And  tlierefore  we  leave  them  alone. 

Though  in  morals  we  may  not  excel, 

Such  perfection  is  rare  to  be  had ; 
A  good  life  is,  of  course,  very  well, 

But  good  hving  is  also — not  bad. 
And  wiien,  to  feed  earth-worms,  I  go, 

Let  tliis  epitaph  stare  from  my  stone, 
'•  Here  hes  the  Right  Rev.  so  and  so  ; 

"  Pass,  stranger,  and — leave  him  alone." 


EPISTLE   FROM   HENRY- OF   EX-T— R 
TO  JOHN  OF  TUAM. 

Deau  John,  as  I  know,  hke  our  brother  of  London, 
You've  sipp'd   of  all   knowledge,  both  sacred  and 

mundane, 
No  doubt,  in  some  ancient  Joe  Miller,  you've  read 
What  Cato,  that  cunning  old  Roman,  once  said — 
That  he  ne'er  saw  two  rev'rend  sootlisayers  meet. 
Let  it  be  where  it  might,  in  the  shrine  or  the  street, 
Without   wondering  the    rogues,  'mid  their  solemn 

grimaces, 
Didn't  burst  out  a  laughing  in  each  other's  faces.' 
AVhat  Cato  then  meant,  though  'tis  so  long  ago. 
Even  we  in  the  present  times  pretty  well  know  ; 
Having  soothsayers  also,  who — sooth  to  say,  John — 
Are  no  better  in  some  points  than  those  of  days  gone, 
And  a  pair  of  whom,  meeting,  (between  you  and  me,) 
Might  laugh  in  their  sleeves,  too — all  lawu  though 

they  be. 
But  this,  by  the  way — my  intention  being  chiefly 
In  this,  my  first  lettftr,  to  hint  to  you  briefly, 
That,  seeing  how  fond  you  of  Tunvi^  must  be, 
While  MeunCs  at  all  times  the  main  point  with  me, 
We  scarce  could  do  better  than  fonn  an  alliance, 
To  set  these  sad  Anti-Church  times  at  defiance : 
You,  John,  recollect,  being  still  to  embark, 
With  no  share  in  the  firm  but  your  tille^  and  mark; 
Or  ev'n  should  you  feel  in  your  grandeur  inclined 
To  call  yourself  Pope,  why,  I  shouldn't  much  mind  ; 
While  luy  church  as  usual  holds  fast  by  your  Tuum, 
And  ever)'  one  else's,  to  make  it  all  Suum. 

Thus  allied,  I've  no  doubt  we  shall  nicely  agree, 
As  no  twins  can  be  liker,  in  most  points,  tlian  we  ; 


ifilirari  se.siangnraugurom  aspicienssUu  tenipcmretarisn. 
•  So  spelled  in  those  ancient  versicies  which  John,  we 
understand,  frequently  chants: — 

*'  Had  every  one  Suum, 
You  wouldn't  have  Tuum, 


Both  specimeiLs  choice  of  that  mixM  sort  of  boast, 
(See  Rev.  xiii.  1.)  apolitical  priest; 
Both  mettlesome  chargers^  both  brisk  pamphleteers. 
Ripe  and  ready  for  all  that  sets  men  by  the  ears  ; 
And  I,  at  least  one,  who  would  scorn  to  stick  longer 
By  any  giv'u  cause  than  I  found  it  the  stronger, 
And  who,  smooth  in  my  turnings  as  if  on  a  swivel, 
When  the  tone  ecclesiastic  wo'n't  do,  try  the  civil. 

In  short  (not  to  bore  you,  ev'u^wre  divino) 
We've  the  same  cause  in  common,  John — all  but 

the  rliino ; 
And  that  vidgar  surplus,  whate'er  it  may  be. 
As  you're  not  used  to  cash,  John,  you'd  best  leave 

to  me. 
And    so,    without    form — as   tho    postman    wo'n't 

tarry — 
I'm,  dear  Jack  of  Tuam, 

Yours, 

Exeter  Harry. 


SONG  OF  OLD  PUCK. 

"  And  those  things  do  best  please  me, 
That  hefyll  preposterously." 

Pick  Junior,  Jilidsummer  J^J'ighVs  Dream. 

Who  wants  old  Puck  ?  for  here  am  I, 
A  mongrel  imp,  'twixt  earth  and  sky, 
Ready  alike  to  crawl  or  fly  ; 
Now  in  the  mud,  now  in  the  air, 
And,  so  'tis  for  mischief,  reckless  where. 

As  to  my  knowledge,  there's  no  end  to't, 
For  where  I  haven't  it,  I  pretend  to't ; 
And,  'stead  of  taking  a  learu'd  degree 
At  some  dull  university, 
Puck  found  it  handier  to  commence 
With  a  certain  share  of  impudence, 
Which  passes  one  off  as  learn'd  and  clever, 
Beyond  all  other  degrees  whatever ; 
And  enables  a  man  of  lively  sconce 
To  be  Master  of  all  the  Arts  at  once. 
No  matter  what  the  science  may  be — 
Ethics,  Physics,  Theology, 
Mathematics,  Hydrostatics, 
Aerostatics  or  Pneumatics — 
W^hatever  it  be,  I  take  my  luck, 
'Tis  all  the  same  to  ^ncieut  Puck ; 

Cut  I  should  have  Meuni, 

And  sing  Te  Deum." 
3  For  his  keeping  the  title  he  may  quote  classical  autho- 
rit>*,  as  Horace  expressly  says,  "  Poteris  servare  Tuam."— 
De  Art.  Poet.  v.  329.— CAroniWe. 


624 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Whose  head's  so  full  of  all  sorts  of  wares, 
That  a  brotlicr  imp,  old  Smugden,  swears 
If  I  had  but  of  law  a  little  smatt'ring, 
I'd  then  be  perfect' — which  is  flatt'ring. 

My  skill  as  a  linguist  all  must  know 
Who  met  me  abroad  some  months  ago  ; 
(And  heard  me  abroad  exceedingly,  too, 
In  tlie  moods  and  tenses  o{  parlez-rous,) 
When,  as  old  Cliambaud's  shade  stood  mute, 
I  spoke  such  French  to  tlie  Institute 
As  puzzled  those  learned  Thcbans  much. 
To  know  if  'twas  Sanscrit  or  High  Dutch, 
And  might  have  pass'd  with  th'  unobscrving 
As  one  of  the  unknown  tongues  of  Ir^'ing. 
As  to  my  talent  for  ubiquity, 
There's  nothing  like  it  in  all  antiquity. 
Like  Mungo,  (my  peculiar  care,) 
"  I'm  here,  I'm  dere,  I'm  ebery  whcre.'"^ 
If  any  one's  wanted  to  take  the  chair. 
Upon  any  subject,  anywhere, 
Just  look  around,  and — Puck  is  there  I 
Wlieu  slaughter's  at  hand,  your  bird  of  prey 
Is  never  known  to  be  out  of  the  way  ; 
And  wherever  mischiers  to  be  got, 
There's  Puck  instantcr,  on  the  spot 

Only  find  me  in  negus  and  applause, 

And  I'm  your  man  for  any  cause, 

If  wrong  the  cause,  the  more  my  delight  : 

But  I  don't  object  to  it,  ev'n  when  rigJtt. 

If  I  only  can  ve.\  some  old  friend  by't ; 

There's  D — rh — m,  for  instance  ; — to  viforry  Itim 

Fills  up  my  cup  of  bliss  to  the  brim  ! 

(note  by  the  editor.) 
Those  who  are  an.xious  to  run  a  muck 
Can't  do  better  than  join  with  Puck  ; 
They'll  find  him  hon  diable — spite  of  his  phiz — 
And,  in  fact,  his  great  ambition  is. 
While  playing  old  Puck  in  first-rate  style, 
To  be  thought  Robin  Goodfellow  all  the  while. 


POLICE  REPORTS. 


CASE  OF  I.MP0STURE. 


Among  other  stray  ilashmen,  disposed  of,  this  week. 

Was   a   youngster,  named  St — nl — y,  genteelly 
connected, 

1  Verbatim,  as  said.    This  tribute  is  only  equalled  by  that 

of  Talleyrand  to  his  medical  friend,  Dr. :  "  11  se  connoit 

en  loul ;  ct  mCme  un  peuen  m6decine.*' 

"Song  in  "The  Padlock." 


Who  has  lately  been  passing  off  coins,  as  antique, 
Which  have  proved  to  be  sham  ones,  though  long 
unsuspected. 

The  ancients,  our  readers  need  hardly  be  told, 
Had  a  coin  they  call'd  "  Talents,"  for  wholesale 
demands ;' 
And  'twas  some  of  said  coinage  this  youth  was  so 
bold 
As  to  fancy  he'd   got,  God   knows   how,  in  his 
liands. 

People  took  him,  however,  like  fools,  at  his  word ; 

And  these  talents  (all  prized  at  his  own  valuation) 
Were  bid  for,  with  eagerness  ev'n  more  absurd 

Than  has  often  distinguish'd  this  great  thinking 
nation. 

Talk  of  wonders  one  now  and  then  sees  advertised, 
**  Black   swans" — "  Queen  Anne  farthings" — or 
ev'n  "  a  child's  caul" — 
Much  and  justly  as  all  these  rare  objects  are  prized, 
"  St — nl — y's     talents"     outdid     them — swans, 
farthings,  and  all ! 

At  length,  some  mistrust  of  this  coin  got  abroad ; 
Even   quoi^am    believers  began  much  to  doubt 
of  it ; 
Some  rung  it,  some  rubb'd  it,  suspecting  a  fraud — 
And  the  hard  rubs  it  got  rather  took  the  shine 
out  of  it. 

Others,  wishing  to  break  the  poor  prodigy's  fall, 
Said   'twas  known  well  to  all  who  had  studied 
the  matter, 
That  the   Greeks  had  not  only  great  talents  but 
small* 
And  those  found  on  the  yoiTngster  were  clearly 
the  latter. 

While  others,  who  view'd  the  grave  farce  with  a 
grin- 
Seeing   counterfeits   pass    thus    for    coinage   so 
massy. 
By  way  of  a  hint  to  the  dolts  taken  in, 
Appropriately  quoted  Budsus  de  Asse. 

In  short,  the  whole  sham  by  degrees  was  found  out, 
And  this  coin,  which  they  chose   by  such   fine 
names  to  call. 

Proved  a  mere  lacker'd  article — showy,  no  doubt, 
But,  ye  gods,  not  the  true  Attic  Talent  at  all. 

3  For  an  account  of  the  coin  called  Talents  by  the  ancients, 
see  Buditus  de  Asse,  and  the  other  writers  de  Re  Nummarift. 

*  The  Talenluni  M.ngnum  and  the  Talentum  Atticum  ap- 
pear to  have  been  the  same  coin. 


SATIRICAL  ANb  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


625 


As  th'  impostor  was  still  young  enough  to  repent, 
And,  besides,  had  some  claims  to  a  grantee  con- 
nection, 
Their  Worships — considerate  for  once — only  sent 
The  young  Thimblerig  off  to  the  House  of  Cor- 
rection. 


REFLECTIONS. 

ADDRESSED  TO  THE   AUTHOR    OF   THE    ARTICLE  OF  THE 
CimRCH,  IN  THE    L.\ST  NUMBER  OF  THE 

QUARTERLY  REVIEW. 

I'm  quite  of  your  mind ; — thoiigli   these   Pats  cry 
aloud 
That   they've  got  "  too  much  Church,"  'tis  all 
nonsense  and  stuff; 
For  Churcli  is  like  Love,  of  which  Figaro  vow'd 
That  even  too  much  of  it's  not  quite  enough.' 

Ay,  dose  them  with    parsons,  'twill  cure  all  their 
Uls;— 
Copy  Morison's   mode  when   from   pill-box  un- 
daunted he 
Pours  through  the  patient  his  black-coated  pills, 
Nor  cares  what  their  quality,  so  there's  but  quan- 
tity. 

I  verily  think,  'twould  be  worth  England's  while 
To  consider,  for  Paddy's  own  benefit,  wh.ether 

'Twould  not  be  as  well  to  give  up  the  green  isle 
To  the  care,  wear  and  tear  of  the  Church  alto- 
gether. 

The  Irish  are  well  used  to  treatment  so  pleasant ; 
The  harlot  Church  gave  them  to  Henry  Planta- 
genet,' 
And   now,  if  King  William  would  make  them  a 
present 
To  t'other  chaste  lady — ye  Saints,  just  imaglue 
it! 

Chief    Sees.,    Lord-Lieutenants,    Commanders-in- 
chief, 
Might    then    all   be    cull'd    from    th'   episcopal 
benches ; 
While  colonels  hi  black  would  afford  some  relief 
From  the  hue  that  reminds  one  of  th'  old  scarlet 
wench's. 


1  En  fait  d'amour,  trop  m6me  n'est  pas  assez. — Barbier  d4 
SeeilU. 


Think   how   fierce   at   a   charge   (being  practised 
therein) 
The  Right  Reverend  Brigadier  Fh — 11 — Its  would 
slash  on  I 
How  General  151 — mf — d,  through  thick  and  tlirough 
thin, 
To  the  end  of  the  chapter  (or  chapters)  would 
dash  on  ! 

For,  in  one  point  alone  do  the  amply  fed  race 
Of  bishops  to  beggars  similitude  bear — 

That,  set  them  on  horseback,  in  full  steeple  chase. 
And  they'll  ride,  if  not   pull'd  up  in  time — you 
know  where. 

But,  bless  you,  in  Ireland,  that  matters  not  much. 
Where  aifairs  have  for  centimes  gone  the  same 
way ; 
And  a  good  stanch  Conservative's  system  is  such 
That   he'd  back  even  Beelzebub's  long-founded 
sway. 

I    am   therefore,    dear    Quarterly,    quite    of  your 
mind  ;— 
Church,  Church,  in    all    shapes,    into  Erin  let's 
pour ; 
And  the  more  she  rejecteth  our  med'cine  so  kind, 
The  more   let's  repeat  it — "  Black  dose,  as  be- 
fore." 

Let  Coercion,  that  peace-maker,  go  hand  in  hand 
With  demure-eyed  Conversion,  fit  sister  and  bro- 
ther; 

And,  covering  with  prisons  and  churches  the  land. 
All  that  won't  go  to  one,  we'll  put  into  the  other. 

For  the  sole,  leading  ma.xim  of  us  who're  inclined 
To  rule  over  Ireland,  not  well,  but  religiously. 
Is  to  treat  her  like  ladies,  who've  just  been  con- 
fined, 
(Or  who  ought  to  be  so)  and  to  church  her  pro- 
digiously. 


NEW  GRAND  EXHIBITION  OF  MODELS 

OF    THE 

TWO  HOUSES  OF  PARLIAMENT. 

Come,  step  in,  gentlefolks,  here  ye  may  view 
An  exact  and  nat'ral  representation 

2  Grant  of  Ireland  to  Henry  H.  by  Pope  Adrian. 


626 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


(Like  Siburn's  Model  of  Waterloo') 

or  tlie  Lords  and  Commons  of  this  hero  nation. 

There  they  are — all  cut  out  in  cork — 

The  "  Collective  Wisdom"  wondrous  to  see  ; 

My  eyes  1  when  all  them  heads  are  at  work, 
Wliat  a  vastly  weighty  consarn  it  must  be. 

As  for  the  "  wisdom," — that  may  come  anon  ; 

Tliongh,  to  say  truth,  wo  sometimes  see 
(And  find  the  phenomenon  no  uncommon  'un) 

A  man  who's  M.  P.  with  a  head  that's  M.  T. 

Our  Lords  are  rather  too  small,  'tis  true  ; 

But  tliey  do  well  enough  for  Cabinet  shelves  ; 
And,  besides, — what's  a  man  with  creeturs  to  do 

That  make  such  merry  small  figures  themselves  ? 

There — don't  touch  those  lords,  my  pretty  dears — 
(Aside.) 
Ciu^e  the  cluldren  ! — -'this  comes  of  reforming  a 
nation  : 
TJiose  meddling  young  brats  have  so  damaged  my 
peeiB, 
I  must  lay  in  more  cork  for  a  new  creation. 

Them  yonder's  our  bishops — "  to  whom   much  is 
given," 
And  who're  ready  to  take  as  much  more  as  you 
please  : 
The  seers  of  old  times  se^'  visions  of  heaven, 
But  these  holy  seere  see  nothing  but  Sees. 

Like  old  Atlas,"  (the  chap,  in  Cheapside,  there  bo- 
low,) 
'Tis  for  so  much  per  cent,  they  take  heaven  on 
their  shoulders  ; 
And  joy  'tis  to  know  that  old  High  Churcli  and 
Co., 
Though    not    capital    priests,  are    such    capital- 
holders. 

There's  one  on  'em,  Ph — lip — ts,  wno  now  is  awaj', 
As   we're   having   him    fili'd   with    bumbustible 
stuff, 

Small  crackers  and  squibs,  for  a  great  gala-day, 
Wiien  we  annually  fire  his  Right  Reverence  ofE 

'Twould  do  your  heart  good,  ma'am,  then  to  be  by. 

When,  bui-sting  with  gunpowder,  'stead  of  with 

bile. 

Crack,  crack,  goes  the  bishop,  while  dowagers  cry, 

"  How  like  the  dear    man,  both  in  matter  and 

style  !" 

1  One  of  the  most  interesting  and  curious  of  ail  tlic  cxlxi. 
kitions  of  the  day. 


Should  you  want  a  few  Peers  and  M.  P.s,  to  bestow. 
As    presents    to    friends,    W'e    can    recommend 
tliese  :' — 
Our   nobles    are    come    down    to    nine-pence,  you 
know, 
And  we  charge  but  a  penny  a  piece  for  M.  P.s. 

Those  of  lottle-corks  made  take  most  with  the  trade, 
(At  least,  'mong  such  as  my  Irish  writ  summons,) 
Of  old  whiskey  corks  our  O'Connclls  are  made, 
But  throse  we  make  Shaws  and  Lefroys  of,  are 
rum  'uns. 
So,  step  in,  gentlefolks,  Sui.  Sec. 

Da  Capo. 


ANNOUNCEMENT 


A  NEW  GRAND  ACCELERATION  COMPANY 

FOR   THE    PROMOTION   OP 

THE  SPEED  OF  LITERATURE. 

Loud  complaints  being  made,  in  these  quick-reading 

times. 
Of  too  slack  a  supply,   both  of  prose  works  and 

rhymes, 
A  new  Company,  form'd  on  the  keep-moving  plan. 
First  proposed  by  the  great  firm  of  Catch-'em-who- 

can. 
Beg  to  say  they've  now  ready,  in  full  wind  and  speed, 
Some  fast-going  autliors,  of  quite  a  new  breed — 
Such  as  not    he  who  runs  but  who  gallops  may 

read — 
And  who,  if  well  curried  and  fed,  they've  no  doubt, 
Will  beat  ev"u  Bentley's  swift  stud  out  and  out. 
It  is  true,  in  these  days,  such  a  drug  is  renown, 
We've  "  Immortals"  as  rife  as  M.  P.s  about  town  ; 
And  not  a  Blue's  rout  but  can  off-hand  supply 
Some  invalid  bard  who's  insured  "  not  to  die." 
Still,  let  England  but  once  try  our  authors,  she'll 

find 
How  fast  they'll  leave  ev'n  these  Immortals  behind  ; 
And  how  truly  the  toils  of  Alcides  were  light. 
Compared  with  his  toil  who  can  read  all  they  write. 

In  fact,  there's  no  saying,  so  gainful  the  trade. 
How  feist  immortalities  now  may  be  made  ; 
Since  Helicon  never  will  want  an  "  Undying  One," 
As  long  as  the  public  continues  a  Buying  Ono  ; 

a  The  sign  of  the  Insurance  Office  in  Cheapside. 
3  Producing  a  bag  full  of  lords  and  gentlemen. 


fc 
Fiys 
hi 
ipi 

ki 

klle 

M 
id 

to) 
Set 


Taere 
Oieci 

Itit 


'it!  I 

(Ultl 
II.- 

Iinn 


fhoi 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


627 


And  the  Company  hope  yet  to  witness  the  hour, 
When,    by    strongly    applying    tlie    mare-raotive' 

power, 
A  tliiee-decker  novel,  'mid  oceans  of  praise, 
May  be   written,   launch'd,   read,    and — forgot,  in 

tiiree  days ! 

In  addition  to  all  tliis  stupendous  celerity, 

Whicli — to  the  no  small  relief  of  posterity — 

Pays  oil' at  sight  the  whole  debit  of  fame. 

Nor  troubles  futurity  ev'n  with  a  name, 

(A  project  that  wo'n't  as  much  tickle  Tom  Tegg  as 

us, 
Since   twill  rob  liiin  of  his  second-priced  Pegasus  ;) 
We,   I'je  Conipauy — still  more  to  show    how   im- 
mense 
Is  the  power  o'er  the  mind  of  pounds,  shillings,  and 

pence  ; 
And  that  not  even  Phoebus  himself,  in  our  day. 
Could  get  up  a  laij  without  first  an  outlay — 
Beg  to  add,  as  our  literature  soon  may  compare, 
In  its  quick  make  and  vent,  with  our  Birmingham 

ware, 
And  it  doesn't  at  all  matter  in  either  of  these  lines. 
How  sham  is  the  article,  so  it  but  shines, — 
We  keep  authors  ready,  all  perch'd,  pen  in  hand. 
To  write  off,  in  any  given  style,  at  command. 
No  matter  what  bard,  be  he  living  or  dead,*^ 
Ask  a  work  from  his  pen,  and  'tis  done  soon  as  said  : 
Tliere  being,  on  tli'  establishment,  six  Walter  Scotts, 
One  capital  Wordsworth,  and  Southeys  in  lots ; — 
Tiiree  choice  i\Irs.  Nortons,  all  singing  like  syrens. 
While   most  of  our  pallid  young  clerks  are  Lord 

Byrons. 
Then  we've  ***s  and  ***s,  (for  whom  there's  small 

call,) 
And  ***s  and  ***s,  (for  whom  no  call  at  all.) 

In  short,  whosoe'er  tlie  last  "  Lion"  may  be. 
We've  a  Bottom  who'll  copy  his  roar^  to  a  T, 
Aud  so  well,  that  not  one  of  the  buyers  who've  got 

'em 
Can  tell  which  is  lion,  and  which  only  Bottom. 

N.  B. — The  company,  since  they  set  up  in  this  line. 
Have  moved  their  concern,  and  are  now  at  the  sign 
Of  the  Muse's  Velocipede,  Fleet  Street,  where  all 
Who  wish  well  to  the  scheme  ai-e  invited  to  call. 


*  "  'Tis  money  makes  the  mare  to  go." 

*  We  have  hidgings  apart,  for  our  poslhnmons  people, 
As  we  tjnd  that,  if  left  with  the  live  ones,  they  keep  ill. 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  LATE  DINNER 
TO  D-\N. 

From  tongue  to  tongue  the  rumor  flew  ; 
All  ask'd,  aghast,  "  Is't  true?  is't  true?" 

But  none  knew  whether  'twas  fact  or  fable : 
And^tiU  the  uniioly  rumor  ran. 
From  Tory  woman  to  Tory  man, 

Though  none  to  come  at  the  truth  was  able — 
Till,  lo,  at  last,  the  fact  came  out. 
The  horrible  fact,  beyond  all  doubt. 

That  Dan  had  dined  at  the  Viceroy's  table  ; 
Had  flesh'd  his  Popish  knife  and  fork 
In  the  heart  of  th'  Establish'd  mutton  and  pork ! 

^Vho  can  forget  the  deep  sensation 

That  news  produced  in  this  orthodox  nation  ? 

Deans,  rectors,  curates,  all  agreed. 

If  Dan  was  allow'd  at  the  Castle  to  feed, 

'Twas  clearly  all  up  with  the  Protestant  creed  ! 

There  hadn't,  indeed,  such  an  apparition 

Been  heard  of,  in  Dublin,  since  that  day 
When,  during  the  fii-st  grand  exhibition 

Of  Don  Giovanni,  that  naughty  play, 
There  appcar'd,  as  if  raised  by  necromancers, 
An  extra  devil  among  the  dancers  ! 
Yes — ev'ry  one  saw,  with  fearful  thrill. 
That  a  devil  loo  much  had  join'd  the  quadrille 
And  sulphur  was  smelt,  and  the  lamps  let  fall 
A  grim,  green  light  o'er  the  ghastly  ball, 
And  the  poor  sham  devils  didn't  like  it  at  all; 
For,  they  knew  from  whence  th'  intruder  had  come, 
Though  he  left,  that  night,  his  tail  at  home. 

This  fact,  we  see,  is  a  parallel  case 

To  the  dinner  that,  some  weeks  since,  took  place. 

With  the  difference  slight  of  fiend  and  man, 

It  shows  what  a  nest  of  Popish  sinners 
That  city  must  be,  where  the  devil  and  Dan 

May  thus  drop  in,  at  quadrilles  and  dinners ! 

But,  mark  the  end  of  these  foul  proceedings, 
These  demon  hops  and  Popish  feedings. 
Some  comfort  'twill  be^lo  those,  at  least. 

Who've  studied  this  awful  dinner  question — 
To  know  that  Dan,  on  the  night  of  that  feast. 

Was  seized  with  a  dreadful  indigestion ; 
That  envoys  were  sent,  posl-lraste,  to  his  priest. 
To  come  and  absolve  the  suffering  sinnor. 
For  eating  so  much  at  a  heretic  dinner  ; 
And  some  good  peojile  were  even  afraid 
That  Peel's  old  confectioner — still  at  the  trade — 
Had  poison'd  the  Papist  with  orangeade. 

3  '■  Bottom ;  Let  me  play  the  lion ;  I  will  roar  you  as 
'twere  any  nislitinpale." 
*  History  of  the  Irish  stage. 


628 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


NEW  HOSPITAL  FOR  SICK  LITERATI. 

With  all  humility  we  beg 

To  infonii  tlie  public,  that  Tom  Tegg — 

Known  for  his  spunky  speculations, 

In  buying  up  dead  reputations, 

And,  by  a  mode  of  galvanizing 

Which,  all  must  own,  is  quite  surprising, 

Making  dead  authors  move  again, 

As  though  they  still  were  living  men ; — 

All  this,  too,  managed,  in  a  trice, 

By  those  two  magic  words,  *'  Half  Price,'* 

Which  brings  the  charm  so  quick  about. 

That  worn-out  poets,  left  without 

A  second  foot  whereon  to  stand, 

Are  made  to  go  at  second  hand; — 

'Twill  please  the  public,  we  repeat, 

To  learn  that  Tegg,  who  works  this  feat, 

And,  therefore,  knows  what  care  it  needs 

To  keep  alive  Fame's  invalids, 

:Ias  oped  an  Hospital,  in  town. 

For  cases  of  knock'd-up  renown — 

Falls,  fractures,  dangerous  Epic^/5, 

(By  some  call'd  Cantos,)  stabj  from  wits  ; 

And,  of  all  wounds  for  which  they're  nursed, 

Dead  cuts  from  publishers,  the  worst ; — 

All  these,  and  other  such  fatalities, 

That  happen  to  frail  immortalities, 

By  Tegg  are  so  expertly  treated, 

That  oft-times,  when  the  ciu'e's  completed. 

The  patient's  made  robust  enough 

To  stand  a  few  more  rounds  of  puff, 

Till,  like  the  ghosts  of  Dante's  lay, 

He's  puff'd  mto  thin  air  away  ! 

As  titled  poets  (being  phenomenons) 

Don't  like  to  mix  with  low  and  common  'uns, 

Tegg's  Hospital  has  separate  wards, 

Express  for  literary  lords. 

Where  prose-peers,  of  immoderate  length. 

Are  nursed,  when  they've  outgrown  their  strength. 

And  poets,  whom  their  friends  despair  of. 

Are — put  to  bed  and  taken  care  of. 

Tegg  begs  to  contradict  a  stor)'. 
Now  current  both  with  Whig  and  Tory, 
That  Doctor  W— rb— t— n,  M.  P., 
Well  known  for  his  antipathy. 
His  deadly  hate,  good  man,  to  all 
The  race  of  poets,  great  and  small — 
So  much,  that  he's  been  heard  to  own, 
He  would  most  willingly  cut  down 
The  holiest  groves  on  Pindus'  mount, 
To  turn  the  timber  to  account ! — 
The  story  actually  goes,  that  he 
Prescribes  at  Tegg's  Infirmary  ; 


And  oft,  not  only  stints,  for  spite. 
The  patients  in  their  copy-right. 
But  that,  on  being  call'd  in  lately 
To  two  sick  poets,  suffering  greatly. 
This  vaticidal  Doctor  sent  Ihem 
So  strong  a  dose  of  Jeremy  Bentham, 
That  one  of  the  poor  bards  but  cried, 
"  Oh,  Jerry,  Jerry !"  and  then  died  ; 
While  t'other,  tliough  less  stuff  was  given. 
Is  on  his  road,  'tis  fear'd,  to  heaven  ! 

Of  this  event,  howe'er  unpleasant, 
Tegg  means  to  say  no  more  at  present, — 
Intending  shortly  to  prepare 
A  statement  of  the  wliole  affair. 
With  full  accoimts,  at  the  same  time, 
Of  some  late  cases,  (prose  and  rhyme,) 
Subscribed  with  every  author's  name. 
That's  now  on  the  Sick  List  of  Fame. 


RELIGION  AND  TRaDE. 

"Sir  Robert  Peel  believed  it  was  necessary  to  originate  all 
respecting  religion  anil  trade  in  a  Committee  of  the  House." 
— Church.  Eztension,  May  22,  1830. 

Say,  who  was  the  wag,  indecorously  witty. 
Who,  first  in  a  statute,  this  libel  convey'd  ; 

-\nd  thus  slyly  referr'd  to  the  self-same  committee. 
As  matters  congenial,  Religion  and  Trade  ? 

Oh  surely,  my  Ph— lip— ts,  'twas  thou  didst  the 
deed  ; 
For  none  but  thyself,  or  some  pluralist  brother, 
Accustom'd  to  mix  up  the  craft  with  the  creed, 
Coidd  bring  such  a  pair  thus  to  twin  with  each 
other. 

And  yet,  when  one  thinks  of  times  present  and 
gone, 
One  is  forced  to  confess,  on  maturer  reflection. 
That  'lisn't  in  the  eyes  of  committees  alone. 

That  the  shrine  and  the  shop  seem  to  have  some 
connection. 

Not  to  mention  those  monarchs  of  Asia's  icr  land, 
Whose  civil  list  all  is  in  "  god-money"  paid ; 

And  where  the  whole  people,  by  royal  command. 
Buy  their  gods  at  the  government  mart,  ready 
made  ;' — 


*  The  Birmans  may  not  bny  the  sacred  marble  in  mas?,  but 
mast  purchase  figures  of  the  deity  already  made.— Symis. 


I 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


629 


There  was    also    (as    meution'd,  in  rliymo  and  in 
prose,  is) 
Gold  lieap'd,  tliroughout  Egypt,  on  every  shrine. 
To    make    rings    for    riglit    reverend    crocodiles' 
noses — 
Just  sued  as,  my  Ph — lip — ts,  would  look  well  in 
thine. 

hat  one  needn't  fly  off,  iu  this  erudite  mood  ; 

And  'tis  clear,  without  going  to  regions  so  sunny, 
That  priests  Io%'e  to  do  the  least  possible  good, 

For  Jie  largest  most  possible  quantum  of  money. 

**  Of   him,*'  saith  the  text,  "  unto   whom  much  is 
given, 
"  Of  him  much,  in  turn,  will  be  also  required :" — 
"  By   me"    quoth    the    sleek    and   obese   man   of 
heaven — 
"  Gi'e  as  much  as  you  will — more  will  stiU  be 
desired." 

More  money  I  more  churches ! — oh  Nimrod,  hadst 
thou 
'Stead    of    Toiler-extension,    some    shorter  way 
gone — 
Hadst  thou  known  by  what  methods  we  mount  to 
heaven  now, 
And  tried   C/iiurA-exteusion,  the  feat  had  been 
done  i 


MUSINGS, 

SUGGESTED    CY    THE    LATE    PROMOTION   OF  MRS.  NETII- 
ERCOAT. 

"  The  widow  Netherco.it  is  appointe<l  jailer  of  Loughrea,  in 
the  ruutu  of  her  deceased  husband." — Limerick  Chronicle. 

Whether  as  queei.'  or  subjects,  in  these  days, 
Women  seem  fomi'ci  to  grace  alike  eacli  station  ; — 

As  Captain  Flaherty  gallantly  says, 

"  You,  ladies,  are  the  lords  of  the  creation  I" 

Thus  o'er  my  mind  did  prescient  visions  float 
Of  all  that  matcliless  woman  yet  may  be  ; 

When,  hark,  iu  rumors  less  and  less  remote. 
Came  the  glad  news  o'er  Erin's  ambient  sea. 

The  important  news — -that  Mrs.  Nethcrcoat 
Had  been  appointed  jailer  of  Loughrea  ; 

Yes,  mark  it,  History — Nethcrcoat  is  dead. 

And  Mrs.  N.  now  rules  his  realm  instead  ; 

Hers  the  high  task  to  wield  th'  uplocking  keys, 

Tc  rivet  rogues  and  reign  o'er  Rapparees ! 


Thus,  while  your  blust'rers  of  the  Tory  school 
Find  Ireland's  sanest  sons  so  hard  to  rule. 
One  mcck-eycd  matron,  in  Wliig  doctrines  nursed. 
Is  all  that's  ask'd  to  curb  the  maddest,  worst ! 

Show  me  the  man  that  dares,  with  blushless  brow. 

Prate  about  Erin's  rage  and  riot  now  ; — 

Now,  wlien  her  temperance  forms  her  sole  excess  ; 

When  long-loved  whiskey,  fading  from  her  sight, 
"  Small  by  degrees,  and  beautifully  less," 

Will  soon,  like  other  spirits,  vanish  quite  ; 
When  of  red  coats  the  number's  grown  so  small. 

That  soon,  to  cheer  the  warlike  parson's  eyes, 
No  glimpse  of  scarlet  will  be  seen  at  all. 

Save  that  which  she  of  Babylon  supplies  ,'— 
Or,  at  .he  most,  a  corporal's  guard  will  be, 

Of  Ireland's  red  defence  the  sole  remains  ; 
While  of  its  jails  bright  woman  keeps  the  key. 

And  captive  Paddies  languish  in  her  chains  I 

Long  may  such  lot  be  Erin's,  long  be  mine ! 

Oh  yes — if  ev'n  this  world,  though  bright  it  shine 
In  Wisdom's  eyes  a  piison-houso  must  be, 

At  least  let  woman's  hand  our  fetters  twine, 
And  blithe  I'll  sing,  more  joyous  than  if  free, 
Tile  Nethercoats,  the  Nethercoats  for  me  ! 


INTENDED  TRIBUTE 


Ain'UOK  OF  AN  ARTICLE  IN  THE  LAST  NUMBER    OP   ?"JK 
QUARTERLY    REVIEW, 

ENTITLED 

"  ROMANISM  IN  IRELAND." 

It  glads  ns  much  to  be  able  to  say, 

That  a  meeting  is  fi.x'd,  for  some  early  day. 

Of  all  such  dowagers — he  or  she — 

(No  matter  the  sex,  so  they  dowagers  be,) 

Whose  opinions,  concerning  Church  and  State, 

From  about  the  time  of  the  Curfew  date — 

Stanch  sticklers  still  for  days  bygone, 

And  admiring  them  for  their  rust  alone — 

To  whom  if  we  would  a  leader  give, 

Wortiiy  their  tastes  conservative. 

We  need  but  some  mummy-statesman  raise. 

Who  was  pickled  and  potted  in  Ptolemy's  days  ; 

For  that's  the  man,  if  waked  from  his  shelf. 

To  conserve  and  swaddle  this  world,  like  himself 

Such,  we're  happy  to  state,  are  the  old  Ae-dames 
Who've  met  in  committee,  and  given  their  names. 


630 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


(In  good  hieroglyphics.)  with  kind  intent 

To  pay  some  handsome  compliment 

To  their  sister-author,  the  nameless  he, 

Wlio  wroto,  in  tho  last  new  Quarterly^ 

That  charming  assault  upon  Popery  ; 

An  article  justly  prized  by  them, 

As  a  perfect  antediluvian  gem — 

The  work,  as  Sir  Sampson  Legend  would  say, 

Of  some  **  fellow  the  Flood  couldn't  wash  away.*'* 

The  fund  being  raised,  there  remaiii'd  but  to  see 
What  the  dowager-author's  gift  was  to  be. 
And  here,  I  must  say,  tho  Sistere  Blue 
Show'd  delicate  taste  and  judgment  too. 
For,  finding  the  poor  man  sutiering  greatly 
From  tho  awful  stuff  he  has  tlirown  up  lately — 
So  much  so,  indeed,  to  the  alarm  of  all, 
As  to  bring  on  a  fit  of  what  doctors  call 
Tho  Antipaplstico-mononjania, 
(I'm  sorry  with  such  a  long  word  to  detain  ye,) 
They've  acted  the  part  of  a  kind  physician, 
By  suiting  their  gift  to  the  patient's  condition  ; 
And,  as  soon  as  'tis  ready  for  presentation. 
We  shall  publish  the  facts,  for  the  gratification 
Of  this  iiighly-favor'd  and  Protestant  nation. 

Meanwhile,  to  the  great  alarm  of  his  neighbors, 
He  still  continues  his  Quarterly  labors  ; 
And  often  has  strong  No-Popery  fits, 
Which  frighten  his  old  nurse  out  of  her  wits. 
Sometimes  he  screams,  like  Scrub  in  tho  play," 
"  Thieves  I  Jesuits  I   Popery  !"  night  and  day  ; 
Takes  the  Printer's  Devil  for  Doctor  Dens,^ 
And  shies  at  him  heaps  of  High-church  pens  ;' 
Which  the  Devil  (himself  u  touchy  Dissenter) 
Feels  all  in  his  hide,  like  arrows,  enter. 
'Stead  of  swallowing  wholesome  stuff  from  the  drug- 
gist's, 
He  icill  keep  raving  of  "  Irish  Thuggists  ;"^ 
Tells  us  they  all  ^o  mnrd'ring,  for  fun. 
From  rise  of  mom  till  set  of  sun. 
Pop,  pop,  as  fast  as  a  minute-gun  !" 
If  ask'd,  how  comes  it  the  gown  and  cassock  are 
Safe  and  fat,  'mid  this  general  massacre — 
How  haps  it  that  Pat's  own  population 
But  swarms  tho  more  for  this  trucidatiou — 


1  See  Conpreve's  Love  for  Love. 

«  Beaux  Stratagem. 

3  The  writer  of  the  article  has  groped  about,  with  much 
success,  in  what  he  calls  "the  dark  recesses  of  Dr.  Dcns's 
disquisitions." — Quartrr!^  Review. 

*  "  Pr;ty.  may  we  ask.  has  there  been  any  rebellious  move- 
ment of  Popery  in  Ireland,  since  the  planting  of  the  Ulster 
colonies,  in  which  somethinj;  of  the  kind  wai  not  visible 
among  the  Presbyterians  of  the  North  1" — Ibid. 


He  refers  you,  for  all  such  memoranda, 
To  tlie  **  archives  of  the  Propaganda  .'"^ 

Tiiis  is  all  we've  got,  for  tho  present,  to  say — 
But  shall  take  up  the  subject  some  future  day. 


GRAND  DINNER  OF  TYPE  AND  CO 

A  POOR  poet's  dream.* 

As  I  sate  in  my  studj',  lone  and  still. 
Thinking  of  Sergeant  Talfoiird's  Bill, 
And  the  speech  by  Lawyer  Sugden  made, 
In  spirit  congenial,  for  "  the  Trade," 
Sudden  I  sunk  to  sleep,  and,  lo, 

Upon  Fancy's  reinless  night-mare  flitting, 
I  found  myself,  in  a  second  or  so. 
At  the  table  of  Messrs.  Typo  and  Co. 
With  a  goodly  group  of  diners  sitting  ; — 
All  in  the  printing  and  pubhshing  hue, 
Drcss'd,  I  thought,  extremely  fine, 
And  sipping,  like  lords,  their  rosy  wine ; 
While  I,  in  a  state  near  inanition, 

With  coat  that  hadn't  much  nap  to  spare, 
(Having  just  gone  into  its  second  edition,) 

Was  the  only  wretch  of  an  author  there. 
But  think,  how  great  was  my  surprise, 
When  I  saw,  in  casting  round  my  eyes, 
That  tho  dishes,  sent  up  by  Type's  she-cooks, 
Bore  all,  in  appearance,  the  shape  of  books  ; 
Large  folios — God  knows  wliere  they  got  'em. 
In  these  small  times — at  top  and  bottom ; 
And  quartos  (such  as  the  Press  provides 
For  no  one  to  read  them)  down  the  sides. 
Then  flash'd  a  horrible  thought  on  my  brain, 
And  I  said  to  myself,  *'  'Tis  all  too  plain  ; 
*'  Like  those,  well  known  in  school  quotations, 
"  Who  ato  up  for  dinner  tlieir  own  relations, 
"  I  see  now,  before  me,  smoking  here, 
"  The  bodies  and  bones  of  my  brethren  dear  ; — 
"  Bright  sons  of  the  lyric  and  epic  Muse, 
"  All  cut  np  in  cutlets,  or  hash'd  in  stews  ; 


6  "Lord  Lorton,  for  instance,  who,  for  clearing  his  estate 
of  a  village  of  Irish  Thuggists,"  &.C.,  Sec— Quarterly  Re- 
view. 

'  '•  Observe  how  murder  after  murder  is  committed  like 
minute-puns." — Ibid. 

'"Might  not  the  archives  of  the  Propaganda  possibly 
supply  the  key  ?" 

*  Written  during  the  hiie  agitation  of  the  question  of 
Copyright.  '• 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


631 


"  Their  icoris,  a  light  througli  ages  to  fro, 
"  Themselves,  eaten  up  by  Type  and  Co  '." 

V/iiile  tliiis  I  moralized,  on  tiicy  went, 

Findiii<r  the  faro  most  excellent ; 

And  all  so  kindly,  brother  to  brother, 

Helping  the  titbits  to  each  other ; 

"  A  slice  of  Sonlhey  let  rae  send  yon" — 

"  This  cut  of  Campbell  I  recommend  you" — 

"  And  hero,  my  friends,  is  a  treat  indeed, 

"  The  immortal  Wordsworth  fricasseed  !" 

Thus  having,  the  cormorants,  fed  some  time. 

Upon  joints  of  poetry — all  of  the  prime — 

Witli  also  (as  Type  in  a  whisper  averr'd  it) 

"  Cold    prose    on    the    sideboard,  for   such    as  pre- 

ferr'd  it" — 
They  rested  awliile,  to  recruit  their  force, 
Then  pounced,  like  kites,  on  the  second  course, 
Which     was    singing-birds    merely  —  Moore    and 

others— 
Who  all  went  tlie  way  of  their  larger  brothers  ; 
And,  num'rous  now  though  such  songsters  be, 
'Twas  really  quite  distressing  to  see 
A  whole  disiiful  of  Toms — Moore,  Dibdin,  Bayly, — 
Bolted  by  Type  and  Co.  so  gayly  I 

Nor  was  this  the  worst — I  shudder  to  think 
What  a  scene  was  disclosed  when  they  came  to  drink 
The  warriors  of  Odin,  as  every  one  knows, 
Used  to  drink  out  of  skulls  of  slaughter'd  foes  ; 
And  Type's  old  port,  to  my  horror  I  found. 
Was  in  skulls  of  bards  sent  merrily  round. 
And  still  as  each  well-iill'd  cranium  came, 
A  health  was  pledged  to  its  owner's  name  ; 
While  Type  said  slyly,  'midst  general  laugliter, 
"  We  eat  them  up  first,  then  diink  to  them  after." 

There  was  no  standing  this — incensed  I  broke 
From  my  bonds  of  sleep,  and  indignant  woke, 
Exclaiming,  *'  Oh  shades  of  other  times, 
"  Whose  voices  still  sound,  like  deathless  chimes, 
"  Could  you  e'er  have  foretold  a  day  would  be, 
"  When  a  dreamer  of  dreams  shoiUd  live  to  see 
"  A  pajly  of  sleek  and  honest  Jolin  Bulls 
"  Hobnobbing  each  other  in  poets'  skulls  I" 


1  "For  a  certain  man  named  Demetrius,  a  silversmith, 
which  made  shrines  for  Diana,  bronght  no  small  gain  unto 
the  craftsmen  ;  whom  he  called  together  with  the  workmen 
o!  like  occupation,  and  said.  Sirs,  ye  know  that  by  this  craft 
we  have  our  wealth."— .4c(a-,  xix. 


CHURCH  EXTENSION. 

TO   THE    EDITOR    Or  TUB    MOKNINO    CHRONICLE. 

Sir, — A  well-known  classical  traveller,  while  employed  in 
exploring,  some  time  since,  the  supposed  site  of  the  Temple 
of  Diana  of  Ephesus,  was  so  fortunate,  in  the  course  of  hU 
researches,  as  to  light  upon  a  very  ancient  bark  manuscript, 
which  has  turned  out,  on  examination,  to  be  part  of  an  old 
Ephesian  newspaj)er :— a  ncwsp-iper  pulilished,  as  you  will 
sec,  so  liir  back  as  the  Uine  when  Demetrius,  the  great 
Shrine-E.\tender,'  flourished.  I  am,  Sir,  yours,  tc. 

EPHESIAN  GAZETTE. 

Second  edition. 
Important  event  for  the  rich  and  religious  ! 
Great   Meeliug  of  Silversmiths   held   in    Queen 
Square ; — 
Church    Extension,    their    object, — th'    excitement 
prodigious ; — 
Demetrius,  head  man  of  the  craft,  takes  the  cliair  ! 

Third  edition. 

The  Chairman  still  up,  when  our  dev'   ,-ame  away ; 

Having  prefaced  his  speech  with  V.  e  usual  state 

prayer,  [day. 

That  the  Three-headed    Diau^  would    kindly,  this 

Take  the  Silversmitlis'  Company  under  her  care. 

Being  ask'd  by  some  low,  unestablish'd  divines, 
"  When  your  churches  are  up,  where  are  flocks 
to  be  got?'' 
He  manfully  answer'd,  "  Let  us  build  the  shrines,' 
'     "  And  we  care  not  if  flocks  are  fomid  for  them 
or  not." 

Ho  then   added — to   show   that   the   Silversmiths' 
Guild 
Were  above  all  confined  and  intolerant  views— 
"  Only  pay  througli  the  nose  to  the  altars  we  build, 
"  You  may  pray  through  the  nose  to  what  altars 
you  choose." 

This  tolerance,  rare  from  a  shrine-dealer's  lip, 
(Though  a  tolerance  mix'd  with  due  taste  for  the 
till,)— 
So  much  charm'd  all  the  holders  of  scriptural  scrip, 
That  their  slionts  of  "  Hear  !"  "  Hear  I"  are  re- 
echoing still. 

Fourth  edition. 
Great  stir  in  the  Shrine  Market !  altars  to  Phoebus 
Are  going  dog-clieap — may  be  had  for  a  rebus. 
Old  Dian's,  as  usual,  outsell  all  the  rest ; — 
But  Venus's  also  are  much  in  request. 

3  Tria  Virginis  ora  Diante. 

3  The  "  shrines"  are  supposed  to  have  been  smel. 
churches,  or  chapels,  adjoining  to  the  great  temples ; — 
"  xdiculx,  in  q:uius  statute  reponebantur." — Erab». 


632 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


LATEST  ACCOUNTS  FROM  OLYMPUS. 

As  news  from  Olympus  has  grown  rather  rare, 
Since  bards,  in  their  cruises,  have  ceased  to  touch 

there, 
We  extract  for  our  readers  th'  intelligence  given, 
In  our  latest  accounts  from  that  ci-devant  heaven — 
That  realm  of  tlie  By-gones,  where  still  sit,  in  state, 
Old  god-heads  and  nod-heads,  now  long  out  of  date. 

Jove  himself,  it  appears,  since  his  love-days  are  o'er, 

Seems  to  iiud  immortality  rather  a  bore  ; 

Though  ho  still  asks  for  news  of  earth's  capers  and 

crimes. 
And    reads    daily    his    old    fcllow-Thund'rer,    the 

Times.  [pcck'd  are. 

He  and  Vulcan,  it  seems,  by  their  wives  still  heu- 
And  kept  on  a  stinted  allowance  of  nectar. 

Old  Phoebus,  poor  lad,  has  given  up  inspiration, 

And  pack'd  off  to  earth  on  a  ^»jf-speculation. 

The  fact  is,  he  found  his  old  shrines  had  grown  dim, 

Since  bards  look'd  to  Bentley  and  Colburn,  not  him. 

So,  he  sold  off  his  stud  of  ambrosia-fed  nags. 

Came  incog,  down  to  earth,  and  now  writes  for  the 

Mags; 
Taking   care   that  his  work  not  a  gleam  hath  to 

linger  in't,  [finger  in't. 

From  which  men  could  guess  that  the  god  had  a 

There  are  other  small  facts,  well  deserving  attention, 
Of  which  our  Olympic  dispatches  make  mention. 
Poor  Bacchus  is  still  very  ill,  they  allege. 
Having  never  recover'd  the  Temperance  Pledge. 
"  What,  the  Irish  I"  he  cried — "  those  I  look'd  to 

the  most ! 
"  If  they  give  up  the  spirit,  I  give  up  the  ghost :" 
While  Momus,  who  used  of  the  gods  to  make  fun. 
Is  tum'd  Socialist  now,  and  declares  there  are  none  ! 

But  these  changes,  though  curious,  are  al/.  z  mere 

farce, 
Compared  to  the  new  "  casus  belli"  of  Mars, 
Who,  for  years,  has  been  suffering  the  horrors  of 

quiet, 
Uncheer'd  by  one  glimmer  of  bloodshed  or  riot ! 
In  vain  from  the  clouds  his  belligerent  brow 
Did    he    pop    forth,  in    hopes    that    somewhere  or 

somehow, 
Like  Pat  at  a  fair,  he  might  "  coa.x  up  a  row :" 
But  the  joke  wouldn't  take — the  whole  world  had 

got  wiser  ; 
Men  liked  not  to  take  a  Great  Gun  for  adviser ; 
And,  still  less,  to  march  in  fine  clothes  to  be  shot. 
Without  very  well  knowing  for  whom  or  for  what. 


The  French,  who  of  slaughter  had  had  their  full 

swing. 
Were  content  with  a  shot,  now  and  then,  at  their 

King; 
While,  in  England,  good  fighting's  a  pastime  so  hard 

to  gain, 
Nobody's  left  to  fight  with,  but  Lord  C — rd — g — n. 

'TLs  needless  to  say,  then,  how  monstrously  happy 
Old  Mars  has  been  made  by  wliat's  now  on  the  tapis 
How  much  it  delights  him  to  see  the  French  rally, 
In  Liberty's  name,  around  Mehemet  Ali ; 
Well  knowing  that  Satan  himself  could  not  find 
A  confection  of  mischief  much  more  to  his  mind 
Tlian  the  old  Bonnet  Rouge  and  the  Bashaw  com- 
bined. 
Right   well,  too,  he  knows,  that  there  ne'er  were 

attackers, 
Whatever  their  cause,  that  they  didn't  find  backers ; 
While  any  slight  care  for  Himianity's  woes 
May  be  sooth'd  by  that  "  Art  Diplomatique,"  which 

shows 
How  to  come,  in  the  most  approved  method,  to  blows. 

This  is  all,  for  to-day — whether  Mars  is  much  vex'd 
At  his  friend  Thiers's  e.\it,  we'll  know  by  our  next. 


THE  TRIUiMPHS  OF  FARCE. 

Our  earth,  as  it  rolls  through  the  regions  of  space, 
Wears  always  two  faces,  the  dark  and  the  sunny  ; 

And  poor  human  life  runs  the  same  sort  of  race. 
Being  sad,  on  one  side — on  the  other  side,  funny. 

Thus  oft  we,  at  eve,  to  the  Haymarket  hie. 

To  weep  o'er  the  woes  of  Macready  ; — but  scarce 

Hath  the  tear-drop  of  Tragedy  pass'd  from  the  eye, 
When,  lo,  we're  all  laughing  in  fits  at  the  Farce. 

Aud  still  let  us  laugh — preach  the  world  as  itm.ny — 
Where  the  cream  of  the  joke  is,  the  swarm  will 
soon  follow  ; 

Heroics  are  very  grand  things,  in  their  way. 

But  the  laugh  at  the  long  run  will  carry  it  hollow. 

For  instance,  what  sermon  on  human  affaire 

Could  equal  the  scene  that  took  place  t'other  day 

'Twi.\t  Romeo  and  Louis  Philippe,  on  the  stairs — 
The  Sublime  and  Ridiculous  meeting  half-way ! 

Yes,  Jocus !  gay  god,  whom  the  Gentiles  supphed. 
And   whose   worship  not  ev'n  among  Christianfl 
declines. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


633 


In  our  senate  thou'st  languish'd  since  Sheridan  died, 
But  Sydney  still  keeps  thee  alive  iu  our  shrines. 

Rare  Sydney  !  thrice  houor'd  the  stall  where  he  sits, 
And  be  his  everj'  honor  he  deigneth  to  climb  at ! 

Had  England  a  hierarchy  form'd  all  of  wits, 

Who  but  Sydney  woidd  England  proclaim  as  its 
primate  ? 

And  long  may  he  flourisli,  frank,  merry,  and  brave — 

A  Horace  to  hear,  and  a  Paschal  to  read  ;' 
While  he  laughs,  all  is  safe,  but,   when  Sydney 
grows  grave, 
We  shall  then  think  the  Chiu-ch  is  in  danger  in- 
deed. 

^Meanwhile,  it  much  glads  us  to  find  he's  preparing 
To  teach  othir  bishops  to  "  seek  tlie  riglit  way  ;"" 

And  means  sliortly  to  treat  the  whole  bench  to  an 
airing, 
Jnst  such  as  lie  gave  to  Charles  James  t'other  day. 

For  our  parts,  though  gravity's  good  for  the  soul, 
Snch  a  fancy  have  we  for  the  side  that  there's  fun  on. 

We'd  rather  with  Sydney  southwest  take  a  "stroll," 
Than  coach  it   northeast  with    his    Lordship  of 
Lunnuu. 


THOUGHTS  ON  PATRONS,  PUFFS,  AND 
OTHER  MATTERS. 

I.V  AN  EPISTLE  FROM  T.  M.  TO  S.  R. 

VVh.vt,  thou,  my  friend  !  a  man  of  rhymes. 
And,  better  still,  a  man  of  guineas. 

To  talk  of  "  patrons,"  in  these  times. 

When  authors  thrive,  like  spinning  jennies, 

And  Arkwright's  twist  and  Bulwer's  page 

Alike  may  laugh  at  patronage  ! 

No,  no — those  times  are  pass'd  away, 

When,  doom'd  in  upper  floors  to  star  it, 
The  bard  inscribed  to  lords  his  lay, — 

Himself,  the  while,  my  Lord  Mountgarret 
No  more  he  begs,  with  air  dependent. 
His  "  little  bark  may  sail  attendant" 

Under  some  lordly  skipper's  steerage  ; 
But  launch'd  triumphant  in  the  Row, 
Or  ta'en  by  Murray's  self  in  tow. 

Cuts  both  Star  Chamber  and  the  peerage. 

Patrons,  indeed  !  when  scarce  a  sail 
Is  whisk'd  from  England  by  the  gale, 

I  Some  parts  of  the  Provinciates  may  be  said  to  be  of  the 
highest  ou\erofjeux  d'esprit,  or  squibs. 
*  "This  stroll  in  the  metropolis  is  extremely  well  con- 


But  bears  on  board  some  authors,  shipp'd 

For  foreign  shores,  all  well-equipp'd 

With  proper  book-making  machinery, 

To  sketch  the  morals,  manners,  scenery, 

Of  all  such  lands  as  they  shall  see, 

Or  not  see,  as  the  case  may  be : — 

It  being  enjoin'd  on  all  who  go 

To  study  first  Miss  M*»*»****, 

And  learn  from  her  the  method  true, 

To  do  one's  books — and  readers,  too. 

For  so  this  nymph  of  nous  and  nerve 

Teaches  mankind  "  How  to  Observe  ;" 
Vnd,  lest  mankind  at  all  should  swerve, 
Teaches  them  also  '*  What  to  Observe." 

No,  no,  my  friend — it  can't  be  blink  d — 
The  Patron  is  a  race  e.\tinct ; 
As  dead  as  any  Megatherion 
That  ever  Buckland  built  a  theory  on. 
Instead  of  bartering,  in  this  age, 
Our  praise  for  pence  and  patronage. 
We  authors,  now,  more  prosperous  elves, 
Have  leani'd  to  patronize  ourselves  ; 
And  since  all-potent  Puffing's  made 
The  life  of  song,  the  soul  of  trade. 
More  frugal  of  our  praises  grown. 
We  pufF  no  merits-kit-ottr-owii. 

Unlike  those  feeble  gales  of  praise 

Which  critics  blew  in  foiTner  days, 

Our  modern  puffs  are  of  a  kind 

That  truly,  really  raise  the  wind; 

And  since  they've  fairly  set  in  blowing, 

We  find  them  the  best  trade-wmis  going. 

'Stead  of  frequenting  paths  so  slippy 

As  her  old  haunts  near  Aganippe, 

The  Muse,  now,  taking  to  the  till, 

Has  open'd  shop  on  Ludgate  Hill, 

(Far  handier  than  tlie  Hill  of  Pindus, 

As  seen  from  bard's  back  attic  windows ;) 

And  swallowing  there  without  cessation 

Large  draughts  {(it  sight)  of  inspiration. 

Touches  the  notes  for  each  new  theme. 

While  stiU  fresh  "  change  comes  o'er  her  dream." 

What  Steam  is  on  the  deep — and  more — 
Is  the  vast  power  of  PufF  on  shore  ; 
Which  jumps  to  glory's  future  tenses 
Before  the  present  even  commences ; 
And  makes  "  immortal"  and  "  divine"  of  us 
Before  the  world  has  read  one  line  of  us. 

In  old  times,  when  the  God  of  Soug 
Drove  his  own  two-horse  team  along, 

trived  for  your  Lordship's  speech  :  but  suppose,  my  dear  Lord^ 
that  instead  of  going  F.  and  N.  E.  you  had  turned  about."  &c. 
&c. — Sydnet  Smith's  Last  Letter  to  the  Bishop  of  London, 


634                                                 MOORE'S    WORKS. 

Carrying  inside  a  bard  or  two, 

Old  Socrates,  that  pink  of  sages. 

IJookM  for  posterity  "  all  tlirougli  ;" — 

Kept  a  pet  demon,  on  board  wages 

Tlieir  luggage,  a  few  close-pack'd  rhymes, 

To  go  about  with  him  incog., 

(Like  yours,  my  friend,)  for  after-times — 

And  sometimes  give  his  wits  a  jog. 

80  slow  tl.e  pull  to  Fame's  abode. 

So  L — nd — St,  in  our  day,  we  kuowj                            ' 

That  folks  oft  slept  upon  the  road  ; — 

Keeps  fresh  relays  of  imps  below,                               :  | 

And  Homer's  self,  sometimes,  tliey  say, 

To  forward,  from  that  nameless  spot, 

Took  to  his  nightcap  on  the  way.' 

His  inspirations,  hot  and  hot.                                     '  i 

Ye  Gods !  how  different  is  the  story 

But,  neat  as  are  old  L — nd — st's  doings^ 

With  our  new  galloping  sons  of  glory, 

Beyond  even  Hecate's  "  hell-broth"  brewings — 

Who,  scorning  all  such  slack  and  slow  time, 

Had  I,  Loiv^  'Stanley,  but  my  will. 

Dash  to  po.sterity  in  no  time  ! 

I'd  show  you  mischief  prettier  still ; 

Raise  hut  one  general  blast  of  Puff 

Mischief,  combining  boyhood's  tricks 
With  age's  sourest  politics  ; 

To  start  your  author — that's  enough. 

In  vain  the  critics,  set  to  watch  him. 

The  urchin's  freaks,  the  vet;  pn's  gall. 

Try  at  the  starting  post  to  catch  him  : 

Both  duly  mix'd,  and  matchless  all ; 

He's  off— the  puffers  carry  it  hollow — 

A  compound  naught  in  history  reaches 

The  critics,  f  they  please,  may  follow. 

But  Machiavel,  when  first  in  breeches  ! 

Ere  Ihet/'ye  laid  down  their  first  positions. 

He's  fairly  blown  through  six  editions! 

Yes,  Mischief,  Goddess  multiform. 

In  vain  doth  Edinburgh  dispense 

Whene'er  thou,  witch-like,  rid'st  the  storm, 

Her  blue  and  yellow  pestilence 

Let  Stanley  ride  cockhoree  behind  thee — 

(That  plague  so  awful  in  my  time 

No  livelier  lackey  could  they  find  thee. 

To  young  and  touchy  sons  of  rhyme) — 

And,  Goddess,  as  I'm  well  aware. 

The  Quarterly,  at  three  months'  date. 

So  mischiefs  done,  you  care  not  where, 

To  catch  til'  Unread  One,  comes  too  late ; 

I  own,  'twill  most  my  fancy  tickle 

And  nonsense,  litter'd  in  a  hurry. 

In  Paddyland  to  play  the  Pickle ;                               J 

Becomes  "  immortal,"  spite  of  Murray. 

Having  got  credit  for  inventing                                   ' 

A  new,  brisk  method  of  tormenting — 

But.  bless  me ! — while  I  thus  keep  fooling, 

A  way,  they  call  the  Stanley  fashion,                        ^ 

I  hear  a  voi^e  ciy,  "  Dinner's  cooling." 

Which  puts  all  Ireland  in  a  passion  ;                         .j 

The  postman,  loo,  (who,  truth  to  tell. 

So  neat  it  hits  the  mixture  due 

'Mong  men  of  letters  bears  the  bell,) 

Of  injury  and  insult  too  : 

Keeps  ringing,  ringing,  so  infernally 

So  legibly  it  bears  upon't 

That  I  must  stop — ■ 

The  stamp  of  Stanley's  brazen  front. 

Yours  sempiternally. 

Ireland,  we're  told,  means  land  of  Ire  ; 

And  why  she's  so,  none  need  inquire. 
Who  sees  her  millions,  martial,  manly. 

Spat  upon  thus  by  me.  Lord  St — nl — y 

THOUGHTS  ON  MISCHIEF. 

Already  in  the  breeze  I  scent 
The  whiff  of  coming  devilment ; 

BY  LORD  ST— NL— Y. 

Of  strife,  to  me  more  stirring  far 

Than  th'  Opium  or  the  Sulphur  war, 

(nlS  FIKST  ATTEMPT  IN  VERSE.) 

Or  any  such  drug  ferments  are. 

"  Evil,  be  thou  my  good."               RhLTON. 

Yes — sweeter  to  this  Tory  soul 
Than  all  such  pests,  from  pole  to  pole. 

How  various  are  the  inspirations 

Is  the  rich,  "  swelter'd  venom"  got 

Of  different  men,  in  different  nations! 

By  stirring  Ireland's  "  charmed  pot  ;'" 

As  genius  prompts  to  good  or  evil. 

And,  thanks  to  practice  on  that  land. 

Some  call  the  Muse,  some  raise  the  devil. 

I  stir  it  with  a  master-hand. 

'  Quaniioque  bonus  dormitat  Homcrus.— IIorat. 

*            "  Swelter'd  venom,  sleeping  got. 

Boil  thou  first  i*  tlie  charmed  pot** 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


635 


Again  thou'lt  see,  when  forth  hath  gone 
Tlie  War-Cliurch-crj-,  "  On,  Stanley,  on  !" 
How  Caravats  and  Shanavests 
Slinll  swarm  from  out  their  mountain  nests, 
With  all  their  merry  moonlight  brothers, 
To  whom  the  Church  (step-damB  to  others) 
Hath  been  the  best  of  nursing  mothers. 
Again  o'er  Erin's  rich  domain 
Shall  RocUites  and  right  reverends  reign  ; 
And  botli,  e.xempt  from  vulgar  toil, 
Between  them  share  that  tilheful  soil ; 
Puzzling  ambition  which  to  climb  at. 
The  post  of  Captain,  or  of  Primate. 

And  so,  long  life  to  Church  and  Co. — 
Hurrah  for  mischief! — hero  we  jro. 


EPISTLE  FROM  CAPTAIN  ROCK  TO 
LORD  L— NDH— T. 

De.\r  L — ndh — t, — you'll  pardon  my  making  thus 
free, — 

But  form  is  all  fudge  'twixt  such  "  comrogues"  as  we. 

Who,  whate'er  the  smooth  views  we,  in  public,  may 
drive  at. 

Have  both  the  same  praiseworthy  object,  in  pri- 
vate— 

Namely,  never  to  let  the  old  regions  of  riot. 

Where  Rock  hath  long  reign'd,  have  one  instant  of 
quiet. 

But  keep  Ireland  still  in  that  liquid  we've  taught 
her 

To  love  more  than  meat,  drink,  or  clothing — hot 
water. 

All  the  difference  betwi,\t  you  and  me,  as  I  take  it. 

Is  simply,  that  you  make  the  law  and  /  break  it ; 

And  never,  of  big-wigs  and  small,  were  there  two 

Play'd  so  well  into  each  other's  hands  as  we  do  ; 

Insomuch,  that  the  laws  you  and  yours  manufac- 
ture. 

Seem  all  made  express  for  the  Rock-boys  to  frac- 
ture. 

Not  Birmingham's  self — to  her  shame  be  it  spo- 
ken— 

E'er  made  things  more  neatly  contrived  to  be 
broken ; 

And  hence,  I  confess,  in  this  island  religious, 

The  breakage  of  laws — and  of  heads  is  prodigious. 

And  long  may  it  thrive,  ray  E.x-Bigwig,  say  I, — 
Though,  of  late,  much  I  fear'd  all  our  fun  was  gono 
by; 


As,  except  when  eomo  titlie-luiuling  parson  siiowM 

sport, 
Some  rector — a  cool  hand  at  pistols  and  port, 
Who  "  keeps  dry"  his  powder,  but  never  hiinaelf — 
One  who,  ieavinj^  his  Bible  to  rust  on  the  slielf, 
Sends  his  pious  texts  liome,  in  the  shape  of  ball- 

cartridfjcs, 
Shooting-  Ills  "  dearly  beloved,"  like  partridges  ; — 
Except  when  some  hero  of  this  sort  turn'd  out, 
Or,    th'    Exchequer   sent,    flamino;,  its    tithe-writa* 

about — 
A  contrivance  more  neat,  I  may  say,  without  flat- 
tery, 
Tiiau    e'er   yet  was  tliougiit  of   for  bloodshed  and 

batter}' ; 
So  neat,  that  even  /  might  be  proud,  I  allow, 
To  have  hit  off  so  rich  a  receipt  for  a  row  ; — 
Except  for  such  rigs  turning  up,  now  and  then, 
I  was  actually  growing  the  dullest  of  men  ; 
And,  had  this  blank  fit  been  allow'd  to  increase, 
Might    have    snored    myself  down  to  a  Justice  of 

Peace. 
Like  you.  Reformation  in  Church  and  in  State 
Is  the  thing  of  all  things  I  most  cordially  hate  ; 
If  once  these  cursed  Ministers  do  as  they  like, 
All's  o'er,  my  good  Lord,  with  your  wig  and  my 

pike. 
And  one  may  be  hung  up  on  t'other,  henceforth, 
Just  to  show  wiiat  such  Captains  and  Chancellors 

were  worth. 

But  we  must  not  despair — even  already  Hope  sees 
You're  about,  my  bold  Baron,  to  kick  up  a  breeze 
Of  the  true  baffling  sort,  such  as  suits  me  and  you. 
Who  have  box'd  the  wliole  compass  of  party  right 

through, 
And  care  not  one  farthing,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
So  we  hut  raise  tlie  wind,  from  what    quarter    it 

blows. 
Forgive  mo,  dear  Lord,  that  thus  rudely  I  dare 
My  own  small  resources  with  thine  to  compare : 
Not  even  Jerry  Diddler,  in  *'  raising  the  wind,"  durst 
Compete,    for    one    instant,    with    thee,    my    dear 

L— ndii— t. 

But,  hark,  there's  a  shot  I — some  pai-sonic    practi- 
tioner? 
No — merely  a  bran-new  Rebellion  Commissioner; 
The  Courts  having  now,  with  true  law  erudition, 
Put  even  Rebellion  itself  '*  in  commission." 
As  seldom,  in  this  way,  I'm  any  man's  debtor, 
I'll  just  -pay  my  shot,  and  then  fold  up  this  letter. 


*  Escheqtier  lithe  processes,  served  under  a  commission 
of  rebellion. —  Chronicle. 


f— 


636 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


In  the  mean  time,  hurrah  for  the  Tories  and  Rocks ! 
Hurrali  for  tlie  parsons  who  fleece  well  their  flocks ! 
Hurrah  for  all  miscliief  in  all  ranks  and  spheres, 
And,  above    all,    hurrah    for   that    dear    House    of 
Peers  I 


CAPTAIN  ROCK  IN  LONDON 


LETTER    FROM    THE    CAPTAIN    TO    TERRY    ALT,  ESft.' 

Here   I   am,  at   head-quarters,  dear  Terry,  once 

more, 
Deep  iu  Tory  designs,  as  I've  oft  been  before ; — 
For,  bless  them  I  if  'Iwasn't  for  this  wrong-headed 


You  and  I,  Terry  Alt,  would  scarce  know  what  to 

do  ; 
So  ready  they're  always,  when  dull  we  are  growing, 
To  set  oiu:  old  concert  of  discord  a-going. 
While    L— udh — t's   the  lad,  with  his  Tory-Whig 

face, 
To  play,  in  such  concert,  the  true  double-base. 
I  had  fear'd  this  old  prop  of  my  realm  was  beginning 
To  tire  of  his  course  of  political  sinning, 
And,  like  Mother  Cole,  when  her  heyday  was  past. 
Meant,  by  way  of  a  change,  to  try  virtue  at  last. 
But  I  wrong'd  tlie  old  boy,  vvho  as  stauchly  deiides 
All  reform  in  himself  as  iu  most  things  besides ; 
And,  by  using  two  faces  througli  life,  all  allow. 
Has  acquired  face  sufficient  for  any  thing  now. 

In  short,  he's  all  right ;  and,  if  mankind's  old  foe, 
My  "  Lord  Harry"  himself — who's  the  leader,  we 

know, 
Of  another  red-hot  Opposition,  below — 

1  The  subordiiiale  officer  or  Heuteuant  of  Caplaip  Rock. 


If  that  "  Lord,"  in  his  well-known  discernment,  but 

spares 
Me  and  L — ndh — t,  to  look  after  Ireland's  affairs, 
We  shall  soon  such  a  region  of  devilment  maiie  it. 
That  Old  Nick  himself  for  his  own  may  mistake  it. 

Even  already — long  life  to  such  Big-wigs,  say  I, 
For,  as  long  as  tiiey  flourish,  we  Rocks  cannot  die — 
He  has  served  our  right  riotous  cause  by  a  speech 
Whose  perfection  of  mischief  ho  only  could  reach  ; 
As  it  shows  off  both  his  and  iiiy  merits  alike. 
Both  the  swell  of  the  wig,  and  tlie  point  of  the  pike  ; 
Mi.\es  up,  with  a  skill  which  one  can't  but  admire. 
The  lawyer's  c.-rl  craft  with  th'  incendiary's  fire, 
And  enlists,  in  the  gravest,  most  plausible  manner, 
Seven  millions  of  souls  under  Rockery's  banner ! 
Oh  Terr}',  my  man,  let  this  speech  iieoer  die  ; 
Through  the  regions  of  Rockland,  like  flame,  let  it 

fly; 
Let  each  syllable  dark  the  Law-Oracle  utter'd 
By  all  Tipperary's  wild  echoes  be  mutter'd. 
Till  naught  shall  be  heard,  over  hill,  dale,  or  flood. 
But  "  You're  aliens  in  language,  in  creed,  and  in 

blood  ;" 
While  voices,  from  sweet  Connemara  afar. 
Shall  answer,  like  tnie  Irish  echoes,  "  We  are  !" 
And,  though    false    bo   the  cry,  and  though  sense 

must  abhor  it. 
Still  th'  echoes  may  quote  Laic  authority  for  it. 
And   naught   L — ndh — t   cares   for   my  spread  of 

dominion. 
So  he,  in  tlie  end,  touches  cash  "  for  th'  opinion." 

But  I've  no  time  for  more,  my  dear  Terry,  just  now, 
Beiug    busy  in  helping  these  Lords    through    their 

row  : 
They're  bad    hands    at  mob-work,  but,  once  (hey 

begin. 
They'll  have  plenty  of  practice  to  break  them  well 

iu. 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


637 


THE    FUDGES    IN    ENGLAND; 

BEING    A    SEQUEL    TO 

"THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS." 


PREFACE. 

The  name  of  the  couiitr}'  town,  iu  England — a 
A'cU-knowu  fashionable  watering-place — iu  wliicli 
the  events  that  gave  rise  to  the  following  corre- 
spondence occurred,  is,  for  obvious  reasons,  suppress- 
td.  The  interest  attached,  however,  to  the  facts 
and  personages  of  the  story,  renders  it  independent 
of  all  time  and  place  :  and  when  it  is  recollected 
tliat  the  whole  train  of  romantic  circumstances  so 
fully  unfolded  in  these  Letters  has  passed  during  the 
short  period  which  has  now  elapsed  since  the  great 
Meetings  in  Exeter  Hall,  due  credit  will,  it  is  hoped, 
be  allowed  to  the  Editor  for  the  rapidity  witii  which 
he  lias  brought  the  details  before  the  Public  ;  while, 
at  the  same  time,  any  errors  that  may  have  been 
the  result  of  such  haste  will,  he  trusts,  with  equal 
consideration,  be  pardoned. 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


LETTER  I. 

FROM    PATRICK    BL4GAN,    ESQ.,    TO    THE    REV.    RICHARD 
,  CURATE    OF   ,    IN    IRELAND. 

Who   d'ye  think  we've  got  here  ? — quite  reform'd 
from  the  giddy. 
Fantastic  young  thing,  that  once  made  such  a 
noise — 
Why,   the   famous  Miss    Fudge — tliat   delectable 
Biddy, 
AVhom  you  and  I  saw  once  at  Paris,  when  boys, 
111  the  full  blaze  of  bonnets,  and  ribauds,  and  airs — 
Such    a   thing    as   no   rainbow   hath   colore   to 
paint ; 
Ere  time  had  reduced  her  to  wrinliles  and  praj'ers. 
And  the  Flirt  found  a  decent  retreat  in  the  Saint. 


Poor  "  Pa''  hath  poppM  off — gone,  as  cliarity  judges, 
To  some  choice  Elysium  reserved  for  the  Fudges  ; 
And  Miss,  with  a  fortune,  besides  expectations 
From  some  much  re\  t ivd  and  much-pals.-,  d  rela- 
tions. 
Now  wants  but  a  husband,  witli  requiiites  nt  (t, — 
Age  thirty,  or  thereabouts — stature  six  feet. 
And  warranted  godlj' — to  make  all  complete. 
Nota  Bene — a  Churchman  would  suit,  if  lie's  high, 
But  Soeinians  or  Catholics  need  not  apply. 

What  say  yon,  Dick  ?  doesn't  this  tempt  your  am- 
bition ? 
The  whole  wealth  of  Fudge,  that  renown'd  man 
of  pitli. 
All  brought  to  tlio  hammer,  for  Church   competi- 
tion,—  [with. 
Sole  encumbrance.  Miss  Fudge  to  be  taken  there- 
Think,  my  boy,  for  a  Curate  how  glorious  a  catch  ! 
While,  instead  of  the  thousands  of  souls  you  now 

watch. 
To  save  Biddy  Fudge's  is  all  you  need  do  ; 
And  her  purse  will,  meanwhile,  be  the  saving  of  you. 

You  may  ask,  Dick,  how  comes  it  that  I,  a  poor  elf, 
Wanting  substance  even  more  than  your  spiritual 
self,  [shelf. 

Should  thus  generously  lay  my  own  claims  on  the 
When,  God  knows  !  there  ne'er  was  young  gentle- 
man yet 
So   much  lack'd  an   old    spinster  to  rid  him  fiom 

debt. 
Or  had  cogenter  reasons  than  mine  to  assail  her 
With  tender  love-suit — at  the  suit  of  his  tailor. 

But  thereby  there  hangs  a  soft  secret,  my  friend. 
Which  thus  to  your  reverend  breast  I  commend  : 
Miss  Fudge  hath  a  niece — such  a  creature  I — witli 

eyes 
Like  those  sparklers  that  peep  out  from  :«mmor- 

night  skies 
At  astronomers-royal,  and  laugh  with  delight 
To  see  elderly  gentlemen  spying  all  night. 


638 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Wh\\o   her    figure — oh,   bring    all   the    gracefiUlest 

things 
That  are  borne  through  the  light  air  by  feet  or  by 

wings, 
Not  a  single  new  grace  to  that  form  could  they  teach, 
Wiiich  combines  in  itself  the  perfection  of  each; 
Wliiie,  rapid  or  slow,  as  her  fairy  feet  fall, 
The  muto  music  of  symmetry  modulates  all. 

Ne'er,  in  short,  was  there  creature  more  form'd  to 
bewilder 
A  gay  youth  like  me,  who  of  castles  aerial 
(And  onhj  of  sucli)  am,  God  help  me  !  a  builder  ; 

Stii!  peonlijig  each  mansion  with  lodgers  ethereal, 
And  now,  to  this  nymph  of  the  seraph-like  eye. 
Letting    out,  as    you  see,  my  first  floor    next  the 
sky.* 

But,  alas !  nothing's  perfect  on  earth — even  she. 
This  divine    little  gipsy,  does  odd  things  some- 
.  times ; 
Talks  leai'uiiig — looks  wise,  (ratiier  painful  to  see,) 
Prints  already  in  two  County  papers  her  rhymes  ; 
And  raves — the  sweet,  charming,  absurd  little  dear  ! 
About  Amulets,  Bijons,  and  Keepsakes,  next  year, 
In  a  manner  which  plainly  bud  symptoms  portends 
Of  that  Annual  blue  fit,  so  distressing  to  friends  ; 
A  fit  wiiicli,  thougii  lasting  but  one  siiort  edition, 
Leaves  the  patient  long  after  in  sad  inanition. 

However,  let's  hope  for  the  best — and,  meanwhile, 
Be  it  mine  still  to  bask  in  the  niece's  warm  smile ; 
While  you,  if  you're  wise,  Dick,  will  play  the  gallant 
(Uphill  work,  I  confess)  to  her  Saint  of  an  Aunt. 
Tiiink,  my  boy,  for  a  youngster  like  you,  who've  a 
lack, 
Not  indeed  of  rupees,  but  of  all  other  specie, 
Whal  'uck  thus  to  find  a  kind  witch  at  your  back, 
Au  o.d  goose  with  gold  eggs,  from  all  debts  to  re- 
lease ye ; 
Never  mind,  tho'  tlie  spinster  be  reverend  and  thin, 
What  are  all  the  Three  Graces  to  her  Three  per 
Cents.  ? 
While  her  acres! — oh  Dick,  it  don't  matter  one  pin 
How  slie  touches  th'  airections,  so  you  touch  the 
rents  ^ 
And  Love  never  looits  haU"  so  pleased,  as  when,  bless 

iiim !  he 
Sings  to  au  old  lady's  purse  "  Open,  Sesame'." 

1  That  floor  which  a.  fncotioiis  garreteer  called  "leprc- 
mici"  en  ilestenilanl  tlu  ciel." 

3  See  tlie  iJuMin  Evening  Post,  of  the  9th  of  this  monlh, 
(July.)  fur  an  accounlof  a,  scene  wliirh  lately  touk  place  at 
ft  meeting  of  the  Synod  of  Ulster,  in  which  the  performance 
of  the  almve-meniioned  part  by  the  personage  in  question 
iippenrs  10  have  been  worthy  of  all  its  former  reputation  in 
thut  line. 


By  the  way,  I've  just  heard,  in  my  walks,  a  report, 
Which,  if  tme,  will  insure  for  yoiu"  visit  some  sport. 
'Tis  rnmor'd  our  Manager  means  to  bespeak 
The   Church  tumblers  i.rom  Exeter  Hall  for  Lie.vt 

week ; 
And  certainly  ne'er  did  a  queerer  or  rummer  set 
Throw,  for  th'  amusement  of  Christians,  a  summer- 
set. 
'Tis  fear'd  their  chief  "  Merrlman,"  C — ke,  cannot 

come, 
Being  called  off",  at  present,  to  play  Punch  at  home  f 
And  tiie  loss  of  so  practised  a  wag  in  divinity 
Will  grieve  much  all  lovers  of  jokes  on  the  Trin- 
ity ;— 
His  pun  on  tho  name  Unigenitus,  lately 
Having    pleased    Robert    Taylor,    tlio    Revere:A^^ 
greatly.^ 

'Twill  prove  a  sad  drawback,  if  absent  he  be, 
As  a  wag  Presbyterian's  a  thing  quite  to  see  ; 
Aud,  'mong  the  Five  Points  of  the  Calvinists,  none 

of  *em 
Ever  yet  reckon'd  a  point  of  wit  one  of  *enx 
But  even  though  deprived  of  this  comical  ell. 
We've  a  host  of  huffoni  in  Murtagh  himself, 
Who  of  all  tho  whole  troop  is  chief  mummer  aud 

mime, 
As  C — ke  takes  the  Ground  Tumbling,  he  the  Suh' 

lime  ;* 
And  of  him  we're  quite  certain,  so,  pray,  come  in 

time. 


LETTER  IL 

FROM    MISS    BIDDY    FUDGE    TO    MUS. 
ELIZABETH    . 

JifsT  in  time  for   the  post,   dear,  and  monstrously 
busy, 
W^ith    godly    concemments — and    worldly    ones, 
too ; 
Things  carnal  and  spiritual  mix'd,  my  dear  Lizzy, 
In  this  little  brain  till   bewildcr'd  and  dizzy, 

'Twixt  heaven  and  earth,  I  scarce  know  what  I 
do. 

8  "  AU  are  punsters  if  they  have  wit  to  be  so  ;  and  there- 
fore when  an  Irishman  has  to  comiiience  with  a  Bull,  you 
will  naturally  pronounce  it  a  btUl.  (A  laugh.)  Allow  nie  lo 
bring  before  you  the  fiuiou^  Tlnll  that  is  called  Unigenitus, 
reft-rring  to  the  only-begotten  bun  i.i  i;.,ii.*' — Report  of  the 
Rev.  Doctor's  speech,  June  20,  /;i  the  liccoril  JVeiospaper. 

*  In  the  language  of  the  ptay-bills,  "  Grouiid  and  Lofty 
Tumbling." 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND 


639 


First,  I've  been  to  see   all   the  gay  fasliions  from 

Town, 
Which  our  favorite  Miss  Gimp  for  tlie  spring  has 

had  down. 
Sleeves  still  worn  (which  /think  is  wise)  d  lafoUcj 
Ciiarmino;    hats,    pou    de    soic — though    the    shape 

rather  droi!. 
But  you  ran't  think  how  nicely  the  caps  of  tulle  lace, 
With  thr-  vieiittninitres,  look  on  this  poor  sinful  face  ; 
And  I  mean,  if  the  Lord  in  his  mercy  thinks  right. 
To  wear  one  at  Mrs.  Fitz-wigram's  to-night. 
The  silks  are  quite   heavenly  : — I'm  glad,   too,  to 

say. 
Gimp  lierself  grows  more  godly  and  good  every  day  ; 
Hath  had  sweet  experience — yea,  even  doth  begin 
To  turn  from  the  Gentiles,  and  put  away  sin — 
And  all  since  her  last  stock  of  goods  was  laid  in. 
Wliat  a  blessing  one's  milliner,  careless  of  pelf, 
Should  thus  "  walk  in  newness"  as  well  as  one's  self! 

So  much  for  the  blessings,  the  comforts  of  Spirit 
Fve   liad  since  we   met,  and   they're   more  than  I 

merit  I — 
Poor,  sinful,  weak  creature  in  every  respect  ; 
Thougli  ordain'd  (God  knows  why)  to  be  one  of  th' 

Elect. 
But  now  for  the  picture's  reverse. — Yon  remember 
That  footman  and  cook-maid  I  hired  last  December  ; 
Ihj  a  Baptist  Particular — she,  of  some  sect 
Not  particular,  I  fancy,  in  any  respect  ; 
But  desirous,  poor  thing,  to  be  fed  with  the  Word, 
And  "  to  wait,"  as  she  said,  "  on  Miss   Fudge  and 

the  Lord." 

V/ell,  my  dear,  of  al!  men,  that  Particular  Baptist 
At  preaching  a  sermon,  off  hand,  was  the  aptest ; 
And,  long  as  he  stay'd,  do  him  justice,  more  rich  in 
Sweet  savors  of  doctrine,  there  never  was  kitchen. 
He  preach'd  in  the  parlor,  he  preach'd  in  the  hall, 
Ho  preach'd  to  the  chambermaids,  scullions,  and 
ail. 

All  heard  with  deligiit  liis  reprovings  of  sini 
But  above  all,  the  cook-maid  ; — oh,  ne'er  would  she 

tire — 
Though,  in  learning  to  save  sinful  souls  from  the  fire, 

Slie  would  oft  let  tlie  soles  she  was  fi-ymg  fall  in. 

1  "Morning  Mannn,  or  British  Verse-book,  neatly  done  up 
for  the  pocket,"  and  chiefly  intended  to  assist  the  members 
of  the  British  Verse  Association,  whose  design  is,  we  are 
told,  "lo  induce  the  inhabitants  nf  Great  Britain  and  Ireland 
to  commit  one  and  the  same  verse  of  Scripture  to  memory 
every  morninir.  Already,  it  is  known,  several  thousand  per- 
sons in  Scotland,  besiiles  tens  of  thousands  in  America  and 
Africa,  are  every  morning  learning  the  same  verse." 

3The  EviHnyielical  M:!gazine. — A  few  specimen-*  taken  al 
random  from  the  wrapper  of  this  highly  esteemed  periodical 
will  fully  justify  the  character  which  Miss  Fudge  has  here 


(God    forgive    me    for   punning   on   points    thus  of 

piety  .' — 
A  sad  trick  I've  learn'd  in  Bob's  heathen  society.) 
But  ah  !  there  remains  still  the  worst  of  my  tale  ; 
Come,  Asterisks,  and  help  me  the  sad  truth  to  veil — ■ 
Conscious  stars,  that  at  even  your  own  secret  tnrn 

pale  ! 


In  short,  dear,  this  preaching  and  psalm-singing  pah*, 
Chosen  "  vessels  of  mercy,"  as  /  thouglit  they  were, 
Have  together  this  last  week  eloped  ;  making  bold 
To  whip  off  as  much  goods  as  both  vessels  could 

hold- 
Not  forgetting  some  scores  of  sweet  tracts  from  my 

shelves, 
Two  Family  Bibles  as  large  as  themselves, 
And  besides,  from  the  drawer— I  neglecting  to  K ,  k 

it— 
My    neat    "  Morning    Manna,    done    up    for    tho 

pocket."' 
W^as  there  e'er  known  a  case  so  distressing,  dear 

Liz? 
It  has  made  me  quite  ill : — and  the  worst  of  it  ie, 
When  rogues  are  all  pious,  'lis  hard  to  detect 
Which  rogues  are  the  reprobate,  which  the  elect. 
This  man  **  had  a  call,'''  he  said — impudent  mockery  ! 
What  call  had  ho  to  luy  linen  and  crockery  ? 

I'm  now,  and  have  been  for  this  week  past,  in  chase 
Of  some  godly  yomig  couple  this  pair  to  replace. 
The  enclosed  two  announcements  have  just  met  my 

eyes, 
In  that  venerable  Monthly  where  Saints  advertise 
For  such  temporal  comforts  as  this  world  supplies  ;* 
And  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit  are  properly  made 
An  essential  in  every  craft,  callinir,  and  trade. 
Wiiere  th'  attorney  requires  for   his  'prentice  some 

'■onth  [truth ;" 

Wilt  has  "  learn'd  to  fear  God,  and  to  walk  in  the 
Whe.o    the    sempstress,  in  search  of  employment, 

declares. 
That  pay  is  no  object,  so  she  can  have  prayers ; 
And  th'  Estabiish'd  Wine  Company  proudly  gives 

out, 
That  the  whole  of  the  finn,  Co.  and  all,  are  devout. 


given  of  it.  "  Wanted,  in  a  pious  pawnbroker's  family,  an 
active  lad  as  an  apprentice."  "Wanted,  as  housemaid,  a 
young  female  who  has  been  brought  to  a  saving  know  ledge 
of  the  truth."  "Wanted  inmiedialely,  a  man  of  decided 
piety,  to  assist  in  the  baking  business."  "  A  gentleman  who 
understands  the  Wine  Trade  is  desirous  of  entering  into 
partnership,  &c.,  &c.  He  is  not  desirous  of  being  cunnected 
with  any  one  whose  system  of  business  is  not  of  the  strict- 
est integrity  as  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  seeks  connection  only 
with  a  truly  pious  man,  cither  Chun  hman  or  Dissenter." 


640 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Happy  London,  one  feels,  as  one  reads  o'er  the  pages, 
Where  Saints  are  so  much  more  abundant  than  Ragles  ; 
Wliere  Parsons  may  soon  be  all  Uiid  on  the  shelf. 
As  each  Cit  can  cite  cliapter  and  verso  for  himself, 
And  the  serious  frequenters  of  market  and  dock 
All  lay  in  religion  as  part  of  their  stock.' 
Who  can  tell  to  what  lengtlis  wo  may  go  on  im- 
proving. 
When  thus  through    all   London   the  Spirit  keeps 

moving. 
And  heaven's  so  in  vogue,  that  each  shop  advuilise- 

meut 
Is  now  not  so  much  for  the  earth  as  the  skies  meant  ? 

P.  S. 
Have   mislaid  the  two    paragraphs— can't   stop    to 

look. 
But  both  describe  charming — botli    Footman   and 

Cook, 
She,  *'  decidedly  pious" — with  pathos  deplores 
Th'  increase    of    French    cookery  and   siu  on  our 

shores  ; 
And  adds — (while  for  further  accounts  she  refers 
To  a  great  Gospel  preacher,  a  cousin  of  hers,) 
That  "  though  some  malie    their    Sabbaths   mere 

matter-of-fun  days. 
She  asks  but  for  tea  and  the  Gospel,  on  Sundays." 
The  footman,  too,  full  of  the  true  saving  knowl- 
edge ;— 
Has  late  been  to  Cambridge — to  Trinity  College  ; 
Served  last  a  young  gentleman,  studying  divinity. 
But  left — not  approving  the  morals  of  Trinity. 

P.  S. 

I  enclose,  too,  according  to  promise,  some  scraps 
Of  my  Journal — that  Day-book    I   keep  of  my 
heart ; 
Where,  at  some  little  item,  (partaking,  perhaps. 
More  of  eaith  than  of  heaven,)  thy  prudery  may 

start. 
And   suspect  something  tender,  sly  girl  as  thou 
art. 
For   the   present,    I'm   mute — but,  whate'er   may 

befall, 
Recollect,  dear,  (in  Hebrews,  xiii.  4,)  St.  Paul 
Hath  himself  declared,  "  Marriage  is  honorable  in 
all." 


1  According  to  the  late  Mr.  Irvinff,  there  is  even  a  peculiar 
form  of  lheolog>'  got  up  expressly  for  the  iiioney-markct.  "  I 
know  how  f:ir  wide,"  he  says,  "of  the  mark  my  views  of 
Christ's  work  in  the  flesh  will  be  viewed  Ity  those  who  are 
working  with  the  stock-jobbing  Ihcolngy  of  the  rcligioiis 
world.'*  "  Let  these  preachers,"  he  adds,  (■'  for  I  will  not 
call  them  theologians,)  cr>*  wp,  broker-like,  their  article." 

Morning  W'afcA.— No.  iii.,  44'2.  443. 

From  the  statement  of  another  writer,  in  the  same  publi- 
cation, it  would  appear  that  the  stock-brokers  have  even  set 


EXTRACTS  FROM  MY  DIARY. 

Jilonday. 
Tried  a  new  Ch&I£  gown  on — pretty. 
No  one  to  see  me  in  it — pity  ! 
Fiew  in  a  passion  with  Friz,  my  maid  ; — 
The  Lord  forgive  me  I — she  look'd  dismayed  ; 
But  got  lier  to  sing  the  lOOth  Psalm, 
While  she  curl'd  my  liair,  which  made  me  calm 
Nothing  Eo  sooths  a  Christian  heart 
As  sacred  music — heavenly  art  .* 


Tuesday. 
At  two,  a  visit  from  Mr.  Magan — 
A  remarkably  handsome,  nice  young  man  ; 
And,  all  Hibernian  tliough  he  be, 
As  civilized,  strange  to  say,  as  we  ! 

I  own  this  young  man's  spiritual  state 
Hath  much  engross'd  ray  thoughts  of  late  ; 
And  I  mean,  as  soon  as  my  niece  is  gon^ 
To  have  some  talk  with  Iiini  thereupon. 
At  present,  I  naught  can  do  or  say. 
But  that  troublesome  child  is  in  the  way  • 
Nor  is  there,  I  think,  a  doubt  that  he 

Would  also  her  absence  much  prefer, 
As  oft,  while  list'ning  intent  to  me, 

He's  forced,  from  politeness,  to  look  at  her 

Heigho  ! — what  a  blessing  should  Mr.  Magan 
Turn  out,  after  all,  a  *'  renew'd''  young  man  : 
And  to  me  should  fall  the  task,  on  earth, 
To  assist  at  the  dear  youth's  second  birth. 
Blest  thought  I  and,  ah,  more  blest  the  tie. 
Were  it  heaven's  high  will,  that  he  and  I — 
But  I  blush  to  write  the  nuptial  word — 
Should  wed,  as  St.  Paul  says,  "  in  the  Lord ;" 
Not  this  world's  wedlock — gross,  gallant, 
But  pure — as  wlien  Amram  married  his  aunt 

Our  ages  differ — but  w)io  would  count 
One's  natural  sinful  life's  amount. 
Or  look  in  the  Register's  vulgar  page 
For  a  regular  twice-born  Christian's  age, 
Who,  blessed  privilege  !  only  then 
Begin's  to  live  when  he's  born  again. 


up  a  new  Divinity  of  their  own.  "Tliis  shows,"-says  the 
\\Titer  in  question,  "  that  the  doctrine  of  the  union  between 
Christ  and  his  members  is  quite  as  essential  as  that  of  sub- 
stitution, by  taking  which  latter  alone  the  Stock- Exchange 
Divinity  has  been  produced." — No.  x.,  p.  375. 

Among  the  ancients,  we  know  the  money-market  was  pro- 
vided with  more  than  one  presiding  Deity — "Deaa  Pecunia 
(says  an  ancient  author)  commendabantur  nt  pecanioai 
essenl." 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


641 


And,  counting  in  this  way — let  me  see — 

1  myself  but  five  years  old  shall  be, 

And  dear  Magau,  when  th'  event  takes  place, 

An  actual  new-born  child  of  grace — 

Slioiild  Heaven  in  mercy  so  dispose — 

A  six-foot  baby,  in  swaddling  clothes. 

tycdnesday. 
Finding  myself,  by  some  good  fate, 
With  Mr.  Magan  left  tete-d-tcte, 
1  hid  just  begun — having  stirr'd  the  fire, 
And  drawn  my  chair  near  his — to  inquire 
What  his  notions  were  of  Original  Sin, 
A\'hen  that  naughty  Fanny  again  bounced  in ; 
And  all  the  sweet  things  I  had  got  to  say 
Of  the  Flesh  and  the  Devil  were  whisk'd  away  ! 

Much  grieved  to  observe  that  IMr.  Magan 

Is  actually  pleased  and  amused  with  Fan  I 

What  charms  any  sensible  man  can  see 

In  a  child  so  foolishly  young  as  she— ^ 

But  just  eighteen,  come  next  May-day, 

With  eyes,  like  herself,  full  of  naught  but  play — 

Is,  I  own,  an  exceeding  puzzle  to  me 


LETTER  III 

FKOM  MISS  FANNY  FUDGE,  TO  HER  COUSIN,  MISS 
KITTY  . 

STANZAS  (ENCLOSED 
TO  MY  shadow;  or,  why? — what? — now? 

Dark  comrade  of  my  path  !  while  earth  and  sky 
Thus  wed  their  charms,  in  bridal  light  array'd. 
Why  in  this  bright  hour,  walk'st  thou  ever  nigh, 
Black'ning    my   footsteps    with    tliy   length   of 
shade — 

Dark  comrade,  Why  ? 

Thou  mimic  Shape  that,  'mid  these  flowery  scenes, 
Glidest  beside  me  o'er  each  sunny  spot, 

Sadd'ning  them  as  thou  goest — say,  what  means 
So  dark  an  adjunct  to  so  bright  a  lot — 

Grim  goblin.  What  ? 

Still,  as  to  pluck  sweet  flowers  I  bend  my  brow. 
Thou  bendest,  too — then  risest  wlien  I  rise  ; — 
Say,  mute  mysterious  Thing !  how  is't  that  thou 
Thus    coraest    between   me   and    those   bless'd 
skies — 

Dim  shadow,  How  ? 


(additional  stanza,  by  another  hand  ) 

Thus  said  I  to  that  Shape,  far  less  in  grudge 

Than  gloom  of  soul ;  while,  as  I  eager  cried, 
Oh,    Why?    What?    How?— a    Voice,  that    one 
might  judge 
To  bo  some  Irisli  echo's,  faint  replied. 

Oh  fudge,  fudge,  fudge  I 

You  have  here,  dearest  Coz,  my  last  lyric  effusion ; 

And,  witii  it,  that  odious  "  additional  stanza," 
Which  Aunt  will  insist  I  must  keep,  as  conclusiont 

And    which,    you'll    at  once   see,    is    Mr.    Ma- 
gan's  ; — a 

Most  cruel  and  dark-design'd  extravaganza. 
And  part  of  that  plot  in  which  he  and  my  Aimt  are 
To  stifle  the  flights  of  my  genius  by  banter. 

Just  so  'twas  with  Byron's  young  eagle-eyed  strain. 
Just  so  did  they  taunt  him  ; — but  vain,  critics,  vain, 
All  your  efforts  to  saddle  Wit's  fire  with  a  chain! 
To  blot  out  the  splendor  of  Fancy's  young  stream. 
Or  crop,  in  its  cradle,  her  newly-fledged  beam  I ! ! 
Thou  perceiv'st,  dear,  that,  even  while  these  lines 

I  indite. 
Thoughts  bum,  brilliant  fancies  break  out,  wrong 

or  right. 
And  I'm  all  over  poet,  in  Criticism's  spite  ! 

That   my   Aunt,  who   deals   only  m   Psalms,  and 

regards 
Messrs.  Sternhold  and  Co.  as  the  first  of  all  bards — 
That  she  should  make  light  of  my  works  I  can't 

blame  ; 
But  that  nice,  handsome,  odious  Magan — what  a 

shame ! 
Do  you  know,  dear,  that,  high  as  on  most  points  I 

rate  him, 
I'm  really  afraid — after  all,  I — must  hate  him. 
He  is  so  provokuig — naught's  safe  from  his  tongue  ; 
He  spares  no  one  authoress,  ancient  or  young. 
Were  you  Sappho  herself,  and  in  Keepsake  or  Bijou 
Once  shone  as  contributor,  Lord  how  he'd  quiz  you ! 
He  laughs  at  all  Monthlies — I've  actually  seen 
A  sneer  on  his  brow  at  the  Court  Magazme  ! — 
While  of  Weeklies,  poor  things,  there's  but  one  he 

peruses. 
And  buys  every  book  which  that  Weekly  abuses. 
But  I  care  not  how  others  such  sarcasm  may  fear. 
One  spirit,  at  least,  will  not  bend  to  his  sneer ; 
And   though   tried   by  the   fire,  my  young  geniu» 

shall  burn  as 
Uninjured  as  crucified  gold  in  the  furnace  ! 
(I   suspect  the   word   "  crucified"   must   be   made 

"  crucible," 
Before  this  fine  image  of  mine  is  producible.) 


642 


MOORE^S  WORKS. 


And  now,  dear — to  tell  you  a  secret  which,  pray 
Only  trust  to  such  friends  as  witii  safety  you  may — 
You  know,  and  indeed  the  wliole  county  suspects, 
(Though  the  Editor  often  my  best  things  rejects,) 
Tiiut    llio    verses   signed  so,  tC,  which  you  now 

and  then  see 
In  our  County  Gazette  (vide  la^t)  arc  by  me. 
But  'tis  dreadful  to  tliink  wliat  provoking  mistakes 
Tlie  vile  country  Press  in  one's  prosody  makes. 
For  you  know,  dear — I  may,  without  vanity,  hint — 
Though  an  angel  should  write,  still  'tis  devils  must 

print ; 
And  you  can't    thinlv    what    iiavoc    these    demons 

sometimes 
Choose  to  make  of  one's  sense,  and  what's  worse, 

of  one's  rhymes. 
But  a  week  or  two  since,  iu  my  Ode  upon  Spring, 
Which   I   meant   to   have  made  a  most  beautiful 

thing, 
Where  I  talk'd  of  the  '*  dewdrops  from  freshly-blown 

roses," 
The   nasty    things   made    it    "  from    freshly-blowu 

noses !" 
And  once  when,  lo  please  my  cross  Aunt,  I  had 

tried 
To  commemorate  some  saint  of  her  clique,  who'd 

just  died. 
Having  said  he  "  had  tak'n  up  in  iieaven  his  po- 
sition," 
They  made  it,  he'd  "  taken  up  to  heaven  his  physi- 


This    ifi    very    disheartening ; — but    brighter   days 

shine, 
I  rejoice,  love,  to  say,  both  for  me  and  the  Nine ; 
For,    what    do    you    thinlc  ? — so    delightful !    next 

year, 
Oh,   prepare,    dearest  girl,    for    the    grand    news 

prepare — ■ 
I'm    to    write    it)     'he    Keepsake — yes,    Kitty,    my 

dear, 
To    write    in    the    Keepsake,  as   sure  as  you're 

there !  ! 
T'other  niglit,  at  a  Ball,  'twas  my  fortunate  chance 
With  a  very  nice  elderly  Dandy  to  dance, 
Who,  'twas  plain,  from  some  hints    which  I  now 

and  then  caught, 
Was  the  author   of   something — one    couldn't    tell 

what ; 
But  lii?  satisfied  manner  left  no  room  to  doubt 
It  waa  something  thai   Colburu  had  lately  brought 

out 

We  conversed  of  belles-lettres  through  all  the  qnad- 

rillt.,— 
Of  poetry,  dancing,  of  prose,  standing  still ; 


Talk'd  of  Intellect's  march — whether  right   'twas 

or  wrong — 
And  then  settled  the  point  in  a  bold  en  avnni. 
In  the  course  of  this  talk  'twas  that,  having  just 

hinted 
That  /  too  had  Poems  which — long'd  to  be  printed, 
lie  protested,  kind  man  I  he  had  seen,  at  first  sight, 
I  was  actually   born  in  tlio  Keepsake  to  write. 
"  Iu  the  Annals  of  England   let   some,"  he    said, 

*'  sliine, 
*'  But  a  place  in  her  Annuals,  Lady,  be  tini.e . 
"  Even  now  future  Keepsakes  seem  brightly  to  rise, 
"  Througli  the  vista  of  years,  as  I  gaze  on  those 

eyes, — 
"  All  letter'd  and  press'd,  and  of  large-paper  size !" 
liow   unlike   that  Magan,  who  my  genius   would 

smother. 
And  how  we,  true  geniuses,  find  out  each  other! 

This,  and  much  more  he  said,  with  that  fine  phrc^ 

sied  glance 
One    so    rarely  now  sees,    as  we    slid    through  the 

dance  ; 
Till  between  us  'twas  finally  fix'd  that,  next  year. 
In  this  exquisite  task  I  my  pen  rhould  engage  ; 
And,  at  parting,  he  stoop'd  down  and  lisp'd  in  my 

ear 
These  mystical  words,  which  I  could  but^wsZ  hear, 
**  Terms    for    rhyme — if    it's    prime — ten     and 
sixpence  per  page." 
Think,  Kitty,  my  dear,  if  I  heard  his  words  right. 
What    a    mint    of  half-guineas   this   email  head 
contains ; 
If  for  nothing  to  write  is  itself  a  delight, 

Ye  Gods,  what  a  bliss  to  be  paid  for  one's  strains ! 

Having   dropp'd    the    dear    fellow    a    court'sy  pro- 
found, 
Off  at  once,  to  inquire  all  about  him,  I  ran  ; 
And  from  what  I  could  learn,  do  you  know,  dear, 
I've  found 
That  he's  quite  a  new  species  of  literarj*  man  ; 
One,  whose  task  is — to  what  will  not  fashion  ac- 
custom us  ? 
To  edite  live  authors,  as  if  they  were  posthumous. 
For  instance — the  plan,  to  be  sure,  is  the  oddest ! — 
If  any  young  he  or  she  author  feels  modest 
In  venturing  abroad,  this  kind  gentleman-usher 
Lends  promptly  a  hand  to  the  interesting  blusher ; 
Indites  a  smooth  Preface,  brings  merit  to  light, 
Wliich  else  might,  by  accident,  shrink  out  of  sight, 
And,  in  short,  renders  readers  and  critics  poHte. 
My  Aunt  says — though  scarce  on  such  points  one 

can  credit  her — 
He    was    Lady   Jane    Thingumbob's    last    novel's 
eclitur. 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


643 


'Tis  certain  the  fashion's  but  newly  invented ; 

And,  quick  as  the  change  of  all  things  and  all 
names  is, 
Who  knows  but,  as  authors,  like  girls,  are  presented^ 
We,  girls,  may  be  edited  soou  at  St.  James's? 

]  must  now  close  my  letter — there's  Aunt,  in  full 

screech, 
Wants  to  take  mo  to  hear    some    great    Irvingite 

preach, 
(iod  forgive  me,  I'm  not  much  incliucd,  I  must  say, 
To  go  and  sit  still  to  be  preach'd  at,  to-day. 
And,  besides — 'twill  be  all  against  daneing',  no  doubt, 
Which    my   poor  Aunt    abhors,  with    such    hatred 

devout, 
That,  so  far  from  presenting  young  nymphs  with  a 

head, 
For  their  skill  in  the  dance,  as  of  Herod  is  said, 
She'd  wish  their  own  heads  in  the  platter,  instead. 
Tliere,    again — coming,   Ma'am  ! — I'll  write  more, 

if  1  can, 
Before  the  post  goes, 

Your  affectionate  Fan. 

Four  o'clock. 

Sucli   a  sermon  I — thougli    not   about  dancing,  my 

dear ; 
'Twas  only  on  tli'  end  of  the  world  being  near. 
Kightcen  Hundred  and  Forty's  the  year  that  some 

state 
As  th:  time  for  that  accident — some  Forty-Eight:^ 
And  I  own,  of  tlie  two,  Fd  prefer  much  tlie  latter, 
As  then  I  shall  be  an  old  maid,  and  'twon't  matter. 
Once  more,  love,  good-by — Fve  to  make  a  new  cap  ; 
But  am  now  so  dead  tired  with  this  horrid  mishap 
Of  the  end  of  the  world,  that  I  must  take  a  nap. 


LETTER  IV. 

FROM    PATRICK    MAGAN,    ESQ.,    TO   THE    REV. 
RICHARD    . 

He  comes  from  Erin's  speechful  shore 
Like  fervid  kettle,  bubbling  o'er 

With  hot  effusions — ^liot  and  weak  ; 
Sound,  Humbug,  all  your  hollowest  drums. 
He  comes,  of  Erin's  martyrdoms 

To  Britain's  well-fed  Church  to  speak. 


J  Wiih  re»>rd  to  the  exact  time  of  this  event,  there  appears 
to  be  adilfe^nre  onlyof  abuut  two  or  three  years  among  the 
respective  "alculators.  M.  Alphonse  Nicole,  Docieur  en 
Droit,  ct  A-'ocai,  merely  doubts  whether  it  is  to  be  in  184G 


Puff  him,  ye  Journals  of  the  Lord,' 
Twin  prosers,  Watchman  and  Record ! 
Journals  reserved  for  realms  of  bliss, 
Being  much  too  good  to  sell  in  this. 
Prepare,  ye  wealthier  Saints,  your  dinners. 

Ye  Spinsters,  spread  your  tea  and  crumpets  ; 
And  you,  yo  countless  Tracts  for  Sinnei"s, 

Blow  all  your  little  penny  trumpets. 
He  comes,  the  reverend  man,  to  tell 

To  ail  who  still  the  Church's  part  take. 
Tales  of  parsonic  wo,  that  well 

Might  make  ev'n  grim  Dissenter's  heart  ache  :— 
Often  wliole  Bishops  snatch'd  away 
Foievcr  from  the  light  of  day  ; 
(With  God  knows,  too,  how  many  more, 
F^or  whom  that  doom  is  yet  in  store) — 
Of  Rectors,  cruelly  compell'd 

From  Bath  and  Cheltenham  to  haste  home, 
Because  the  tithes,  by  Pat  withheld. 

Will  not  to  Bath  or  Cheltenham  come  ; 
Nor  will  the  flocks  consent  to  pay 
Their  pai:sons  thus  to  stay  away  ; — 
Though,  with  such  parsons,  one  may  doubt 
If  'tisu't  money  well  laid  out ; — 
Of  all,  in  short,  and  each  degree 
Of  that  once  happy  Hierarchy, 

Whicli  used  to  roll  in  wealth  so  pleasantly ; 
But  now,  alas,  is  doom'd  to  see 

Its  surplus  brought  to  nonplus  presently  ! 

Such  are  the  themes  this  man  of  pathos. 
Priest  of  prose  and  Lord  of  bathos, 

Will    preach    and   preach    t'ye,    till    you're    dull 
again  ; 
Then,  hail  him,  Saints,  with  joint  acclaim, 
Shout  to  tiie  stars  his  tuneful  name, 
W^hich  Murtagh  was,  ere  known  to  fame, 

But  now  is  Mortimer  O'MuUigau  ! 

All  true,  Dick,  true  as  you're  alive — 
I've  seen  him,  some  hours  since,  arrive. 
Murtagh  is  come,  the  great  Itinerant — 

And  Tuesday,  in  the  market-place. 
Intends,  to  every  saint  and  sinner  in't. 

To  state  what  he  calls  Ireland's  Case  ; 
Meaning  thereby  the  case  of  his  shop, — 
Of  curate,  vicar,  rector,  bishop, 
And  all  those  other  grades  seraphic, 
That  make  men's  souls  their  special  traffic, 
Though  caring  not  a  pin  ichich  way 
Tir  erratic  souls  go,  so  they  pay. — 


or  1847.  "A  cette  epnque,"  he  says,  "les  fideles  peuvent 
esp>4rer  de  voir  sVffeciuer  la  purification  du  Sanctuaire.'* 

^"Our  anxious  desire  is  to  be  found  on  the  side  of  Um 
Lord." — Record  J^'eicspaper. 


644 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Just  as  some  roguish  country  nurse, 

Who  takes  a  foundling  babe  to  suckle, 
First  pops  tlie  payment  in  her  purse. 

Then  leaves  poor  dear  to — suck  its  knuckle . 
Even  so  these  reverend  rigmaroles 
Pocket  the  money — starve  the  soul?. 
Murtagh,  however,  in  his  glory. 
Will  tell,  next  week,  a  dilFercat  story  ; 
Will  make  out  all  these  men  of  barter, 
As  each  a  saint,  a  downright  martyr, 
Brought  to  the  siake — i.  e.  a  heef  one. 
Of  all  their  martyrdoms  the  chief  one  ; 
Though  try  them  even  at  this,  they'll  bear  it. 
If  tender  and  wash'd  down  with  claret. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Fudge,  who  loves  all  lions, 
Your  saintly,  next  to  great  and  high  'uns — 
(A  Viscount,  be  he  what  he  may, 
Would  cut  a  Saint  out,  any  day,) 
Has  just  announced  a  godly  rout, 
Where  Mnrtagh's  to  be  first  brought  out, 
And  sliown  in  his  tame,  week-day  state: — 
*'  Prayers,  half-past  seven,  tea  at  eight." 
Even  BO  the  circular  missive  orders — 
Pink  cards,  with  cherubs  round  the  borders. 

Haste,  Dick — you're  lost,  if  you  lose  tune  ; 

Spinsters  at  forty-five  grow  giddy. 
And  Murtagh,  with  his  tropes  sublime. 

Will  surely  carry  off  old  Biddy, 
Unless  some  spark  at  once  propose. 
And  distance  him  by  downright  prose. 
That  sick,  rich  squire,  whose  wealth  and  lands 
All  pass,  they  say,  to  Biddy's  hands, 
(The  patron,  Dick,  of  three  fat  rectories !) 
Is  dying  of  angina  pectoris  ; — 
So  thai,  unless  you're  stirring  soon, 

Murtagh,  toat  priest  of  puff  and  pelf, 
May  come  in  for  a  honey-moon. 

And  be  the  man  of  it,  himself  I 

As  for  mc,  Dick — 'tis  whim,  'tis  folly. 
But  this  young  niece  absorbs  me  wholly. 
'Tis  true,  the  girl's  a  vile  verse-maker — 

Would  rhyme  all  nature,  if  you'd  let  her ; — 
But  even  her  oddities,  plague  take  her, 

But  make  me  love  her  all  the  better. 
Too  true  it  is,  she's  bitten  sadly 
With  this  new  rage  for  rhyming  badly, 
Which  late  hath  seized  all  ranks  and  classes, 
Down  to  that  new  Estate,  "  the  masses  ;" 

Till  one  pursuit  all  ta-^to  combines — 
One  commoi^ailroad  o'er  Parnassus, 
Where,  sliding  in  those  tuneful  grooves, 
Call'd  couplets,  all  creation  moves, 

And  the  whole  world  runs  mad  in  lines. 


Add  to  all  this — what's  even  still  worse 
As  rhyme  itself,  though  still  a  curse, 
Sounds  better  to  a  chinking  purse — 
Scarce  sixpence  hath  my  charmer  got, 
AVhile  I  can  muster  just  a  groat ; 
So  that,  computing  self  and  Venus, 
Tenpence  would  clear  th'  amount  between  us. 

However,  things  may  yet  prove  better : — 

Meantime,  what  awful  length  of  letter! 

And  how,  while  heaping  thus  with  gibes 

The  Pegasus  of  modem  scribes, 

My  own  small  hobby  of  farrago 

Hath  beat  the  pace  at  which  even  they  go  ! 


LETTER  V 


FRO.M    LARRY    O  BRANIOiN,    I.N     ENGLAND,     :t>    HIS 
WIFE    JUDY,    AT    MULLINAFAD. 

Dear  Judy,  I  sind  you  this  bit  of  a  letther. 

By  mail-coach   conveyance — for  want   of  a   bet- 

ther— 
To  tell  you  what  luck  in  this  world  I  have  had 
Since  I  left  the  sweet  cabin,  at  Mullmafad. 
Och,  Judy,  that  night ! — when  the  pig  which  wo 

meant 
To  dry-nurse,  in  the  parlor,  to  pay  off  the  rent, 
Julianna,  the  craythur — that  name  was  the  death  of 

her' — 
Gave  us  the  shiip  and  we  saw  the  last  breath  of 

her! 
And  there  were  the  childher,  six  innocent  sowls. 
For  their  nate  little  play-fellow  tuning  up  howls  ; 
While  yourself,  my  dear  Judy,  (though  grievin's  a 

folly,) 
Stud  over  Julianna's  reniains,  melancholy — 
Crj'iu',  half  for  the  craythur,  and  half  for  tlie  money, 
"  Arrah,  why  did  ye  die  till  we'd  sowl'd  you,  my 

honey  ?" 

But  God's  will    be  done  ! — and   then,    faitli,   sure 

enough, 
As  the  pig  was  desaiced,  'twas  high  time  to  bo  off! 
So  we  gother'd  up  all  the  poor  duds  we  could  catch, 
Lock'd  the    owld    cabiu-door,  put   the  kay  hi  the 

thatch, 
Then  tuk  laave  of  each  other's  sweet  lips  in  the  dark, 
And  set  off,  like  tho  Chrishtians  turu'd  out  of  the 

Aik; 

^The  Irish  peasantry  are  verj'  fond  of  giving  fine  names  to 
their  pigs.  I  have  heard  of  one  instance  in  which  a  couple  of 
young  pigs  were  named,  at  Iheir  birih^  Abelard  and  Eloisa. 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


645 


The  six  childlier  with  you,  my  dear  Judy,  ochone  ! 
Aud  poor  I  wid  myself,  left  condolin'  alone. 

How  I   ca[iio   to   this  England,  o'er  say  and  o'er 

lands, 
And  what  cruel  hard  walkiu'  I've  had  on  my  hands, 
Is,  at  this  present  writiu',  too  tadions  to  speak. 
So  I'll  minlion  it  all  in  a  postscript,  next  week: — 
Only  starved  I  was,  surely,  as  thin  as  a  lath. 
Till  I  came  to  an  up-aud-down  place  they  call  Bath, 
\\  liere,  as  luck  was,  I  managed  to  make  a  meal's 

meat, 
By  dhraggiu'  owld  ladies  all  day  through  the  street — 
\Vhich  their   docthois   (who   pocket,  like  fnn,  the 

pound  starlins) 
Have  brought  into  fashion  to  plase  the  owld  darlins. 
Div'l  a  boy  in  all  Bath,  tliough  7  say  it,  could  carry 
The  grannies  up  hill  half  so  handy  as  Larry  ; 
And  the  higher  they  lived,  lilce  owld  crows,  in  the  air, 
The  more  /  was  wanted  to  lug  them  up  there. 

But  luck  has  two  handles,  dear  Judy,  tl-.ey  say, 
Aud  mine  has  both  handles  put  on  the  wrong  way. 
For,  pondherin',  one  morn,  on  a  drame  I'd  just  had 
Of  youi-self  and  the  babbies,  at  Mullinafad, 
Och,  there  came  o'er  my  sinses  so  plasiu'  a  fiutther, 
That  I  spilt  an  owld  Countess   right  clane  in  the 

gutther, 
Muff,    feathers    aud    all ! — the    descint    was    most 

awful, 
And — what  was  still  worse,  faith — I   knew   'twas 

unlawful : 
For,  though,  with  mere  loomen,  no  ver)-  great  evil, 
T'  upset  an  owld  Countess  in  Bath  is  the  divil ! 
So,  liftin'  the  chair,  with  herself  safe  upon  it. 
For  nothin'  aboi  -  her  was  kilt,  but  her  bonnet,) 
Without  even  mcntionin'  "  By  your  lave,  ma'am," 
J  tuk  to  my  heels  r>  >d — here,  Judy,  I  am  ! 

What's  the  name  of  this  town  I  can't  say  very  well. 
But  your  heart  sure  will  jump  when  you  hear  what 

befell 
Your  own  beautiful  Larry,  the  very  fii-st  day, 
(And  a  Sunday  it  was,  shinin'  out  mighty  gay,) 
When  his  brogues  to  this  city  of  luck  found  their 

way. 
Bein'  hungi-y,  God  help  me,  and  happeniu'  to  stop, 
Just  to  dine  on  the  shmcll  of  a  pasthry-coo'.c's  shop, 
I  saw,  in  the  window,  a  large  printed  paper. 
And  read  tliere  a  name,  ocli !  that  made  my  heart 

caper — 
Tliough  printed  it  was  in  some  quare  A  B  C, 
That  might  bother  a  schoolmasther,  let  alone  vie. 
By  gor,  you'd  have  laugh'd,  Judy,  could  you've  but 

lislen'd. 
As,  Joubtin',  I  cried,  "  why  it  is .' — no,  it  isn't :" 


But  it  was,  after  all — for,  by  spellin'  quite  slow. 
First  I  made  out  "  Rev.  Mortimer"— then  a  gieat 

"  O  ;" 
And,  at  last,  by  hard  readin'  and  rackin'  my  skull 

again. 
Out  it  came,  nate  as  imported,  "  O'Mulligau  !" 

L^p  I   jump'd,  like  a  sky-lark,  my  jewel,  at   that 

name, — 
Div'l  a  doubt  on  my  mind,  but  it  must  be  the  same. 
"  Masther    Murthagli,    hi.nself,"  says    I,  "  all   the 

world  over  ! 
"  My  own  fosther-brother — by  jinks,  I'm  in  clover. 
"  Though  t/iere,  in  the  pliy-bill,  he  figures  so  grand, 
"  One  wet-nurse  it  was  brought  us  both  up  by  hand, 
"  And  he'll  not  let  me  shlarve  .'n  thn  »  emy's  land  1" 

Well,  to  make  a  long  hishtorj'  short,  niver  doubt 
But  I  managed,  in  no  time,  to  find  the  lad  out ; 
And  the  joy  of  the  meetin'  bethuxt  him  aud  me. 
Such  a  pair  of  owld  cumrogues — was  charrain'  to 

see. 
Nor  is  Murthagh  less  plased  with   th'  evint    than 

I  am, 
-is  he  just  then  was  wanting  a  Valley-de-sham  ; 
And,  for  dressin'  a  gintleman,  one  way  or  t'other, 
Your  nate  Irish  lad  is  beyant  every  other. 

But  now,  Judy,  comes  tl-.e  quaro  part  of  the  case  ; 
And,  in  throlh,  it's  the  only  drawback  on  my  place, 
'Twas    Murthagh's    ill    luck  to  be  cross'd,  as  you 

know, 
W'ith  an  awkward  mishfortune  some  short  time  ago  ; 
That's  to  say,  he  turu'd  Protestant — why,  I  can't 

larn  ; 
But,  of  coorse,  he  knew  best,  an'  it's  not  my  consarn. 
All  I  know  is,  we  both  were  good  Cath'lics,  at  nurse. 
And  myself  am  so  still — nayther  betther  nor  worse. 
Well,  our  bargain  was  all  right  and  tight  in  a  jiffey, 
And  lads  more  contint  never  yet  left  the  Liffey, 
When    Murthagh — or     Morthiraer,    as    he's    now 

chrislieu'd,.jf 
His  name  being  couvarted,  at  laist,  if  he  isn't — 
Lookin'  sly  at  me  (faith,  'twas  divartin'  to  see) 
"  Of  coorse,  you're  a  Protestant,  Larrj-,"  says  he. 
Upon  which  says  myself,  wid  a  wink  just  as  shiy, 
"  Is't  a  Protestant  ? — oh  yes,  /  am,  sir,"  says  I ; — 
And  there  the  chat  ended,  and  div'l  a  more  word 
Controvarsial  between  us  has  since  then  occiur'd. 

What   Jlurthagh  could  mane,  and,  in  troth,  Judy 

dear. 
What  /  myself  meant,  doesn't  seem  mighty  clear ; 
But  the  thruth  is,  though  still  for  the  Owld  Light  a 

stickier, 
I  was  just  then  too  shiarvcd  to  bo  over  partic'lar: — 


646 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And,  God  knows,  between  us,  a  comic'ler  pair 
Of  twin  Protestants  couldn't  bo  seen  any  where. 

Next  Tuesday  (as    towld   in  the  play-bil!s  I  min- 

tion'd, 
Address'd  to  the  loyal  and  godly  intJntion'd) 
His     rivirence,    my    master,    comes     forward     to 

preach, — • 
Myself  doesn't  know  whether  samion  or  speecij, 
But  it's  all  one  to  him,  he's  a  dead  hand  at  each  ; 
Like  ns,  Paddys,  in  gln'ral,  whose  skill  in  orations 
Quite  bothers  the  blarney  of  all  other  nations. 

But,  whisht ! — (here's    his    Rivirence,    shoutin'  out 

"  Lariy," 
And    sorra   a    word    more   will  this  shmall    paper 

carry ; 
So,  here,  Judy,  ends  my  sliort  bit  of  a  letther, 
Which,  faix,  I'd    have    made  a  much  bigger  and 

betther, 
But  div'l  a  one  Post-office  hole  in  this  town 
Fit  to  swallow  a  dacent-sized  billy-dux  down. 
So    good    luck  to  the  childer  I — tell    Molly,  I  love 

her; 
Kiss    Oonagh's   sweet    mouth,  and    kiss  Katty  all 

over — 
Not  forgettin'  the  mark  of  the  red  currant  wliiskey 
Slio  got  at  the  fair  wlien  yourself  was  so  frisky. 
Tlio  heavens  be  your  bed  I — I  will  write,  when  I 

can  again, 
Youra  to  the  world's  end, 

Larry  O'Branigan, 


I.b:TTER   VI. 


FROM  MISS  BIDDY  FUDGE,  TO    MRS.  tILIZABETH  . 

How  I  grieve  you're  not  with  us  I — pray,  come,  if 

you  can, 
Ere  we're  robb'd  of  tliis  dear  oratorical  man, 
Who  combines  in  liimself  all  the  nuiltiple  glorj' 
Of  Orangeman,  Saint,  quondam  Pajtist  and  Tory  ; — 
(Choice  mixture  !  like  that  from  which,  duly  con- 
founded, 
The    best    sort    of   brass  was,  in    old  times,  com- 
pounded)— 
The  sly  and  the  saintly,  the  worldly  and  godly, 
All  fused  down  in  brogue  so  deliciously  oddly  I 
In  short,  he's  a  dear — and  such  audiences  draws, 
Sucli    loud   peals    of  laughter    and    shouts   of  ap- 
plause, 
As  cmi't  but  do  jjood  to  the  Protestant  cause. 


Poor    dear   Irish    Church ! — he    to-day  sketch'd    a 

view 
Of  her  history  and  prospects,  to  7ne  at  least  new, 
And  which  (if  it  takes  as  it  ought)  must  arouse 
The  whole  Christian  world  her  just  rights  to  espouse. 
As  to  reasoning — you  know,  dear,  that's  now  of  no 

use. 
People  still  will  iholr  facts  and  dry  fgures  produce, 
As  if  saving  the  souls  of  a  Protestant  flock  were 
A  thing  to  be  managed  "  according  to  Cocker  !" 
In  vain  do  we  say,  (when  rude  radicals  hector 
At  paying  some  thousands  a  year  to  a  Rector, 
In  places  where  Protestants  7iever  yet  were,) 
"Who  knows  but  yomig  Protestants  ?iiai/  be  born 

there  ?" 
And  granting  such  accident,  think,  what  a  shame, 
If   they  didn't    find    Rector  aud  Clerk  when  they 

came ! 
It  is  clear  that,  without  such  a  staff  on  full  pay, 
These  little  Church  embrj'os  vitist  go  astray  ; 
And,  while  fools  are  computing  what  Pareons  would 

cost, 
Precious  souls  arc  meanwhile  to  th'  Establishment 

lost ! 

In  vaiu  do  we  put  the  case  sensibly  thus  ; — 
They'll  still  with  th.eir  figures  and  facts  make  a  fuss, 
And  ask  "  if,  while  all,  choosing  each  his  own  road, 
"Journey  on,  as  we  can,   towards  the    Heavenly 

Abode, 
"  It  is  right  that  scfcn  eighths  of  the  travellers  should 

pay 

"  For  one  eighth  that  goes  quite  a  different  way  ?" — 
Just  as  if,  foolish  people,  this  wasn't,  in  reality, 
A  proof  of  the  Church's  extreme  liberality, 
That,  though  hating  Popery  in  other  respects, 
She  to  Catholic  moneif  \\\  no  way  objects  ; 
And  so  liberal  her  very  best  Saints,  in  this  sense, 
That  they  even  go  to  heaven  at  the  Catholic's  ex 

pense. 

But,  though  clear  to  our  minds  all  these  arguments  bo, 
People  cannot  or  loill  not  their  cogency  see  ; 
And,  I  grieve  to  confess,  did  the  poor  Irish  Church 
Stand  on  reasoning  alone,  she'd  be  left  in  the  lurch. 
It  was  therefore,  dear  Lizzy,  with  joy  most  sincere. 
That  I  heard  this  nice  Reverend  O'  something  we'vb 

here, 
Produce,    from    the    depths    of   his  knowledge  and 

reading, 
A  view  of  that  marvellous  Church,  lar  exceeding, 
In  novelty,  force,  and  profoundness  of  thought. 
All  that  In'ing  himself,  in  his  glory,  e'er  taught. 

Looking   through  the  whole    historj',  present    and 

past. 
Of  the  Irish  Law  Church,  from  the  first  to  the  last ; 

I 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


647 


Considering  liow  Btrange  its  original  birth — 
Such  a  thing  having  never  before  been  on  earth — 
How   opposed    to   the   mstinct,  tiio    law,   and    the 

force 
Of  nature  and  reason  has  been  its  whole  course  ; 
Througli  centuries  encouut'riug  repugnance,  resist- 
ance, 
Scorn,  hate,  execration — yet  still  in  existence ! 
Considering  all  this,  the  conclusion  he  draws 
Is  that  Nature  exempts  this  one  Church  from  her 

laws — 
That    Reason,  dumb-founder'd,  gives    np    tho    dis- 
pute, 
And  before  the  portentous  anomaly  stands  mute  ; — 
That,  in  short,  'tis  a  Miracle  !— and,  once  begun, 
And    transmitted    through    ages,    from   father    to 

son. 
For  the  honor  of  miracles,  ought  to  go  on. 

Never  yet  was  conclusion  so  cogent  and  sound. 
Or  60  titled  the  Cliurch's  weak  foes  to  confound. 
For,  observe,  the    more    low    all    her   merits    they 

place, 
The  more  they  make  out  tho  miraculous  case. 
And    the    more    all    good  Christians  must  deem  it 

profane 
To  disturb  such  a  prodigy's  man'ellous  reign. 

As    for    scriptural    proofs,  he  quite   placed    beyond 

doubt 
That  the  whole  in  tho  Apocalypse  may  be  found 

out. 
As    clear    and    well-proved,    be    would  venture  to 

swear. 
As  any  thing  else  has  been  ever  found  there : — 
While  the  mode  in  wliich,  bless  the  dear  fellow,  he 

deals 
With  that  whole    lot    of  vials    and    trumpets    and 

seals, 
And  the  ease  with  which  vial  on  vial  he  strings. 
Shows  liim  quite  a  first-rate    at  all  these  sort  of 

things. 

So  much  for  theology : — as  for  th'  affairs 

Of   this    temporal    world — the  light,  drawing-room 

cares 
And  gay  toils  of  the  toilet,  which,  God  knows,  I 

seek. 
From    no    love  of  such  things,  but  in  humbleness 

meek, 
And  to  be,  as  th'  Apostle  was,  "  weak    with    the 

weak," 
Tiiou  wilt  find  quite  enough  (till  Fm  somewhat  less 

busy) 
In    th'    extracts    enclosed,    my    dear    news-loving 

Lizzy. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  MY  DIARY. 

ThuradAi. 
Last  night,  having  naught  more  holy  to  do, 
Wrote  a  letter  to  dear  Sir  Andrew  Agnew, 
About  the  "  Do-nothing-on-Sunday-Chib," 
Which  wo  wish  by  some  sliorter  name  to  dub: — 
As  the  use  of  more  vowels  and  consonants 
Than  a  Christian,  on  Sunday,  really  wants, 
Is  a  grievance  that  ought  to  be  done  away, 
And  the  Alphabet  left  to  rest,  that  day. 

Sunday. 
Sir  Andrew's  answer  I — but,  shocking  to  say, 
Being  frank'd  unthinkingly  yesterday, 
To  the  horror  of  AghCAS  yet  unborn, 
It  arrived  on  this  blessed  Sunday  mom ! ! — 
How  shocking  ! — tlie  postman's  self  cried  "  shame 

on't," 
Seoing  th'  immaculate  Andrew's  name  on't  1 1 
What  will  the  Club  do? — meet,  no  doubt. 
'Tis  a  matter  that  touches  the  Class  Devout, 
And  the  friends  of  the  Sabbath  must  speak  out. 

Tuesday. 
Saw  to-day,  at  the  rafile — and  saw  it  with  pain — 
That  those  stylish  Fitzwigrams  begin  to  dress  plain. 
Even  gay  little  Sophy  smart  trimmings  renounces — 
She,  who  long  has  stood  by  me  through  all  sorts  of 

flounces. 
And  show'd,  by  upholding  tho  toilet's  sweet  rites. 
That  we,  girls,  may  be  Cliri.stians,   without  being 

frights. 
This,  I  own,  much  alamis  me;    for  though  one's 

religious,  [hideous; 

And    strict    and — all   tliat,   there's  no   need  to  be 
And  why  a  nice  bonnet  should  stand  in  the  way 
Of  one's  going  to  heaven,  'tisn't  easy  to  say. 

Then,  there's  Gimp,  the  poor  thing — if  her  custom 

we  drop, 
Pray,  what's  to  become  of  her  soul  and  her  shop  ? 
If  by  saints  like  ourselves  no  more  orders  are  given, 
She'll  lose  all  the  interest  she  now  takes  in  heaven ; 
And    tliis  nice  little  "  fire-brand,  pluck'd  from  the 

burning," 
May  fall  in  agam  at  the  very  next  turning. 

IVednesday . 

Mem. — To  write  to  the  India-Mission  Society  ; 
And  send  £20 — heavy  tax  upon  piety  ! 

Of  all  Indian  luxuries  we  now-a-days  boast, 
Making  "  Company's  Christians'"  perlu  is  costs  vhe 
most. 


1  The  lille  given  by  the  natives  to  such  cf  their  country- 
men as  beconie  converts. 


648 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  the  worst   of  it   is,  that   these    converts   full 

grown, 
Having  lived  in  our  faith,  mostly  die  in  their  own,' 
Praying  hard,  at  the  last,  to  some  god  who,  they 

say. 
When  incarnate  on  earth,  used  to  steal  curds  and 

whey.^ 
Thiik,  how  horrid,  my  dear ! — so  that's  all  thrown 

away; 
And  (what  is  still  worse)  for  the  rum  and  tlie  rice 
They  consumed,  while  believers,  we  saints  pay  the 

price. 

Still  'tis  cheermg  to  find  that  we  do  save  a  few — 
The    Report    gives   six    Cliristians    for   Cunnang- 

cadoo ; 
Doorkotchum  reckons  seven,  and  four  Trevandrum, 
While  but  one  and  a  half's  left  at  Cooroopadum. 
In  tills  last-meutiou"d  place  'tis  the  barbers  enslave 

'em. 
For,  once  they  turn  Christians,  no  barber  will  shave 

'«I71  = 

To  atone  for  this  rather  small  Heathen  amount, 
Some  Papists,  turn'd  Christians,*  are  tack'd  to  th' 

account. 
And  though,  to  catch  Papists,  one  needn't  go  so  far. 
Such  fish  are  worth  hooking,  wherever  they  are  ; 
And  71010,  when  so  great  of  such  converts  the  lack  is, 
One    Papist    well    caught    is    worth    millions    of 

Blackies. 

Friday. 
Last  night  had  a  dream  so  odd  and  funny, 

I  cannot  resist  recording  it  here. — 
Methought  that  the  Genius  of  Matrimony 

Before  me  stood,  with  a  joyous  leer. 
Leading  a  husband  in  eacli  hand. 

And  both  for  7ne,  which  lodk'd  rather  queer ; — 

1  Of  such  relapses  we  find  ianuraerable  instances  in  the 
accounts  of  Ihe  Missionaries. 

2  The  god  Krishna,  one  of  the  incarnations  of  the  god 
Vishnu.  "One  day  (says  Ihr  Bhagavata)  Krishna's  play- 
fellows complained  to  Tasuda  l^t  he  had  pilfered  and  ate 
their  curds.*' 

3  "  Rotcen  wants  shaving ;  but  the  barber  here  will  not  do 
it.  He  is  run  away  lest  he  should  be  coiujielled.  He  says 
he  will  not  shave  Yesoo  Kreesl's  people." — Bapt.  JUissiou 
Society,  vol.  ii.  p.  493. 

*  In  the  Reports  of  the  Missionaries,  the  Roman  Calholics 
are  almost  always  classed  along  with  the  Heathen.  "  1  have 
extended  my  labors  (says  James  Venning,  in  a  Report  for 
1831)  to  the  Heathen,  Mahonieclans,  and  Roman  Catholics." 
"The  Heathen  and  Roman  Catholics  in  this  neighborhood 
(says  another  missionary  for  the  year  183-2)  are  not  InditTer- 
ent,  but  withstand,  rather  than  yield  to,  the  force  of  truth." 

•  An  account  of  these  Powerscourt  Conversaziones,  (under 
the  direct  presidency  of  Lord  Roden,)  as  well  as  a  list  of  the 
subjects  discussed  at  the  ditferent  meetings,  may  be  I'uund  in 
the  Christian  Herald  for  the  month  of  December,  183-2.  The 
following  is  a  specimen  of  the  nature  of  the  question  sub- 


One  I  could  perfectly  understand, 

But  why  there  were  tico  wasn't  quite  so  clear. 
'Twas  meant,  however,  I  soon  could  see, 

To  afford  me  a  choice — a  most  excellent  plan ; 
And — who  should  this  brace  of  candidates  be. 

But  Messrs.  O'Mulligan  and  Magan : — 
A  thing,  I  suppose,  unheard  of  till  then. 
To  dream,  at  once,  of  two  Irishmen ! — 
That  handsome   Magan,  too,  with   wings   on    his 
shoulders, 

(For  all  this  pass'd  in  the  realms  of  the  Bless'd,) 
And  quite  a  creature  to  dazzle  beholders ; 

While  even  O'Mulligan,  feather'd  and  dress'd 

As  an  elderly  clienib,  w.as  looking  his  best 
Ah  Liz,  you,  who  know  me,  scarce  can  doubt 
As  to  which  of  the  two  I  singled  out. 
But — awful  to  tell — when,  all  in  dread 

Of  losing  so  bright  a  vision's  charms, 
I  grasp'd  at  Magan,  his  image  fled. 
Like  a  mist,  away,  and  I  found  but  the  head 

Of  O'Mulligan,  wings  and  all,  in  my  arms ! 
The  Angel  had  flown  to  some  nest  divine. 
And  the  elderly  Cherub  alone  was  mine  ! 
Heigho ! — it  is  certain  that  foolisli  Magan 
Either  can't  or  won't  see  that  ho  might  be  the  man ; 
And,  perhaps,  dear — who  knows? — if  naught  better 

befall 
But — O'Mulligan  may  be  the  man,  after  all. 

N.B. 

Next  week  mean  to  have  my  first  scriptural  rout. 
For  the  special  discussion  of  matters  devout ; — 
Like  those  soirees,  at  Powerscourt,'  so  justly  re- 

nown'd. 
For  the  zeal  with  whicli  doctrine  and  negus  went 

round; 
Those  theology  routs  which  the  pious  Lord  R— d — n. 
That  pink  of  Christianity,  first  set  the  mode  in  ; 

mitted  to  the  company :— "  Jilnnday  Evening,  Siz  o'clock, 
September  24,  1832. — '  An  examination  into  the  quotations 
given  in  the  New  Testament  from  the  Old,  with  their  con- 
nection and  explanation,  viz.  &c.  &;c.' — Wednesday. — 
'Should  we  expect  a  personal  Antichrist?  and  to  whom  will 
he  t/e  revealed  r  &c.  &:c. — Friday. — 'What  light  does  Scrip- 
ture throw  on  present  events,  and  their  moral  character  ? 
f^Ttat  is  next  to  be  looked  for  or  expected  ?'  "  &c. 

The  rapid  progress  made  at  these  tea-parties  in  settling 
points  of  Scripture,  may  be  judged  from  a  paragraph  in  the 
account  given  of  one  of  their  evenings,  by  the  Christian 
Herald  :— 

"  On  Daniel  a  good  deal  of  light  was  thrown,  and  there  was 
some,  I  think  not  so  much,  perhaps,  upon  the  Revelations ; 
though  particular  parts  of  it  were  discussed  with  considerable 
accession  of  knowledge.  There  was  some  very  interesting 
inquirj'  as  to  the  quotation  of  the  Old  Testament  in  Ihe  New 
particularly  on  the  point,  whether  there  was  ary  sccommc- 
dation,'  or  whether  they  were  quoted  according  to  the  mind  of 
the  Spirit  in  the  Old :  this  gave  occasion  to  some  \-ery  in- 
teresting development  of  Scripture.  The  progress  of  the 
AntichrisUan  powers  was  very  fully  discussed  " 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


649 


Where,  blessed  down-pouring !'  from  tea  until  nine, 
Tlie  subjects  lay  all  in  tlie  Propliecy  line  ; — 
Then,  supper — and  tlien,  if  for  topics  hard  driven, 
From  thenco  until  bed-time  to  Satan  was  given  ; 
While  R — d — n,  deep  read  in  each  topic  and  tome. 
Oil  all  subjects  (especially  the  last)  was  at  home. 


LETTER  VII. 

FROM  MISS  FANNY  FUDGE,  TO  IIF.R  COUSIN, 
Miss  KITTV  . 

IRREGULAR  ODE. 

Brlnq  me  the  slumbering  souls  of  flowers, 
While  yet,  beneath  some  northern  sky, 
Ungilt  by  beams,  uugemm'd  by  showers. 
They  wait  the  breath  of  summer  hours, 
To  wake  to  light  each  diamond  eye. 
And  let  loose  eveiy  florid  sigh  ! 

Bring  me  the  fii"st-born  ocean  waves. 
From  out  those  deep  primeval  caves, 
Where  from  the  dawn  of  Time  they've  lain — 
The  Embryos  of  .\  future  Main  ! — 
Untaught  as  yet,  young  things,  to  speak 

The  language  of  their  Parent  Sea, 
(PoIyphlysbtBan'^  named  in  Greek,) 
Though  soon,  too  soon,  in  bay  and  creek, 
Roimd  startled  isle  and  wondering  peak, 

They'll  thunder  loud  and  long  as  He  ! 

Bring  me,  from  Hecla's  iced  abode. 
Young  fires 

I  had  got,  dear,  thus  far  in  my  Ode, 
Intending  to  fill  the  whole  page  to  the  bottom, 
But,  having  invoked  such  a  lot  of  fine  things. 
Flowers,  billows  and  thunderbolts,  rainbows  and 
wings. 
Didn't  know  wliat  to  do  with  'em,  wiien  I  had  got 

'em. 
The  trutli.is,  my  thoughts  are  too  full,  at  this  minute, 

Of  past  MSS.  any  new  ones  to  try. 
This  very  night's  coach  brings  my  destiny  in  it — 

Decides  the  great  question,  to  live  or  to  die  ! 
And,  wbetlier  I'm  henceforth  immortal  or  no. 
All  depends  on  the  answer  of  Simpkins  and  Co. ! 

1  "  About  eight  o'clock  the  Lord  began  to  pour  down  his 
spirit  copiously  upon  us — for  they  had  all  by  this  time  as- 
sembled in  my  room  for  the  purpose  of  prayer.  This  down- 
poaring  contirued  till  about  ten  o'clock." — Letter  from  RIary 
Campbell  to  the  Rev.  John  Campbell,  of  Row,  (dated  Ferni- 


You'll  think,  love,  I  rave,  so  'tis  best  to  let  out 
Tlie  whole  secret,  at  once — I  have  publish'd  a 
Book  ! ! ! 
Yes,  an  actual  Book  : — if  the  marvel  you  doubt, 

You  have  only  in  last  Monday's  Courier  to  look, 
And  you'll  find  "  This  day  publish'd  by  Simpkins 

and  Co. 
"  A  Romaunt,  m  twelve  Cantos,  entitled  '  Wo  Wo !' 
"  By  Miss  Fanny  F ,  known  more  commonly 

so  inr." 

This  I  put  that  my  friends  mayn't  be  left  In  the  dark, 
But  may  guess  at  my  writing  by  knowing  my  mark. 

How  I  managed,  at  last,  this  great  deed  to  achieve, 
Is  itself  a  "  Romaunt"  which  you'd  scarce,  dear, 

believe  ; 
Nor  can  I  just  now,  being  all  hi  a  whirl. 
Looking  out  for  the  Magnet,'  explain  it,  ;^es   j'rl. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  one  half  the  expense 
Of  this  leasehold  of  fame  for  long  centuries  I  ence — 
(Though  "  God  knows,"  as  aunt  says,  my  humble 

ambition 
Aspires  not  beyond  a  small  Second  Edition,) — 
One  half  the  whole  cost  of  the  paper  and  printing, 
I've  managed  to  scrape  up,  this  year  past,  by  stinting 
My  own  little  wants  in  gloves,  ribands,  and  shoes. 
Thus  defraudmg  the  toilet  to  fit  out  the  Muse ! 

And  who,  my  dear  Kitty,  woidd  not  do  the  same  ? 
What's  eau  de  Cologne  to  the  sweet  breath  of  fame? 
Yards  of  riband   soon   end^but   the  measures  of 

rhyme, 
Dipp'd  in  hues  of  the  rainbow,  stretch  out  through 

all  time. 
Gloves  languish  and  fade  away,  pair  after  pair. 
While  couplets  shine  out,  but  the  brighter  for  wear. 
And  the  dancing-shoe's  gloss  in  an  evening  is  gone. 
While  light-footed  lyrics  through  ages  trip  on. 

The  remaining  expense,  trouble,  risk — and,  alas ! 
My  poor  cop)'Tight  too — into  other  hands  pass  ; 
And  my  friend,  the  Head   Dev'l  of  the  "  County 

Gazette," 
(The  only  Mectjenas  I've  ever  had  yet,) 
He  who  set  up  in  type  my  first  juvenile  lays. 
Is  now  set  up  by  them  for  the  rest  of  his  days  ; 
And    while    Gods  (as  my  "  Heathen    Mythology" 

says) 
Live  on  naught  but  ambrosia,  his  lot  how  much 

sweeter 
To  live,  lucky  dev'l,  on  a  young  lady's  metre  ! 

cary,  April  4, 1830,)  giving  an  account  of  her '*  miracnloua 
cure." 

2  If  you  guess  what  this  word  means,  'tis  more  than  /can : — 
1  but  give't  as  I  got  it  from  Mr.  Magan.  F.  F. 

3  A  day-coach  of  that  name. 


G50 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


r" 


As  for  puffin'^ — that  first  of  all  lit'rary  boous, 
And  essentia]  alike  both  to  bards  and  balloons — 
As,  unless  well  snpplicd  with  inflation,  'tis  found 
Neither  bards  nor  balloons  budge  an  inch  from  the 

ground ; — 
In  this  respect,  naught  could  more  prosp'rous  befall ; 
As  my  friend  (for  no  less  this  kind  imp  can  I  call) 
Knows  the  whole  world  of  critics — the  Injprrs  and 

all. 
I  suspect  he  himself,  indeed,  dabbles  in  rhyme, 
Which,  for  imps  diabolic,  is  not  the  first  time ; 
As  I've  heard  imclo  Bob  say,  'twas  known  among 

Gnostics, 
That   the   Dev'l   on  Two  Sticks  was   a    dev'l   at 

Acrostics. 

But  hark  !  there's  tho  Magnet  just  dasli'd  in  from 

Town- 
How  my  heart,  Kitty,  beats  !    I  shall    surely  diop 

down. 
That  awful  Court  Journal,  Gazette,  Athcnaium, 
All  full  of  my  book — I  shall  sink  wlien  I  see  'em. 
And  then  the  great  point — whether  Simpkins  and 

Co. 
Are  actually  pleased  with  their  bargain  or  no  ! — 

Five  o^clock. 
All's  delightful — such  praises  ! — I  really  fear 
Tliat  this  poor  little  head  will  turn  giddy,  my  dear ; 
I've  but  time  now  to  scud  you  tw'o  exquisite  scraps — 
All  the  rest  by  the  Magnet,  on  Monday,  perhaps. 

FRO.M  THE  "  HORNING  POST." 

'Tis  known  that  a  certain  distingtiish'd  physician 
Prescribes,    for    dyspepsia,    a    course    of    light 

reading ; 
And   Rliymes  by   young    Ladies,    the   first,   fresli 

edition, 
(Ere  critics  have  injured  their  powers  of  nutrition,) 
Are  he  thinks,  for  weak  stomachs,  the  best  sort 

of  feeding. 
Satires  irritate — love-songs  are  found  calorific  ; 
But  smooth,  female  sonnets  he  deems  a  specific. 
And,  if  taken  at  bed-time,  a  sure  soporific. 
Among  works  of  this  kind,  tho  most  pleasing  we 

know. 
Is  a  volume  just  publisli'd  by  Simpkins  and  Co., 
Where  all  .such  ingredients — the  flowen,',  the  sweet, 
And  the  gently  narcotic — are  mi.\'d  ;)fr  receipt, 
With  a  hand  so  judicious,  we've  no  hesitation 
To  say  that — 'hove  all,  for  the  young  generation — 
'TLs  an  elegant,  soothing,  and  safe  preparation. 

Nola  bene — for  readers,  whose  object's  to  sleep. 
And  who  read  in  their  nightcaps,  tho  publishers  keep 
Good  fire-proof  binding,  which  comes  very  cheap. 


ANECDOTE FRO.M  THE  "  COURT  JOURNAL. 

T'other  night,  at  the  Countess  of  *  *  *'s  rout. 
An  amusing  event  was  mucli  whisper'd  about. 

It  was  said  that  Lord ,  at  the  Council,  that  day. 

Had,  more  than  once,  jump'd  from  his  seat,  like 

a  rocket. 
And  flown  to  a  corner,  where — heedless,  they  say, 
How     the    countrj''s    resources    were    squander'd 

away — 
He    kept   reading  somf    lapers  he'd  brought   in 

his  pocket. 
Some  thought  them  dispatches  from  Spain  or  tho 

Turk, 
Others    swore    they  brought   word    wo    had  lost 

the  Mauritius  ; 
But  it  turn'd  out  'twas  only  Miss  Fudge's  new  work, 
Which    his    Lordshif     •'evour'd    with    such    zeal 

expeditious — 
Blessrs.  Simpkins  and  Co.,  to  avoid  all  delay, 
Having  sent  it  in  sheets,  that  his  Lordship  might 

say. 
He  had  distanced  tlio   whole  reading   world  by  a 

day! 


LETTER  Vin. 

from  bob  fudge,  esq.,  to  the  rev.  mortimer 
o'mulligan. 

Tuesday  evening. 
I  much  regret,  dear  Reverend  Sir, 

I  could  not  come  to  *  *  *  to  meet  you  : 
But  this  cursed  gout  wo'n't  let  me  stir — 

Ev'n  now  I  but  by  proxy  greet  you, 
As  this  vile  scrawl,  whate'er  its  sense  is. 
Owes  all  to  an  amanuensis. 
Most  other  scourges  of  disease 
Reduce  men  to  extremities — 
But  gout  wo'n't  leave  one  even  tliese. 

From  all  my  sister  writes,  I  see 
That  you  and  I  will  quite  agree. 
I'm  a  plain  man,  W'ho  speak  the  truth, 

And  trust  you'll  think  me  not  uncivil. 
When  I  declare  that,  from  my  youth, 

I've  wish'd  your  country  at  the  devil : 
Nor  can  I  doubt,  indeed,  from  all 

I've  heard  of  your  high  patriot  fame — 
From  every  word  your  lips  let  fall — 

That  you  most  truly  wish  the  same. 
It  plagues  one's  life  out — thirty  years 
Have  I  had  dinning  in  my  ears, 

"  Ireland  wants  this,  and  that,  and  t'other," 


THE  FUDGES 

IN  ENGLAND.                                  651 

And,  to  this  hour,  one  nolliinir  hears 

However,  let's  not  yet  despair  ; 

But  the  same  vile,  eternal  bother. 

Thougli  Toryism's  eclipsed,  at  present, 

While,  of  those  countless  thinn;s  slie  wanted, 

And — like  myself,  in  this  old  cnair — 

Thank  God,  but  httle  Ims  been  granted, 

Sits  in  a  state  by  'lo  means  pleasant ; 

And  ev'n  that  Utile,  If  we're  men 

Feet  crippled — hands,  in  Uickless  hour, 

And  Britons,  we'll  have  back  again ! 

Disabled  of  their  grasping  power ; 

And  all  that  rampant  glee,  which  rcvell'd 

I  really  think  that  Catholic  question 

In  this  world's  sweets,  be-dull'd,  be-dcvil'd — 

Was  what  brought  on  my  iiidijjestlon  ; 

Yet,  thongh  eondemn'd  to  frisk  no  more, 

And  still  each  year,  as  Popery's  curse 

And  both  in  Chair  of  Penance  set. 

Has  gather'd  round  us,  I've  got  worse  ; 

There's  something  tells  me,  all's  not  o'er. 

Till  ev'n  my  pint  of  port  a  day 

With  Toryism  or  Bobby  yet  ; 

Can't  keep  the  Pope  and  bde  away. 

That  though,  between  lis,  I  allow 

And  whereas,  till  the  Catholic  bill, 

We've  not  a  leg  to  stand  on  now ; 

I  never  wanted  drauglit  or  pill, 

Thongli  curecd  Reform  and  colchicum 

The  settling  of  that  cursed  question 

Have  made  us  both  look  deuced  glum. 

Has  quite  unsettled  my  digestion. 

Yet  still,  in  spite  of  Grote  and  Gout, 

Again  we'll  shine  triumphant  out ! 

Look  what  has  happen'd  since — the  Elect 

Of  all  the  bores  of  every  sect, 

Yes — back  again  shall  come,  egad. 

The  chosen  triers  of  men's  patience, 

Our  turn  for  sport,  my  reverend  lad. 

From  all  the  Three  Denominations, 

And  then,  O'Mulligan — oh  then. 

Let  loose  upon  us  ; — even  Quakers 

When  mounted  on  our  nags  again, 

Tnrn'd  into  speechers  and  law-makers, 

You,  on  your  high-flown  Rosinante, 

Who'll  move  no  question,  stifF-rump'd  elves, 

Bedizen'd  out,  like  Show-Gallantee, 

Till  fii-st  the  Spirit  moves  themselves  ; 

(Glitter  gieat  from  substance  scanty ;) — 

And  whose  shrill  Yeas  and  Nays,  in  chorus. 

Wliile  I,  Bob  Fudge,  Esquire,  shall  ride 

Conquering  our  Ays  and  Nos  sonorous, 

Your  faithful  Sancho,  by  your  side  ; 

Will  soon  to  deatli's  own  slumber  snore  us. 

Then — talk  of  tilts  and  tournaments  ! 

Then,  too,  tliose  Jews  ! — I  really  sicken 

Dam'me,  we'll 

To  think  of  such  abomination  ; 

Fellows,  who  wo'n't  eat  liam  with  chicken, 

*             *             *             It             * 

To  legislate  for  this  great  nation  I — ■ 

'Squire  Fudge's  clerk  presents 

Depend  upon't,  when  once  they've  sway, 

To  Reverend  Sir  his  compliments  ; 

With  rich  old  Goldsmid  at  the  head  o'  them  I 

Is  grieved  to  say  an  accident 

Th'  Excise  laws  will  be  done  away, 

Has  just  occurr'd  which  will  prevent 

And  Circumcise  ones  pass'd  instead  o'  them ! 

The  Squire — though  now  a  little  better — 

From  finishing  this  present  letter. 

Li  short,  dear  sir,  look  where  one  will, 

Just  wlien  he'd  got  to  "  Dam'me,  we'll " 

Things  all  go  on  so  devilish  ill. 

His  Houor,  full  of  martial  zeal. 

That  'pon  my  soul,  I  ratiier  fear 

Giasp'd  at  his  cnitcli,  but  not  being  able 

Our  reverend  Rector  may  be  right, 

To  keep  his  balance  or  his  hold, 

Who  tells  me  the  Millennium's  near  ; 

Tumbled,  both  S'  If  and  crutch,  and  roU'd 

Nay,  swears  he  knows  the  very  year. 

Like  ball  and  bat,  beneath  the  table. 

And  regulates  his  leases  by't ; — 

Meaning  their  terms  should  end,  no  doubt, 

All's  safe— the  table,  chair,  and  crutch; — 

Before  tlie  world's  ov.-n  lease  is  out. 

Nothing,  thank  God,  is  broken  much, 

He  thinks,  too,  that  the  whole  thing's  ended 

But  the  Squire's  head,  which,  in  the  fall. 

So  much  more  soon  than  was  intended. 

Got  biimji'd  consid'rably — that's  all. 

Purely  to  scourge  those  men  of  sin 

At  this  no  great  alarm  we  feel, 

Who  brought  th'  accursed  Reform  Bill  in.* 

As  the  Squire's  head  can  bear  a  deal. 

1  This  appears  to  have  been  the  opinion  also  of  an  eloquent 

pvnislithe  Kivgs  who  do  not  acknowledge  that  their  authority 

wrilerin  the  Morning  Wat  h.    "One  great  ohjecl  of  Christ's 

is  derived  from  him,  and  tc/io  submiito  receive  it  from  that 

second  Advent,  as  the  Man  and  as  the  King  of  the  Jews,  is  to 

many-headed  monster,  the  mob."    No.  X.  p.  373. 

652 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Wednesday  morAitg. 
Squire  miicli  the  same — head  rather  light — 
Raved  about  "  Barbers'  Wigs"  all  night. 

Our  housekeeper,  old  Mrs.  Griggs, 
Suspects  that  he  meant  "  barbarous  Whigs." 


LETTER  IX. 

FROM  LARRY  o'bRANIGAN,  TO  HIS  WIFE  JUDY. 

As  it  was  but  last  week  that  I  sint  you  a  letther. 
You'll  woudlier,  dear  Judy,  what  this  is  about ; 

And,  throth,  it's  a  Ictthcr  myself  would  like  betther, 
Could  I  manage  to  lave  the  contints  of  it  out ; 

For  sure,  if  it  makes  even  me  onaisy. 

Who  takes  things  quiet,  'twill  dhrive  you  crazy. 

Oh,  Judy,  that  riverind  Murthagh,  bad  scran  to 

him ! 
That  e'er  I  should  come  to've  been  sarvant-man  to 

him. 
Or  so  far  demane  the  O'Branigan  blood, 
And  my  Aunts,  the  Diluvians,  (whom  not  ev'n  the 

Flood 
Was  able  to  wash  away  clane  from  the  earth,') 
As  to  sarve  one  whose  name,  of  mere  yestherday's 

birth, 
Can  no  more  to  a  great  O,  before  it,  purtend, 
Tliau  mine  can  to  wear  a  great  Q  at  its  end. 

But  that's  now  all  over — last  night  I  gov  wamin', 
And,    masth'r    as   he    is,    will    discharge    him   this 

mornin'. 
The  thief  of  the   world ! — but    it's  no  use  balrag- 

gin'  ;'— 
All  I  know  is,  r  }  *ifty  times  rather  be  draggin' 
Ould  ladies  up  hih  to  the  iud  of  my  days, 
Thau  witli   Murthagh  to  rowl  in  a  chaise,  at  my 

aise. 
And  be  forced  to  discind  thro'  the  same  dirty  ways. 
Arrah,  sure,  if  I'd  iieerd  where  he  last  show'd  his 

pliiz, 
I'd  have  known  what  a  quare  sort  of  monsther  he 

is; 


J  "  I  am  of  your  Palri;irchs,  I,  a  branch  of  one  of  your 
antcdiUniitn  families — fellows  that  the  Flood  could  not  wash 
away." — Conoreve,  Love  for  Love. 

3  To  balratr  is  to  altu^c — Ah".  Lover  makes  it  ballyrag,  nnd 
he  is  high  iiuthorily  :  but  if  I  remember  rightly,  Curran  in 
hli  national  storiei  2sed  i  employ  the  word  as  above. — See 


For,  by  gor,  'twas  at  Exether  Change,  sure  enough, 

That  himself  and  his  other  wild  Irisli  show'd  off; 

And  it's  pity,  so  'tis,  that  they  hadn't  got  no  man 

Who  knew  the  wild  craythurs  to  act  as  their  show- 
man— 

Sayin',  "  Ladies  and  Gintlemen,  plaze  to  take  no- 
tice, 

"  How  shlira  and  how  shleek  this  black  animal's 
coat  is ; 

"  All  by  raison,  we're  towld,  that  the  uathur  o'  the 
baste 

*'  Is  to  change  its  coat  once  iu  its  lifetime,  at  laste ; 

"  And  such  objilts,  iu  our  counthry,  not  bein'  com- 
mon ones, 

"  Are  bought  up,  as  this  was,  by  way  of  Fine 
Nomenons. 

"  In  regard  of  its  name — why,  in  tliroth,  I'm  con- 
sarn'd 

"  To  differ  on  this  point  so  much  with  the  Larn'd, 

"  Who  call  it  a  '  Morthimer'  whereas  the  cray- 
thur 

"  Is  plainly  a  *  Murthagh,'  by  name  and  by  uathur." 

This  is  how  I'd  have  towld  them  the  rights  of  it 

all. 
Had  /  been  their  showman  at  Exether  Hall — 
Not  forgettin'  that  other  great  wondher  of  Airin 
(Of  th'  owld  bitther  breed  which  they  call  Prosbe- 

tairin,) 
The  famed  Daddy  C — ke — who,  by  gor,  I'd  have 

shown  'em 
As  proof  how  such  bastes  may   be   tamed,  when 

you've  thrown  'em 
A  good  frindly  sop  of  the  rale  Raigin  Donem? 

But,  throth,  I've  no  lalsure  just  now,  .Tudy  dear, 

For  any  thing,  barrin'  our  own  doings  here, 

And  the  cursin'  and  dammln'  and  thund'rin',  like 

mad, 
We  Papists,  God  help  us,  from  Murthagh  have  had. 
He  says  we're  all  nuntlierers — div'l  a  bit  less — 
And  that  even  our  priests,  when  we  go  to  confess, 
Give  us  lessons  iu  murth'ring  and  wish  us  success ! 

When  ax'd  how  he  daar'd,  by  tongue  or  by  pen, 
To  belie,  in  this  way,  seven  millions  of  men, 
Faith,  he  said  'twas   all  towld    him    by  Doclhoi 
Den  !• 


Lover's  most  amusing  and  genuinely  Irish  work,  the  "  Le 
gends  and  Stories  of  Ireland." 

3  LalTy  evidently  means  the  Rrtrinm  Donum.  nstjm  con- 
tributed by  the  government  annually  to  tlie  support  of  the 
Presbyterian  churches  in  Ireland. 

*  Correctly,  Dens— Larry  not  L.^ing  very  particular  in  hii 
nomenclature. 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


653 


"  And  who  the  div'I's  he  ?"  was  the  question  that 

flew 
From   Chrislitian   to   Clirishtiaii  —  but   not  a  Bowl 

knew. 
While  on  went  Miirthagh,  in  iligant  style, 
Waspliamiug  us  Cath'lics  all  the  while, 
V=:  a  pack  of  desaivers,  parjurere,  villiaiis, 
AH  the  whole  kit  of  th'  aforesaid  millions,' — 
Yourself,  dear  Judy,  as  well  as  the  rest, 
Vnd  the  innocent  craytliur  that's  at  your  breast, 
VII  rogues  together,  in  word  and  deed, 
t  >wld  Den  our'  insthructor  and  Sin  our  creed  ! 

When  a.x'd  for  his  proofs  again  and  again, 
I'iv'l  an  answer  he'd  give  but  Doctlior  Den. 
L'ouldn't  he  call  into  coort  some  liviti^  men? 
'■  Xo,  thank  you" — he'd  stick  to  Docthor  Den — 
An  ould  gentleman  dead  a  century  or  two, 
AMio  all  about  us,  live  Cath'lics,  knew  ; 
-\ud  of  coorse  was  more  handy,  to  call  in  a  hurry, 
Tlian  Docthor  IVIac  Hale  or  Docthor  Murray ! 

liiit,  throth,  it's  no  case  to  be  jokin'  upon. 
Though  myself,  from  bad  habits,  is  makin^  it  one. 
Even    you,    had    you    witness'd  his  grand  cliniac- 

therics, 
Which  actially  threw  one  owld  maid  in  hysterics — 
<  'r,  och  !  had  you  heerd  such  a  party  remark  as 

his, 
That  Papists  are  only  "  Humanity  s  carcasses, 
■  Ris'n" — but,  by  dad,  I'm  afeard  I  can't  give  it 

ye— 

■■  Ris'n  from  the  sepulchre  of — inactivity  ; 
■■  And,  like  oicld  corpses,  dug  up  from  antikity, 
■  Wandrin'  about  in  all  sorts  of  inikity  .' ."" — 
Even   you,   Judy,   true  as  you  are  to   the  Owld 

Light,  [flight 

Would    have    laugli'd,  out  and  out,  at  this  iligaut 
Of  that  figure  of  speech  call'd  the  Blatheruraskite. 
As  for  me,  though  a  funny  thought  now  and  then 

came  to  me, 
Rage  got  the  betther  at  last — and  small  blame  to 

me  I 
.So,  slapping  my  thigh,  "  by  the  Powers  of  Delf," 
Says  I  bowldly,  "  I'll  make  a  noration  myself." 
And  with  that  up  I  jumps — but,  my  darlint,   the 

minit 
I  cock'd  up  ray  head,  div'l  a  sinse  remain'd  in  it. 

»  "The  deeds  of  darkness  which  are  reduced  to  horrid 
practice  over  the  drunlten  debauch  of  the  midnight  assassin 
are  debated,  in  principle,  in  the  sober  morning  religious  con- 
ference of  the  priests." — Speech  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ghee. — 
"  The  character  of  the  Irish  people  generally  is,  that  they 
are  given  to  lying  and  to  acts  of  theft." — Speech  of  the  Rev. 
Robert  Daly. 

«"  But  she  (ri'jwry)  is  no  longer  (Ac  tenant  of  the  seput- 
tXre  of  tTiactivity.    She  has  come  from  the  burial-place, 


Though,  sailed,  I  could  have  got  beautiful  on, 
When  I  tuk  to  my  logs,  faith,  the  gab  was  all  gone : — 
Which  was  odd,  for  us,  Pats,  who,  whate'er  we've  a 

hand  In, 
At  laste  in  oiu  legs  show  a  sthrong  underEtandin' 

Howsumdever,  detarmiued  the  chaps  should  pureaive 
What  I  thought  of  their  doin's,  before  I  tuk  lave, 
"  In   regard  of  all  that,"  says  I  —  there  I  stopp'd 

short — 
Not  a  word  more  would  come,  thougli  I  sthruggled 

hard  for't 
So,  shnapping  my  fingers  at  what's  call'd  the  Chair, 
And  the  owld    Lord  (or  Lady,  I  b'lieve)  that  sat 

»  there — 
"  III  regard  of  all  (riol '    jays  I  bowldly  again— 
"To  owld    Nick  I  pitch   Mortimer — and  Docthor 

Den  ;"— 
Upon  which  the  whole  company  cried  out  "Amen  ;' 
And  myself  was  in  hopes  'twas  to  what  /  had  said, 
But,  by  gor,  no  such  thing — they  were  not  so  well 

bred  ; 
For,  'twas  all  to  a  pray'r  Murthagh  just  had  read 

out. 
By  way  of  fit  finish  to  job  so  devout ; 
That  is — afther  well  damning   one-half  the  com- 
munity, 
To  pray  God  to  keep  all  in  peace  an'  in  unity ! 

This  is  all  I  can  shtidFin  this  letther,  though  plinty 
Of  news,  faith,  I've  got  to  fill  more — if  'twas  twinty. 
But  I'll  add,  on  the  outside,  a  line,  should  I  need  it, 
(Writin'   "  Private"    upon    it,    that   no   one   may 

read  it,) 
To  tell  you  how  Mortimer  (as  the  Saints  chrishten 

him)  [him. 

Bears  the  big  shame  of  his   sarvaut's   dismisshiu' 

{Private  outside.) 

Just  come  from  his  riv'rence — the  job  is  all  done — 
By  the  powers,  I've  discharged  him  as  sure  as  a  guu  1 
And  now,  Judy  dear,  what  on  earth  I'm  to  do 
With  myself  and  my  appetite — both  good  as  new — 
Without  ev'n  a  single  traneeu  in  my  pocket. 
Let  alone  a  good,  dacent  pound-starlin',  to  stock  it — 
Is  a  mysht'ry  I  lave  to  the  One  that's  above, 
Who  takes  care  of  us,  dissolute  sowls,  when  nard 
dhrove . 


walking  forth  a  monster,  as  if  the  spirit  of  evil  had  corrupt- 
ed the  carcass  of  her  departed  humanity ;  noxious  and  noi- 
some, an  object  of  abhorrence  and  dismay  to  all  who  are  not 
leaded  with  her  in  iniquity." — Report  of  the  Rev.  Gentle- 
man's Speech,  June  20,  in  the  Record  Newspaper. 

We  may  well  ask,  after  reading  this  and  other  such  rev- 
erend ravings,  "  Cluis  dnbitat  quin  omne  sit  hoc  lationis 
egestas  ?" 


1 


654 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


LETTER  X. 

FROM    THE    REV     MORTIMER    o'mULLIGAN,    TO    THE 
REV.   

These  few  brief  lines,  my  reverend  friend, 
By  a  safe,  private  hand  I  send, 
(Fearing  lest  some  low  Catholic  wag 
Should  pry  into  the  Letter-bacf,) 
To  tell  you,  far  as  pen  can  dare, 
How  we,  poor  errant  martyi"s,  fare  ; — 
Martyrs,  not  quite  to  fire  and  rack, 
As  Saints  were,  some  few  ages  back, 
But — scarce  less  trying  in  its  way — 
To  lauijhter,  wheresoe'er  we  stray  ; 
To  jokes,  which  Providence  mysterious 
Pennits  ou  men  and  thintrs  so  serious, 
Lowering  the  Church  still  more  each  minute, 
And — injuring  our  preferment  in  it. 
Just  think,  how  worrj'ing  'tis,  my  friend. 
To  find,  where'er  our  footsteps  bend, 

Small  jokes,  like  squibs,  around  us  whizzing ; 
And  bear  the  eternal  torturing  play 
Of  that  great  engine  of  our  day, 

Unknown  to  th'  Inquisition — quizzing  ! 

Your  men  of  thumb-screws  and  of  racks 
Aim'd  at  the  hodif  their  attacks ; 
But  modern  torturere,  more  refined, 
Work  their  maciiinery  on  the  mind. 
Had  St.  Sebastian  had  the  luck 

With  me  to  be  a  godly  rover, 
Instead  of  arrows,  iie'd  be  stuck 

Witii  stings  of  ridicule  all  over  ; 
And  poor  St.  Lawrence,  who  was  kill'd 
By  being  on  a  grldir'n  grill'd. 
Had  he  but  shared  my  errant  lot, 
Instead  of  grill  on  gridir'n  hot, 
A  moral  roasting  would  have  got. 
Nor  should  I  (trjnng  as  all  this  is) 

Much  heed  the  snfFering  or  the  shame — 
As,  like  an  actor,  vsed  to  hisses, 

I  long  iiave  known  no  other  fame, 
But  tliat  (as  I  may  own  to  you, 
Though  to  the  loorld  it  would  not  do) 
No  hope  appears  of  fortune's  beams 
Shining  on  any  of  my  scliemes  ; 
No  chance  of  something  more  per  ann. 
As  supplement  to  K — Ilym — n  ; 

1  "  Atnnng  other  nmiable  enactments  a^inst  the  Catholics 
at  this  jieriod,  (1&19,)  the  price  of  five  pnunils  was  set  on 
the  he;i(i  of  rx  Kduiish  priest — being  exactly  the  same  sum 
olfercd  by  the  same  legislators  for  the  he:iil  of  a  wolf." 

Memoirs  of  Captain  Jiocky  book  i.,  chap.  10. 

3  In  the  first  edition  of  his  Dictionary,  Dr.  Johnson  very 
significantly  exemplified  the  meaning  of  the  word  "  alias"  by 


No  prospect  that,  by  fierce  abuse 
Of  Ireland,  I  shall  e'er  induce 
The  rulers  of  this  thinking  nation 
To  rid  us  of  Emancipation  ; 
To  forge  anew  the  sever'd  chain, 
And  bring  back  Penal  Laws  agaiu 

Ah,  happy  time  !  when  wolves  and  priests 
Alike  were  hunted,  as  wild  beasts  ; 
And  five  pounds  was  the  price,  y;er  head, 
For  bagging  either,  live  or  dead  ;^ — 
Though  oft,  we're  told,  one  outlaw'd  brother 
Saved  cost,  by  eating  up  the  other. 

Finding  thus  all  those  schemes  and  hopes 
I  built  upon  my  flowers  and  tropes 
All  scatter'd,  one  by  one,  away, 
As  flashy  and  unsound  as  they, 
The  question  comes — what's  to  be  done? 
And  there's  but  one  course  left  me — one. 
Heroes,  wlien  l  'ed  of  war's  alarms, 
Seek  sweet  repose  in  beauty's  amis. 
The  weary  Day-God's  last  retreat  is 
The  breast  of  silv'iy -footed  Thetis  ; 
And  mine,  as  mighty  Love's  my  judge, 
Shall  be  the  arms  of  rich  Miss  Fudge  I 

Start  not,  my  friend, — tlie  tender  scheme, 

Wild  and  romantic  though  it  seem, 

Beyond  a  parson's  fondest  dream. 

Yet  shines,  too,  with  those  golden  dyes 

So  pleasing  to  a  parson's  eyes — 

That  only  gilding  which  the  muse 

Cannot  around  her  sons  diffuse  ; — 

AVhich,  whencesoever  flows  its  bliss, 

From  wealthy  Miss  or  benefice, 

To  Mortimer  indifF'reut  is, 

So  he  can  make  it  only  his. 

There  is  but  one  slight  damp  I  see 

Upon  tliis  {«:heme's  felicity. 

And  that  is,  the  fair  heroine's  claim 

That  I  s-hall  take  her  family  name. 

To  this  (though  it»may  look  henpeckM) 

I  can't  quite  decently  object, 

Having  myself  long  chos'n  to  shine 

Conspicuous  in  the  alias^  line  ; 

So  tliat  henceforth,  by  wife's  decree, 

(For  Biddy  from  this  point  won't  budge,) 
Your  old  friend's  new  address  must  be 

The  Kcv.  Mortimer  O'Fudge— 

the  instance  of  5I;»lIet.  the  poet,  \^'ho  had  exchanged  for  llU:* 
more  refined  name  his  original  Scotch  patronymic,  MaUoch. 
"  What  other  proofs  he  gave  Nnv«  .Tolinson  of  disro'^pprt  to 
his  native  country,  I  know  not,  Iji.t  it  v\:is  remarked  of  him 
that  he  was  the  only  Scot  whom  Scotchmen  did  net  com- 
mend."— Life  of  Mallet. 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


655 


Tlie  "  O"  being  kept,  thsrt  all  may  see 
We're  both  of  ancient  family. 

Such,  friend,  nor  need  the  fact  amaze  you, 
My  piihlic  jil'e's  calm  Eutlianasia. 
Tims  bid  I  long  farewell  to  all 
Tlie  freaks  of  E.\cter"s  old  Hall- 
Freaks,  in  p;rimace,  ils  apes  exceeding, 
And  rivalling  its  bears  in  breeding. 
Farewell,  the  platform  fdl'd  with  preachers — 
The  |)ray'r  giv'u  out,  as  grace,'  by  spccchers 
Ero  they  cut  up  their  fellow  creatures: — 
Farewell  to  dead  old  Deus's  volumes. 
And,  scarce  less  dead,  old  Standard's  columns : — 
From  each  and  all  I  now  retire, 
My  task,  henceforth,  as  spouse  and  sire. 
To  bring  up  little  filial  Fudges, 
To  be  M.  P.s,  and  Peers,  and  Judges — 
Parsons  I'd  add  loo,  if  alas  ! 
Tiiere  yet  were  hope  tlie  Church  could  pass 
The  gulf  now  oped  for  here  and  her. 
Or  long  survive  what  Exeter — 
Both  Hall  and  Bishop,  of  that  name — 
Have  done  to  sink  her  reverend  fame. 
Adieu,  dear  friend — you'll  oft  hear /com  me. 

Now  I'm  no  more  a  travelling  drudge  ; 

Meanwhile  I  sign  (that  you  may  judge 
Hew  well  tlie  surname  will  become  me) 
Yours  truly, 

Mortimer  O'Fudge. 


LETTER  XI. 


FROM  PATRICK  MAGAN,  ESQ.,  TO  THE  REV. 
RICHARD  . 


Dear  Dick — just  arrived  at  my  own  humble  gite, 
I  enclose  you,  post-haste,  tho  account,  all  complete, 
Just  arrived,  per  express,  of  our  late  noble  feat. 

[Extract  from  the  "  County  Gazette."] 

This  place  is  getting  gay  and  full  again. 
***** 

Last  week  was  married,  *'  in  the  Lord," 
The  Reverend  Mortimer  O'Mulligan, 

Preacher,  in  Irish,  of  the  Word, 


I  "  I  think  I  am  actinz  in  unison  with  the  feelings  of  a 
ileeling  assemlileii  for  this  solemn  object,  when  I  call  on  the 
Rev.  Doctor  Holloway  to  open  it  by  prayer"  Speech  of 
Lord  Kemjon. 


(He,  who  tlie  Lord's  force  lately  led  on — 
Exeter  Hall  his  Ar«iag-//-gcddon,') 
To  Miss  B.  Fudge  of  Pisgah  Place, 
One  of  the  chos'n,  as  "  heir  of  grace," 
And  likewise  heiress  of  Phil.  Fudge, 
Esquire,  defunct,  of  Orange  Lodge. 

Same  evening,  Miss  F.  Fudge,  'tis  hinted  — 

Nieco  of  tho  above,  (whose  "  Sylvan  Lyre," 
In  our  Gazette,  last  week,  we  printed,) 

Eloped  with  Pat.  Magan,  Esquire. 
The  fugitives  were  track'd,  some  time. 

After  they'd  left  the  Aunt's  abode. 
By  scraps  of  paper,  scrawl'd  with  rhyme. 

Found  strew'd  along  the  Western  road  ; — 
Some  of  them,  ci-devant  curl-papers, 
Others,  half  burnt  in  lighting  .npers. 
Tins  clue,  however,  to  their  flight. 

After  some  miles  was  seen  no  more  ; 
And,  from  inquiries  made  last  night. 

We  find  they've  reach'd  the  Irish  shore. 


escape    from 


Every   word   of    it   true,   Dick — tli' 

Aunt's  thrall — 
Western    road — lyric    fragments— curl-papers   and 

all. 
My  sole  stipulation,  ere  link'd  at  the  shrine, 
(As  some  balance  between   Fanny's  numbers  and 

mine,) 
Was  that,  wlien  we  were  one,  she  must  give  up  tho 

Nine ; 
Nay,  devote  to  the  Gods  her  whole  stock  of  MS. 
With  a  vow  never  more  against  prose  to  transgress. 
This  she  did,  like  a  heroine ; — smack  went  to  bits 
The  whole  produce  sublime  of  her  dear  little  wits — 
Sonnets,  elegies,  epigrams,  odes,  canzonets — 
Some  twisted  up  neatly,  to  form  allumettes. 
Some  turn'd  into  papillotes,  worthy  to  rise 
And  enwreath  Berenice's  bright  locks  in  the  skies ! 
While  the  rest,  honest   Larry  (who's   now  in  my 

pay) 
Begg'd,  as  "  lover  o{  po'thry,"  to  read  on  the  way. 

Having  thus  of  life's  poetry  dared  to  dispose, 

How  we  now,  Dick,  shall  manage  to  get  through 

its  prose, 
With   such    slender   materials   for   stijle.    Heaven 

knows  ! 
But — I'm  call'd  off  abruptly — another  Express! 
What    the    deuce    can  it  mean  ? — I'm    alarm'd,  I 

confess. 


2  The  Rectory  which  the  Rev.  gentleman  holds  is  situated 
in  the  county  of  Armagh  I — a  most  remarkable  coincidence — 
and  well  worthy  of  the  attention  of  certain  expounders  of 
the  Apocalypse. 


656 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


P.  S. 

Hurrali,  Dick,  linrrah,  Dick,  ten  thousand  hur- 
rahs I 

I'm  a  happy,  rich  dog  lo  the  end  of  my  days. 

There — read  the  good  news — and  wliile  glad,  for 
my  sake, 

That  AVealth  should  thus  follow  in  Love's  shining 
wake, 

Admire  also  the  moral — that  he,  the  sly  elf. 

Who  has  fudged  all  the  world,  should  be  now  fudged 
himself! 


E.XTRACT  FRO.M  LETTER  EN'CLOSED. 

With  pain  the  mournful  news  I  write, 
Miss  Fudge's  uncle  died  last  night ; 
And  much  to  mine  and  friends'  surprise, 
By  will  doth  all  his  wealth  devise — 
Lands,  dwellings — rectories  likewise — 
To  his  "  beloved  grand-niece,"  Miss  Fanny, 
Leaving  Miss  Fudge  herself,  who  many 
Long  years  hath  waited — not  a  penny ! 
Have  notified  the  same  to  latter. 
And  wait  instructions  in  the  matter. 

For  self  and  partners,  &c.  &c. 


i 


SONGS  FROM  M,R;  OR.  THE  BLUE-STOCKING. 


SONG 


Yoiraa  Love  lived  once  in  an  humble  shed, 

Where  roses  breathing. 
And  woodbines  wreathing 
Around  the  lattice  their  tendrils  spread. 
As  wild  and  sweet  as  the  life  he  led. 
His  garden  flourish'd. 
For  young  Hope  nourish'd 
The  infant  buds  with  beams  and  showers  ; 
But  lips,  though  blooming,  must  still  be  fed, 
And  not  even  Love  can  live  on  flowers. 

Alas !  that  Poverty's  evil  eye 

Sliould  e'er  come  hither, 

Such  sweets  to  wither  I 
The  flowers  laid  down  their  heads  to  die, 
And  Hope  fell  sick  as  the  witch  drew  nigh 

She  came  one  morning, 

Ere  Love  had  warnuig. 
And  raised  the  latch,  where  the  young  god  ay  ; 
"  Oh  ho  !"  said  Love — "  is  it  you?  good-by  ;" 
So  he  oped  the  window,  and  flew  away  I 


To  sigh,  yet  feel  no  pain. 

To  weep,  yjt  scarce  know  why  ; 
To  sport  an  hour  with  Beauty's  chain, 

Then  throw  it  idly  by. 


To  kneel  at  many  a  shrine, 

Yet  lay  the  heart  on  none  ; 
To  think  all  other  charms  divine, 

But  those  we  just  have  won. 
This  is  love,  faithless  love, 

Such  as  kindlotli  hearts  that  rove. 

To  keep  one  sacred  flame, 

Through  life  uncliill'd,  unmoved. 
To  love,  in  wintry  age,  the  same 

As  first  in  youth  we  loved ; 
To  feel  that  we  adore, 

Ev'n  to  such  fond  excess. 
That,  though  the  heart  would  break,  with  mart, 

It  could  not  live  with  less 
This  is  love,  faithful  love, 
Such  as  saints  might  feel  above 


Spirit  of  Joy,  thy  altar  lies 

In  youthful  hearts  that  hope  like  mine ; 
And  'tis  the  light  of  laughing  eyes, 

That  leads  us  to  thy  fairy  shruie. 
There  if  we  find  the  sigh,  the  tear, 

They  are  not  those  to  Sorrow  known  ; 
But  breath  so  soft,  and  drops  so  clear, 

That  Bliss  may  clauu  them  for  her  own. 
Then  give  me,  give  me,  while  I  weep, 

The  sanguine  hope  that  brightens  wo. 
And  teaches  ev'n  our  tears  to  keep 

The  tinge  of  pleasure  as  they  flow. 


SONGS  FROM  M.  P.;  OR, 

THE  BLUE-STOCKING.                657 

The  child,  who  sees  the  dew  of  night 

Then  sing  to  lighten  the  languid  way  ; — 

Upon  tlie  spangled  hedge  at  morn, 

When  brows  are  glowing, 

Attempts  to  catch  the  drops  of  light. 

Anil  faint  with  rowing ; 

But  wounds  his  linger  with  the  thorn. 

'Tis  like  the  spell  of  Hope's  airy  lay. 

Thus  oft  the  brightest  joys  we  seek, 

To  whose  sound  through  life  w'e  stray. 

Are  lost,  wlien  touch'd,  and  turn'd  to  pain ; 

The  flush  they  kindled  leaves  the  cheek. 
The  tears  they  waken  long  remain. 

But  give  me,  give  me,  &c.  &c. 

On  think,  when  a  hero  is  sighing, 

What  danger  in  such  an  adorer  ! 

What  woman  could  dream  of  denying 

The  hand  that  lays  laurels  before  her? 

No  heart  is  so  guarded  around. 

When  Leila  touch'd  the  lute. 

But  the  smile  of  a  victor  would  take  it ; 

Not  then  alone  'twas  felt, 

No  bosom  can  slumber  so  sound. 

But,  when  the  sounds  were  mute. 

But  tlic  tnmipet  of  Glory  will  wake  it. 

In  memory  still  they  dwelt. 

Sweet  lute  !  in  niglitly  slumbers 

Love  sometimes  is  given  to  sleeping. 

Still  wo  heard  thy  morning  numbers 

And  wo  to  the  heart  that  allows  him ; 

For  soon  neither  smiling  nor  weeping 

All,  how  could  she,  who  stole 

Will  e'er  from  such  slumber  arouse  him. 

Such  breath  from  simple  wire, 

But  though  he  were  sleeping  so  fast. 

Be  led,  in  pride  of  soul, 

To  string  with  gold  her  lyre  ■ 

That  the  life  almost  seem'd  to  forsake  him, 

Even  then,  one  soul-thrilling  blast 

Sweet  hite  1  thy  chords  she  breaketh  ; 

From  the  trumpet  of  Glory  would  wake  him. 

Golden  now  the  strings  she  waketh  '. 
But  where  are  all  the  tales 

Her  lute  so  sweetly  told  ? 

In  lofty  themes  she  fails. 

CUPID'S  LOTTERY. 

And  soft  ones  suit  not  gold. 

Rich  lute  !  we  see  thee  glisten, 

A  Lottery,  a  Lottery, 

But,  alas !  no  more  we  listen ! 

In  Cupid's  Court  there  used  to  be  ; 

Two  roguish  eyes 

The  highest  prize 

In  Cupid's  scheming  Lottery ; 
And  kisses,  too, 

As  good  as  new, 

Which  weren't  very  hard  to  win, 

BOAT  GLEE. 

For  he,  who  won 

The  eyes  of  fun, 

The  song  that  lightens  our  languid  way 

Was  sure  to  have  the  kisses  in. 

When  brows  are  glowmg. 

A  Lottery,  a  Lottery,  &c 

And  faint  with  rowing. 

Is  like  the  spell  of  Hope's  airy  lay. 

This  Lottery,  this  Lottery, 

To  whose  sound  tlirough  life  we  stray. 

In  Cupid's  Court  went  merrily, 

The  beams  that  flash  on  the  oar  awhile, 

And  Cupid  play'd 

As  we  row  along  through  waves  so  clear, 

A  Jewish  trade 

Illume  its  spray,  like  the  fleeting  smile 

In  this  his  scheming  Lottery  ; 

That  shines  o'er  Sorrow's  tear. 

For  hearts,  we're  told. 

In  shares  he  sold 

Nothing  is  lost  on  him  who  sees 

To  many  a  fond  believing  drone. 

With  an  eye  that  Feeling  gave  ; — 

And  cut  the  hearts 

For  him  there's  a  story  in  every  breeze. 

So  well  in  parts. 

And  a  picture  in  every  wave. 

That  each  believed  the  whole  his  own. 

658 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


Chor. — A  Lottery,  a  Lottery, 

111  Cupid's  Court  there  used  to  he  ; 
Two  roguish  eyes 
The  liiirhest  prize 
In  Cupid's  scheming  Lottery. 


SONG.' 


Though  sacred  the  tie  that  our  countiy  cntwineth, 
And  dcur  to  the  heart  her  remenihranco  remains, 

Yet  dark  are  tiic  ties  where  no  liberty  shineth, 
And  sad  the  remembrance  that  slavery  stains. 


Oh  Liberty,  boni  in  the  cot  of  tho  peasant, 
But  dying  of  languor  in  luxury' "s  dome. 

Our  vision,  when  absent — our  gloiy,  when  present — 
Where  thou  art,  O  Liberty !  there  is  my  home. 

Farewell  to  the  land  %vhere  in  cliildhood  I  wander'd ! 

In  vain  is  she  miglity,  in  vain  is  she  brave  ; 
Unbless'd  is  the  blood  that  for  tyrants  is  squander'd. 

And  Fame  has  no  wreaths  for  the  brow  of  the 
slave. 
But  hail  to  tliee,  Albion  !  who  mect'st  the  dommotion 

Of  Europe,  as  calm  as  thy  cliffs  meet  the  foam  ; 
With  no  bonds  but  tlie  law,  and  no  slave  but  tho 
ocean 

Hail,  Temp>  jf  Liberty  !  then  ajl  my  home. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


AT  NIGHT.^ 

At  nia;ht,  when  all  is  still  around, 
How  sweet  to  hear  the  distant  sound 

Of  footstep,  coming  soft  and  light ! 
What  pleasure  in  the  anxious  beat, 
With  whicli  the  bosom  flies  to  meet 

That  foot  that  comes  so  soft  at  night ! 

And  then,  at  night,  how  sweet  to  say 
*'  'Tis  late,  my  love  !"  and  chide  delay, 

Though  stil!  the  western  clouds  are  bright ; 
Oh  !  happy,  too,  the  silent  press. 
The  eloquence  of  mule  caress, 

With  those  we  love  exchanged  at  night ! 


TO  LADY  HOLLAND. 

ON    N.VrOLF.ON's    LEGACV    OF    A    BNUrF-30X. 

Gift  of  the  Hero,  on  his  dying  day, 

To  her,  whoso  pity  watch*d,  forever  nigh  ; 

Oh  !  could  he  see  the  proud,  the  happy  ray, 
This  relic  lights  up  in  her  generous  eye, 

Sighing,  he'd  feel  how  easy  'tis  to  pay 

A  friendship  all  his  kiugd  )ms  could  not  buy 

Paris,  Jidy,  18-21. 

1  Sung  in  the  character  of  a  Frcnchnmn 


EPILOGUE. 

WRITTEN  FOR  LADY  DACRE's  TRAGiUY  OF  JNA. 

Last  night,  as  lonely  o'er  my  firo  I  sat, 
Tliinking  of  cues,  starts,  exits,  and — all  that, 
And  wondering  much  what  httle  knavish  sprite 
Had  put  it  first  in  women's  heads  to  write : 
Sudden  I  saw — as  in  some  witching  dream — 
A  bright-blue  glory  round  my  book-caso  beam, 
From  whose  quick-opening  folds  of  azure  light 
Out  flew  a  tiny  form,  as  small  and  briglit 
As  Pnck  the  Fairy,  wlieu  he  pops  his  head, 
Some  sunny  morning,  from  a  violet  bed. 
"  Bless   me !"    I    starting    cried,    "  what    imp   are 

yon  ?"— 
"  A  small  he-devil,  Ma'am — my  name  Bas  Bleu — 
**  A  bookish  sprite,  much  giv'n  to  routs  and  read- 
ing; 
"  'Tis  I  who  teacli  your  spinsters  of  good  breeding, 
"  The  reigning  taste  in  chemistry  and  caps, 
"  The  last  new  bounds  of  tuckers  and  of  maps, 
"And,    when   the    waltz   has   twirl'd   her    giddy, 

brain, 
"  With  metaphysics  twirl  it  back  again  !" 

I  view'd  him,  is  he  spoko — lils  hose  was  blue, 
!  His  wings — tiic  covers  of  the  last  Review — 
Cerulean.,  bordcr'd  with  a  jaundice  hue, 

'  Tliese  lines  alhulo  to  a  curious  lamp,  w  hich  has  for  Its 
device  a  Cu|iid,  with  the  words  "at  nJRht"  wrillen  over  him. 


I 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


659 


And  tinsell'd  gayly  o'er  for  evciiiiig  wear, 

'I'ill  the  next  quarter  brings  a  new-fledged  pair. 

"  Inspired  by  inc, — (pursued  this  waggish  Fairy) — 

••  That  best  of  wives  and  Sapphos,  Lady  Mary, 

"  Votary  alike  of  Crispin  and  the  IMiise, 

"  JIakcs  her  own  splay-foot  epigrams  and  slioes, 

"  For  mo  the  eyes  of  young  Camilla  shine, 

"  And  mingle  Love's  blue  brilliances  with  mine  ; 

"  For  me  she  sits  apart,  from  coxcombs  shrinking, 

••  Looks  wise — the  pretty  soul '. — and  thinks  she's 

thinking. 
■■  By  my  advice  Miss  Indigo  attends 
"  Lectures  on  Memory,  and  assures  her  friends, 
• '  "Pen  honor  1 — (mimics) — nothing  can  surpass  the 

plan 
•■'Of  that  professor — (trying  to  recollect) — psha! 

that  memory-man — 
"  '  That — what's  his  name  ? — him  I  attended  late- 

ly- 

• '  'Poa  honor,  he  improved  mij  memory  greatly.'  " 

Here,  curtseying  low,  I  ask'd  the  blue-legg'd  sprite, 

Wiiat  share  he  had  in  this  onr  play  to-night. 

"  Nay,    there — (ho    cried) — there    I    am    guiltless 

quite — 
■•  What !  choose  a  heroine  from  that  Gothic  time, 
"  When  no  one  waltz'd,  and  none  but  monks  could 

rhyme  ; 
'•  When  lovely  woman  all  unschool'd  and  wild, 
"  Blush'd  without  art,  and  without  culture  smiled — 
••  Simple  as  flowers,  while  yet  unclass'd  they  slione, 
"  Ere  Science  ciU'd  their  brilliant  world  her  own, 
"  Ranged  the  wild,  rosy  things  in  learned  orders, 
"  And  till'd  with  Greek  the  garden's  blushing  bor- 
der I — 
••  No,  no — your  gentle  Inas  will  not  do — 
'■  To-morrow  evening,  when  the  lights  bum  blue, 
■  I'll    come — (^pointing   downwards) — you   under- 
stand— till  then  adieu  I" 

And  has  the  sprite  been  here  ?  No — ^jests  apart — 
Ilowe'er  man  rules  in  science  and  in  art, 
The  sphere  of  woman's  glories  is  the  heart. 
And.  if  our  Muse  have  sketch'd  with  pencil  true 
The  wife — the  mother — firm,  yet  gentle  too — 
Whose  soul,  wrapp'd  up  in  tics  itself  hath  spun, 
Trembles,  if  touch'd  in  the  remotest  one  ; 
^V'ho  loves — yet  dares  even  Love  himself  disown. 
When  Honor's  broken  shaft  supports  his  throne  ; 
If  such  our  Ina,  she  may  scorn  the  evils, 
Dire  as  they  are,  of  Critics  and — Blue  Devils. 


I  In  these  slnnz.is  I  have  done  little  more  thnn  rel.ite  a 
fact  io  vers^und  the  l;idy,  whose  singing  gave  rise  to  lliis 


THE  DAY-DREAM.' 

TnF.Y  both  were  liusb'd,  the  voice,  tlio  chords, — 
I  heard  but  once  that  witching  lay  ; 

And  few  the  notes,  and  few  the  words, 
My  spell-bound  memory  brought  away  ; 

Traces  remeraber'd  here  and  there, 
Like  echoes  of  some  broken  strain  ; — 

Links  of  a  sweetness  lost  in  air, 
That  nothing  now  could  join  again. 

Ev'n  these,  too,  ere  the  morning,  fled  ; 

-And,  though  the  charm  still  linger'd  on. 
That  o'er  each  sense  her  song  had  shed, 

The  song  itself  was  faded,  gone  ; — 

Gone,  like  the  thoughts  that  once  were  ours, 
Ou  summer  days,  ere  youth  had  set ; 

Thoughts  bright,  we  know,  as  summer  flowers, 
Though  what  they  were,  we  now  forget 

In  vain,  with  hints  from  other  strains, 

I  woo'd  tills  truant  air  to  come — 
As  birds  are  taught,  on  eastern  plains. 

To  lure  their  wilder  kindred  home. 

In  vain  : — the  song  that  Sappho  gave, 

In  dying,  to  the  mournful  sea, 
Not  muter  slept  beneath  the  wave. 

Than  this  within  my  memory. 

At  length,  one  morning,  as  I  lay 

In  that  half-waking  mood,  when  dreama 

Unwillingly  at  last  give  way 

To  the  full  truth  of  daylight's  beams, 

A  face — the  very  face,  racthought. 

From  which  had  breathed,  as  from  a  shrine 

Of  song  and  soul,  the  notes  I  sought — 
Came  with  its  music  close  to  mine  ; 

xVnd  sung  the  long-lost  measure  o'er, — 
Each  note  and  word,  with  every  tone 

And  look,  that  lent  it  life  before, — 
All  perfect,  all  again  my  own ! 

Like  parted  souls,  when,  mid  the  Blest 
They  meet  again,  each  widow'd  sound 

Through  memory's  realm  had  wing'd  in  quest, 
Of  its  sweet  mate,  till  all  were  found. 


curiotjs  instance  of  the  power  of  memory  in  sleep,  is  Mrs. 
Hubert  Arltwright. 


660                                            MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

Nor  even  in  waking  did  the  clue, 

Pronounce  the  will,  whoEW  vtry  breath 

Thus  strangely  cauglit,  escape  again  ; 

Would  rend  its  links — We  care  not. 

For  never  lark  its  matins  knew 

So  well  as  now  I  knew  this  strain. 

For  priestly  men,  who  covet  sway 

And  wealth,  though  they  declare  not ; 

And  oft,  when  memory's  wondrous  spell 

Who  point,  like  finger-posts,  the  way 

Is  talk'd  of  in  our  tranquil  bower, 

They  never  go — We  care  not. 

I  sinn^  this  lady's  sonsr.  and  tell 

The  vision  of  that  morning  hour. 

For  martial  men,  who  on  their  sword, 

Howe'er  it  conquers,  wear  not 

Tlie  "pledges  of  a  soldier's  word. 

Kedeem'd  and  pure — We  care  not. 
i  or  legal  men,  who  ])lead  for  wrong, 

SONG. 

And,  though  to  lies  thoy  swear  not, 

Are  hardly  better  than  the  throi.g 

Wmeke  is  the  heart  that  would  not  give 

Of  those  who  do — We  cark  not. 

Years  of  drowsy  days  and  nights. 

One  little  hour,  like  tliis,  to  live — 

For  courtly  men,  who  feed  upon 

Full,  to  the  brim,  of  liTe's  delights? 

The  laud,  like  grubs,  and  spare  not 

Look,  look  around 

The  smallest  leaf,  where  they  can  sun 

This  fairy  ground, 

Their  crawling  limbs — We  care  not 

With  love-lights  glittering  o'er  ; 

While  cups  that  shine 

For  wealthy  men,  who  keep  their  mines 

With  freight  divine 

In  darkness  hid,  and  share  not 

Go  coasting  round  its  shore. 

The  paltry  ore  witli  him  who  pines 

In  honest  want — We  care  not. 

Hope  is  the  dupe  of  future  hours. 

Memory  lives  in  those  gone  by ; 

For  prudent  men,  who  hold  the  power 

Neither  can  see  the  moment's  flowers 

Of  Love  aloof,  and  hare  not 

Springing  up  fresh  beneath  the  eye 

Their  hearts  in  any  guardless  hour 

Wouldst  thou,  or  thou. 

To  Beauty's  shaft — We  care  not. 

Forego  what's  now, 

For  all  that  Hope  may  say  ? 

For  all,  in  short,  on  laud  or  sea, 

No — Joy's  reply, 

In  camp  or  court,  wlio  arc  not, 

From  every  eye. 

Who  never  were,  or  e'er  will  be 

Is,  "  Live  we  while  we  may." 

Good  men  and  true — We  care  not 

SONG  OF  THE  POCO-CURANTE  SOCIETY 

Ilaud  curat  Hippoclides. 

ANNE  BOLEYN. 

Erasu.  .Sdn^ 

TRANSLATION  FRO.M  THE  METRICAL  "  lUSTOlR*!    d'aNNB 

To  those  we  love  we've  drank  to-night ; 

BOLEYN." 

But  now  attend,  and  stare  not. 

While  I  the  ampler  list  recite 

S'elle  esloit  belle  et  de  taille  616g:inte. 

Of  those  for  whom — We  care  not. 

Estoit  des  yeuli  encor  plus  attiranle. 

Lesquelz  si9avoil  bien  conduyre  a  propos 

For  royal  men,  howe'er  they  frown. 

En  Ics  tenant  quelquefoys  en  repos  ; 
Aucunefoys  envoyant  en  message 

If  on  their  fronts  they  bear  not 

Porter  du  cucur  le  secret  tesmnignage. 

That  noblest  gem  that  decks  a  crown, 

The  People's  Love — We  care  not. 

Much  as  her  form  seduced  the  sight. 

Her  eyes  could  even  more  surely  woo  ; 

For  slavish  men,  who  bend  beneath 

And  when  and  how  to  shoot  their  light 

A  despot  yoke,  yet  dare  not 

Into  men's  hearts  full  well  she  klRw. 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


661 


For  eometinies,  in  repose,  she  hid 
Their  rays  beneatii  a  downcast  lid ; 
And  tlien  again,  with  wakening  air, 

Would  send  tlicir  sunny  g^iances  out, 
Lilic  heralds  of  delight,  to  bear 

Her  heart's  sweet  messajies  about. 


THE  DUEAM  OF  THE  TWO  SISTERS 

FROM    DANTE. 

Nfc",'  rm,  credo,  che  deli'  oriente 

Prima  luggit)  nel  iiionte  Citerea, 

Che  di  fuocj  d'  amor  par  sempre  ardenle, 
<;iov:ine  e  liella  ia  sogno  mi  parea 

Dunna  vedere  andar  per  una  landa 

CogUendo  fiori ;  e  cantando  dicea  :^ 

S.ippia  qualunqae  'I  mio  nomc  dimand:i, 
Ch'  io  mi  son  Lir.,  e  vo  movendo  'ntorno 
Le  belle  mani  a  furmi  una  ghirlanda — 

Per  piacermi  alio  specchio  qui  m'  adorno  ; 
Ma  mia  suora  Racliel  mai  non  si  smaga 
Dal  suo  animiraglio.  e  sicde  tullo  il  t;iorno. 

Eli'  e  de'  suoi  begU  occhi  veder  vaga, 
Com*  io  dcir  adornarnii  con  le  mani; 
I.ei  Io  vedere  e  me  I'ovrare  appaga. 

Dante,  Pitrg,  canto  .wvi;, 

'TwAs  eve's  soft  hour,  and  bright,  above. 

The  star  of  Beauty  beam'd. 
While  lull'd  by  light  so  full  of  love, 

In  slumber  thus  I  dream'd — 
Methought,  at  that  sweet  hour, 

A  nyuiph  came  o'er  the  lea. 
Who,  gath'ring  many  a  flow'r, 

Tluis  said  and  sung  to  me  : — 
*'  Shoidd  any  ask  what  Leila  loves, 

"  Say  thou,  To  wreath  her  hair 
"  With  flow'rets  cuU'd  from  glens  and  groves, 

"  Is  Leila's  only  care. 

"  Whiic  tr..is  iu  quest  of  flow'rets  rare, 

"  O'er  hill  and  dalo  I  roam, 
"  My  sister,  Rachel,  far  more  fair, 

"  Sits  lone  and  mute  at  home. 
"  Before  her  glass  untiring, 

"  With  thoughts  that  never  stray, 
'•  Iler  own  briglit  eyes  admiring, 

"  She  sits  the  live-long  day ; 
"  While  I !— .oh,  seldom  even  a  look 

"  Of  self  salutes  my  eye ; — 
"  My  oidy  glass,  the  limpid  brook, 

"  That  shines  and  pxsses  by." 


SOVEREIGN  WOMAN. 
A  hallad. 

The  dance  was  o'er,  yet  still  in  dreams 

That  fairy  scene  went  on  ; 
Ijke  clouds  still  flush'd  with  daylight  gleams. 

Though  day  itself  is  gone. 
And  gracefully,  to  music's  sound, 
The  same  bright  nymphs  went  gliding  round  ; 
While  thou,  the  Queen  of  all,  wert  there — 
The  Fairest  still,  where  all  were  fair. 

The  dream  then  chan;r  'd — in  halls  of  state, 

I  saw  thee  high  entl  ironed  ; 
While,  rauged  around,  the  wise,  the  great 

In  thee  their  mistv:s  own'd  : 
And  still  the  same,  thy  gentle  sway 
O'er  willing  subjects  won  its  way — 
Till  all  confessed  llio  ftight  Divine 
To  rule  o'er  man  was  only  thine  ! 

But,  Io,  the  scene  now  changed  again— 

And  borne  on  plumed  steed, 
I  saw  thee  o'er  the  battle-plain 

Our  land's  defenders  lead  ; 
And  stronger  in  thy  beauty's  charms. 
Than  man,  with  countless  hosts  in  arms, 
Thy  voice,  like  music,  cheer'd  the  Free, 
Thy  very  smile  was  victory ! 

Nor  reign  such  queens  on  thrones  alone — 

In  cot  and  court  the  same. 
Wherever  woman's  smile  is  known, 

Victoria's  still  her  name. 
For  though  she  almost  blush  to  reign, 
Tliongh  Love's  own  flow'rets  wreath  the  chain. 
Disguise  our  bondage  as  we  will, 
'Tis  woman,  woman,  rules  us  still. 


COME,  PLAY  ME  THAT  SIMPLE  AIR 
AGAIN. 


Come,  play  me  that  simple  air  again, 

I  used  so  to  love,  in  life's  young  day. 
And  bring,  if  thou  canst,  the  dreams  that  tft.»n 
Were  waken'd  by  that  sweet  lay 
The  tender  gloom  its  strain 

Shed  o'er  tlie  heart  and  brow, 

Grief's  shadow,  without  its  pain — 

Say  where,  wliere  is  it  now  ? 


^1 


m 


6G2 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But  play  me  the  well-known  air  once  more, 
For  tlioiights  of  youth  still  haunt  its  strain, 

Like  dreams  of  some  far,  faiiy  shore 
Wo  never  shall  see  again. 

Sweet  air,  how  every  note  brings  back 
Some  sunny  hope,  some  day-dreara  bright. 

That,  shining  o"er  life's  early  track, 
FiU'd  ev'u  its  tears  with  light 


The  new-found  life  that  came 

With  love's  firet  echo'd  vow  ; — 
The  fear,  the  bliss,  the  shame — 
Ah — where,  where  are  tliey  now 
But,  still  the  same  loved  notes  prolong, 

For  sweet  'twere  thus,  to  tliat  bid  lay, 
In  dreams  of  youth  and  love  and  song. 
To  breathe  life's  hour  away. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


A  TALE. 


LORD  JOHN   RUSSELL, 

THIS  VOLUME  IS  INSCRIBED, 
BV    ONE    WnO    ADMIRES    HIS    CIURACTER    AND    TALENTS,    AND    IS    PROCD    OF    niS    FRIENDSHIP. 


LETTER  TO  THE  TRANSLATOR, 


Cairo,  Juae  19,  1800. 

My  DEAR  Sir, 
During  a  visit  lately  paid  by  mo  to  the  mon- 
astery of  St.  Macarius — which  is  situated,  as  you 
know,  iu  the  Valley  of  the  Lakes  of  Natron — I 
was  lucky  enougli  to  obtain  possession  of  a  curious 
Greek  manuscript  which,  in  the  hope  that  you  may 
1)0  induced  to  translate  it,  I  herewith  transmit  to 
you.  Obsen'ing  ono  of  the  monlts  very  busily 
occupied  in  tearing  up  into  a  variety  of  fantastic 
shapes  some  papers  which  had  the  appearance  of 
being  tlie  leaves  of  old  boolis,  I  inquired  of  him 
the  meaning  of  his  task,  and  received  the  following 
explanation : — 

The  Arabs,  i;.  seems,  who  are  as  fond  of  pigeons 
as  the  ancient  Egyptians,  have  a  eupei-stitious  no- 
tion that,  if  they  place  iu  tlieir  pigeon-houses  small 
scraps  of  paper,  written  over  with  learned  charac- 


ters, the  birds  are  always  sure  to  thrive  the  better 
for  the  charm  ;  and  tlie  monks,  who  are  never  slow 
in  profiting  by  superstition,  have,  at  all  times,  a  sup- 
ply of  such  amulets  for  purchasers. 

In  general,  the  fathers  of  the  monastery  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  scribbling  these  fragments 
themselves  ;  but  a  discovery  lately  made  by  them, 
saves  all  this  trouble.  Having  dug  up  (as  my 
informant  stated)  a  chest  of  old  manuscripts,  which, 
being  chiefly  on  the  subject  of  alchemy,  must  have 
been  buried  in  the  time  of  Dioclesian,  "  we  thought," 
added  the  monk,  "  that  we  could  not  employ  such 
rubbish  more  properly,  than  in  tearing  it  up,  as  j'ou 
see,  for  the  pigeon-houses  of  the  Arabs.*' 

On  my  expressing  a  wish  to  rescue  some  i)art  of 
these  treasures  from  the  fate  to  which  his  indolent 
fraternity  had  consigned  them,  he  produced  the 
manuscript  which  I  have  now  the  pleasure  of  send- 
ing you — the  only  one,  he  said,  remaining  entire — 
and  I  very  readily  paid  the  price  which  he  demand- 
ed for  it. 

You  will  find  the  story,  I  think,  not  altogether 
uninteresting ;  and  the  coincidence,  in  many  re- 
spects, of  the  curious  details  in  Chap.  VI  with  the 
description  of  the  same  ceremonies  in  the  Uoniance 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


663 


of  Sethos,^  will,  I  have  no  doubt,  strike  you.  Hoping 
that  you  may  be  induced  to  give  a  trauslatiou  of 
this  Tale  to  the  world, 

I  am,  my  dear  Sir, 

Very  truly  yours, 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  was  in  the  fourth  year  of  the  reign  of  the  late 
Emperor  Valerian,  tliat  the  followers  of  Epicurus, 
who  were  at  that  time  numerous  in  Athens,  pro- 
ceeded to  the  election  of  a  person  to  fill  the  vacant 
Chair  of  their  sect ; — and,  by  the  unanimous  voice 
of  the  School,  I  was  the  indiNndual  chosen  for  their 
Chief.  I  was  just  then  entering  on  my  twenty- 
fourth  year,  and  no  instance  had  ever  before  oc- 
curred, of  a  person  so  young  being  selected  for  that 
higli  oirice.  Youtli,  however,  and  tlie  personal  ad- 
vantages that  adorn  it,  could  not  but  rank  among 
the  most  agreeable  recommendations  to  a  eect  that 
included  witliin  its  circle  all  the  beauty  as  well  as 
the  wit  of  Athens,  and  which,  though  dignifying  its 
pui-suits  with  the  name  of  pliilosophy,  was  little  else 
than  a  plausible  pretext  for  the  more  refined  cultiva- 
tion of  pleasure. 

The  character  of  the  sect  had,  indeed,  much 
changed  since  the  time  of  its  WMse  and  virtuous 
founder,  who,  while  lie  asserted  that  Pleasure  is  the 
only  Good,  inculcated  also  that  Good  is  the  only 
source  of  Pleasiu-e.  Tlie  purer  part  of  tiiis  doctrine 
had  long  evaporated,  and  the  temperate  Epicurus 
would  have  as  lit'.le  recognised  his  own  sect  in  the 
assemblage  of  refined  voluptuaries  who  now  usurped 
its  name,  as  ho  would  have  known  his  own  quiet 
Garden  in  the  loxurions  groves  and  bowers  among 
which  tlie  meetings  of  the  School  were  now  held. 

Many  causes  concurred,  at  this  period,  besides  the 
attractiveness  of  its  doctrines,  to  render  our  school 
by  far  the  most  popular  of  any  that  still  sur^'ivcd  the 
glory  of  Greece.  It  may  generally  ho  observed,  that 
tlie  prevalence,  in  one  half  of  a  community,  of  very 


-  The  descnpnon,  here  ahuded  lo,  may  also  be  found, 
copied  verbatim  from  Sethos,  in  the  "  Voyages  d' AntOnor." — 
"In  thai  ptLilcsophical  romance,  called  '  La  Vie  de  Sethos,' " 


rigid  notions  on  the  subject  of  religion,  produces  the 
opposite  extreme  of  laxity  and  infidelity  in  the  other ; 
and  this  kind  of  reaction  it  was  that  now  mainly 
contributed  to  render  the  doctrines  of  the  Garden 
the  most  fashionable  philosophy  of  the  day.  Tlie 
rapid  progress  of  tlie  Christian  faith  had  alarmed  all 
those,  who,  either  fr^m  piety  or  worldliness,  were 
interested  in  the  continuance  of  the  old  established 
creed — all  who  believed  in  the  Deities  of  Olympus, 
and  all  who  lived  by  them.  The  natural  conse- 
quence was,  a  considerable  increase  of  zeal  and 
activity,  throughout  the  constituted  authorities  and 
priesthood  of  the  whole  Heathen  world.  What  was 
wanting  in  sincerity  of  belief  was  made  up  in 
rigor ; — the  weakest  parts  of  the  M}'thoIogy  were 
those,  of  course,  most  angrily  defended,  and  any 
reflections,  tending  to  bring  Saturn,  or  his  wife  Ops, 
into  contempt,  were  punished  with  the  utmost 
severity  of  the  law. 

In  this  state  of  aff'airs,  between  the  alamed  big- 
otry of  the  declining  Faith  and  the  simple,  sublime 
austerity  of  her  rival,  it  was  not  wonderful  that 
those  lovers  of  ease  and  c'easure,  who  had  no 
interest,  reversionary  or  otherwise,  in  the  old  religion, 
and  were  too  indolent  to  inquire  into  the  sanctions 
of  the  new,  should  take  refuge  from  the  severities  of 
both  in  the  arms  of  a  luxurious  philosophy,  which, 
leaving  to  othei's  the  task  of  disputing  about  the 
future,  centred  all  its  wisdom  in  the  full  enjoyment 
of  the  present. 

The  sectaries  of  the  Garden  had,  ever  since  the 
death  of  their  founder,  been  accustomed  to  dedicate  ] 
to  his  memory  the  twentieth  day  of  every  month. 
To  these  monthly  rites  had,  for  some  time,  been 
added  a  grand  annual  Festival,  in  commemoration 
of  his  birth.  The  feasts  given  on  this  occasion  by 
my  predecessors  in  the  Chair,  had  been  invariably 
disliuguished  for  their  taste  and  splendor  ;  and  it 
was  my  ambition,  not  merely  to  imitate  this  ex- 
ample, but  even  to  render  the  anniversary,  now 
celebrated  under  my  auspices,  so  lively  and  brilliant 
as  to  efface  the  recollection  of  all  that  had  pre- 
ceded it. 

Seldom,  indeed,  bad  Athens  witnessed  so  bright 
a  scene.  The  grounds  that  fornied  the  original  site 
of  the  Garden  had  received,  from  time  to  time,  con- 
siderable additions ;  and  the  whole  extent  was  now 
laid  out  with  that  pcrlect  taste  which  undei's'ands 
how  to  wed  Nature  with  Art,  without  sacrificing 
any  of  her  simplicity  to  the  alliance.  Walks,  leading 
through  wildernesses  of  shade  and  fragrance — 
glades,  opening,  as  i'  to  afford  a  playground  for  the 


says  VVarburton,  "we  find  a  much  juste?  account  of  atd 
Egyptian  wisdom,  than  in  all  the  pretended  liistoire  du 
Ciel.' " — Div.  Leg'  book  iv.  sect.  14. 


664 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


sunshine — temples,  rising  on  the  very  spots  where 
Imafiiiation  herself  would  have  called  them  up,  and 
fountains  and  lakes,  in  alt'^rnato  motion  and  repose, 
either  wantonly  courting  the  verdure,  or  calmly 
sleepiug  in  its  embrace — such  was  the  variety  of 
feature  that  diversified  these  fair  gardens ;  and, 
animated  as  they  were  on  this  occasion,  by  all  the 
hving  wit  and  loveliness  of  Athens,  it  afforded  a 
scene  such  as  my  own  youtliful  fancy,  rich  as  it 
was  then  in  images  of  luxury  and  beauty,  could 
hardly  have  anticipated. 

The  ceremonies  of  the  day  began  with  the  very 
dawn,  when,  according  to  the  form  of  simpler  and 
better  times,  those  among  the  disciples  who  had 
apartments  within  the  Garden,  bore  the  image  of 
onr  Founder  iti  procession  from  chamber  to  cliamber, 
chanting  verses  in  praise  of  what  had  long  ceased 
to  be  objects  of  our  imitation — his  frugality  and 
temperance. 

Round  a  beautiful  lake,  in  the  centre  of  the 
Garden,  stood  four  white  Doric  temples,  in  one  of 
which  was  collected  a  libraiy  containing  all  the 
flowers  of  Grecian  literature  ;  wliile,  in  the  re- 
maining three.  Conversation,  the  Song,  and  the 
Dance,  held,  uninlerriipted  by  each  other,  their 
respective  rites.  lu  the  Library  stood  busts  of  all 
the  most  illustrious  Epicureans,  both  of  Rome  and 
Greece — Horace,  Atticus,  Pliny  the  elder,  the  poet 
Lucretius,  Lucian,  and  the  lamented  biographer  of 
the  Piiilosophers,  lately  lost  to  us,  Diogenes  Laer- 
tius.  There  were  also  the  portraits,  in  marble,  of 
all  the  eminent  female  votaries  of  the  school — 
Lr:entium  and  her  fair  daughter  Danae,  Themista, 
Philffinis,  and  others. 

It  was  here  that,  in  my  capacity  of  Hcresiarch, 
on  the  m  -^ling  of  the  Festival,  I  received  the  fe- 
licitations 0*  tiic  day  from  some  of  the  fairest  lips  of 
Athens  ;  and,  in  pronouncing  the  customary  oration 
to  the  memory  of  our  Master,  (in  which  it  was  usual 
to  dwell  upon  the  doctrines  ho  had  inculcated,) 
endeavored  to  attain  that  art,  so  useful  before  sucii 
an  audience,  of  lending  to  the  gravest  subjects  a 
charm,  which  secures  them  listeners  even  among 
the  simplest  and  most  volatile. 

Though  study,  as  may  be  supposed,  engrossed  but 
little  the  niglits  or  luornings  of  the  Garden,  yet  all 
the  lighter  parts  of  learning — that  portion  of  its  attic 
honey,  for  which  the  bee  is  not  compelled  to  go  very 
deep  into  tlio  flower — was  somewhat  zealously  cul- 
tivated by  us.  Even  here,  however,  the  young 
student  had  to  encounter  that  kind  of  distraction, 
which  is,  of  all  others,  the  least  favorable  to  com- 
posure of  thought ;  and,  with  more  tiian  one  of  my 
fair  disciples,  there  used  to  occur  such  scenes  as  the 
following,  wliich  a  poet  of  the  Garden,  taking  his 
picture  from  the  life,  thus  described : — 


"  As  o'er  the  lake,  in  evening's  glow, 

That  temple  threw  its  lengthening  shadO; 
Ujion  the  murblc  steps  below 

There  s:ile  a  lair  Ci)rinthian  maid, 
Gracefully  o'er  some  volume  bending  ; 

While,  by  her  side,  the  youthful  S;ige 
IlcM  back  her  ringlets,  lest,  descending, 

They  should  o'ershadow  all  the  page  "  c 

But  it  was  for  the  evening  of  that  day,  that  the 
richest  of  our  luxuries  were  reserved  Everj'  part 
of  the  Garden  was  illuminated,  with  the  most  skilful 
variety  of  lustre  ;  while  over  the  Lake  of  the 
Temples  were  scattered  wreaths  of  flowers,  through 
which  Iroats,  filled  with  beautiful  cliildren,  floated, 
as  through  a  liquid  parterre. 

Between  two  of  these  boats  a  mock  combat 
was  perpetually  carried  o."  : — their  respective  com- 
manders, two  blooming  y:oths,  being  jiabited  to 
represent  Eros  and  Auteros :  the  former,  the  Ce- 
lestial Love  of  the  Platonists,  and  the  latter,  that 
more  earthly  spirit,  which  usurps  the  name  of 
Love  among  tiie  Epicureans.  Throngliout  the 
whole  evening  their  conflict  was  maintained  with 
various  success ;  tlie  timid  distance  at  wliich  Eros 
kept  aloof  from  his  lively  antagonist  being  bis  only 
safeguard  against  those  darts  of  fire,  with  showers 
of  whicli  the  other  assailed  him,  but  which,  falling 
short  of  their  mark  upon  the  lake,  only  scorched 
tho  few  flowers  on  which  they  fell,  and  were  cx- 
tinguislied. 

In  another  part  of  the  Gardens,  on  a  wide  glade, 
illuminated  only  by  tho  moon,  was  performed  an 
imitation  of  the  torch-race  of  the  Panathentca  by 
young  boys  chosen  for  their  fleetness,  and  arrayed 
with  wings,  like  Cupids ;  while,  not  far  ofl',  a  group 
of  seven  nymphs,  with  each  a  star  on  her  forehead, 
represented  the  movements  of  the  planetary  choir, 
and  embodied  the  dream  of  Pythagoras  into  real 
motion  and  song. 

At  every  turning  some  new  enchantment  broke 
unexpectedly  on  the  eye  or  ear ;  and  now,  from  the 
depth  of  a  dark  grove,  from  which  a  fountain  at  tlie 
same  time  issued,  there  came  a  strain  of  sweet  mu- 
sic, which,  mingling  with  the  munnur  of  tho  water, 
seemed  like  tlie  voice  of  the  sphSt  that  presided  over 
its  flow ; — while,  at  other  times,  the  same  strain 
ajipearcd  to  come  breathing  from  among  flowers, 
or  was  heard  suddenly  from  under  ground,  as  if  the 
foot  had  just  touched  some  spring  that  set  its  melody 
in  motion. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  I  should  now  dwell 
upon  all  these  trifling  details ;  but  they  were  to  me 
full  of  the  future  ;  and  every  thing  connected  with 
that  memorable  night — even  its  long-repented  fol- 
lies— must  forever  live  fondly  and  sacredly  iu  my 
memory.  The  festival  concluded  with  a  banquet, 
at  which,  us  master  of  the  Sect,  I  presided ;  and 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


665 


being,  myself,  in  every  sense,  tlie  asccnilant  spirit 
of  tlie  «  hole  scene,  gave  life  to  all  aronnJ  me,  and 
saw  my  own  happiness  reflected  in  that  of  others. 


CHAPTER  II. 

TiiK  festival  was  over; — the  sonnds  of  the  song 
and  dance  had  ceased,  and  I  was  now  left  in  those 
liixinious  gardens,  alone.  Though  so  ardent  and 
active  a  votary  of  pleasure,  I  had,  by  nature,  a  dis- 
position full  of  melancholy; — an  imagination  that, 
(  vpn  in  tlie  midst  of  mirth  and  happiness,  presented 
s  iddening  thoughts,  and  threw  tlie  shadow  of  the 
iuture  over  tho  gayest  illusions  of  the  present. 
.Melancholy  was,  indeed,  twin-born  in  my  soiJ 
\Mth  Passion ;  and  not  even  in  the  fullest  feiTor 
ul'  the  latter  were  they  ever  separated.  From  the 
first  moment  that  I  was  conscious  of  thought  and 
frcling,  tho  same  dark  thread  had  run  across  the 
web  ;  and  images  of  death  and  annihilation  came 
to  mingle  themselves  with  even  the  most  smiling 
scenes  through  wliich  love  and  enjoyment  led 
ni'^.  My  very  passion  for  pleasure  but  deepened 
these  gloomy  thoughts.  For,  shut  out,  as  I  was  by 
my  crc-d,  from  a  future  life,  and  havmg  no  hope 
beyond  the  narrow  horizon  of  this,  every  minute  of 
eartlily  d?lglit  assumed,   in  my  eyes,  a   mournful 

■preciousness  ;  and  pleasure,  like  the   flower  of  tlie 
cemetery,  grew  but  more  lu.xuriant  from  the  neigh- 

,  borhood  of  death. 

This  very  night  my  triumph,  my  happiness,  had 
seemed  complete.  I  had  been  the  presiding  genius 
of  that  voluptuous  scene.  Both  my  ambition  and 
my  love  of  pleasure  had  drank  deep  of  the  rich  cup 
for  which  tliey  thirsted.  Looked  up  to  as  I  was  by 
the  learned,  and  admired  and  loved  by  tho  beautiful 
and  the  young,  I  had  seen,  in  every  eye  that  met 
mine,  either  the  acknowledgment  of  bright  triumphs 
already  won,  or  the  promise  of  others,  still  brighter, 
that  awaited  me.  Yet,  even  in  the  midst  of  all 
this,  the  same  dark  thoughts  had  presented  them- 
selves ; — the  perishableness  of  myself  and  all  around 
me  had  recurred  every  instant  to  my  mind.  Those 
hands  I  had  pressed — those  eyes,  in  wliich  I  had 
Been  sparkling  a  spirit  of  light  and  life  that  ought 
never  to  die — those  voices,  that  had  spoken  of  eter- 
nal love — all,  all  I  felt,  were  but  a  mockery  of  the 
moment,  and  would  leave  nothing  eternal  but  tho 
silence  of  their  dust ! 

Oh.  were  it  not  for  this  sad  voice, 

SIcaling  amid  niir  mirth  to  say, 
Th:it  all,  in  which  we  most  rejoice. 

Ere  night  may  he  the  earth-worm's  prey, — 


But  for  this  liitter— only  this— 

Full  as  the  world  is  briiuni'd  with  hhis, 

And  capable  as  feels  iny  soul 

Of  draining  to  its  depth  the  whole, 

I  shonld  turn  e.irth  to  heaven,  and  be. 

If  bliss  made  gods,  a  deity  I 

Such  was  the  description  I  gave  of  my  own  feel- 
ings in  one  of  those  wild,  passionate  songs,  to  which 
this  mi.xture  of  mirth  and  melancholy,  in  a  spirit  so 
buoyant,  naturally  gave  birth. 

-\nd  seldom  had  my  heart  so  fully  surrendered 
itself  to  this  sort  of  vague  sadness  as  at  that  very 
moment,  when,  as  I  paced  thoughtfully  among  the 
fading  lights  and  flowers  of  the  banquet,  the  echo  of 
my  own  step  was  all  that  now  sounded,  where  so 
many  gay  forms  had  lately  been  revelling.  The 
moon  was  still  up,  tho  morning  had  not  yet  glun- 
mered,  and  the  calm  glories  of  the  night  still  rest- 
ed on  all  around.  Unconscious  whither  my  path- 
way led,  I  continued  to  wander  along,  till  I,  at 
length,  found  myself  before  that  fair  statue  of  Ve- 
nus, with  which  the  chisel  of  Alcamenes  had  em- 
bellished our  Garden ; — that  image  of  deified  woman, 
the  only  idol  to  which  I  had  ever  yet  bent  the  knee. 
Leaning  against  the  pedestal  of  the  statue,  I  raised 
my  eyes  to  heaven,  and  fi.xing  them  sadly  and  in- 
tently on  the  ever-burning  stars,  as  if  seeking  to  read 
the  mournful  secret  in  tlieir  liglit,  asked,  wherefore 
was  it  that  M-an  alone  mnst  fade  and  perish,  while 
they,  so  much  less  wonderful,  less  godlike  than  lie, 
thus  still  lived  on  in  radiance  unchangeable  and  for- 
ever !  '•  Oh,  that  there  were  some  spell,  some  talis- 
man,"' I  exclaimed,  "  to  make  the  spirit  that  burns 
within  us  deathless  as  those  slai*s,  and  open  to  it  a 
career  like  theirs,  as  bright  and  inextinguishable 
throughout  all  time  !" 

While  thus  indulging  in  wild  and  melancholy  fan- 
cies, I  felt  that  lassitude  which  earthly  pleasure, 
however  sweet,  still  leaves  behind,  come  insensibly 
over  me,  and  at  length  sunk  at  the  base  of  the  sta- 
tue to  sleep. 

But  even  in  sleep,  the  same  fancies  continued  to 
haunt  me  ;  and  a  dream,'  so  distinct  and  vivid  as 
to  leave  behind  it  the  impression  of  reality,  thus 
presented  itself  to  my  mind.  I  found  myself  sud- 
denlj'  transported  to  a  wide  and  desolate  plain, 
where  nothing  appeared  to  breathe,  or  move,  or 
live.  The  very  sky  that  hung  above  it  looked  pale 
and  extinct,  giving  the  idea,  not  of  darkness,  but 
of  light  that  had  become  dead ; — and  had  that 
whole  region  been  tlie  remains  of  some  older  world, 
left  broken  up  and  sunless,  it  could  not  have  pre- 
sented   an    aspect    moro    quenched    and    desolate 


1  For  the  importance  attached  to  dreams  by  the  ancielts, 
see  Jtirtin,  Reiimrl^s  on  Ecclesias  ical  History,  vol.  i.,  p.  .tO 


666 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  only  thinjif  that  bespoke  life,  throughout  this 
mc!anc!ioly  waste,  was  a  small  spark  of  light,  that 
at  first  plimmercd  in  the  distance,  but,  at  length, 
(^lowiy  upproaclied  the  bleak  spot  where  I  stood. 
As  it  drew  nearer,  I  could  see  that  its  small  but 
steady  gleam  came  from  a  taper  in  the  hand  of  an 
ancient  and  vtuorablo  man,  wiio  now  stood,  like  a 
pale  messenger  from  tlie  grave,  before  me.  After 
a  few  moments  of  awful  silence,  during  which  he 
looked  at  me  with  a  sadness  that  thrilled  my  very 
sou!,  he  said,  "  Thou,  who  seekest  eternal  life,  go 
unto  the  shores  of  the  dark  Nile — go  unto  the  shores 
of  the  dark  Nile,  and  thou  wilt  find  the  eternal  life 
thou  seekest  I*' 

No  sooner  had  he  uttered  these  words  than  the 
deathlike  hue  of  his  cheek  at  once  bri;;;hteiied  into 
a  smile  of  more  than  earthly  promise  ;  while  the 
small  torcii  he  held  in  his  hand  sent  forth  a  glow 
of  radiance,  by  which  suddenly  the  whole  surface 
of  the  desert  was  illuminated  ; — the  light  spreading 
even  to  the  distant  horizon's  edge,  along  whose 
hue  I  could  now  see  gardens,  palaces,  and  spires, 
all  as  bright  as  the  rich  arcliitecLure  of  tiie  clouds 
at  sunset.  Sweet  music,  too,  camo  floating  in  every 
direction  through  the  air,  and,  from  all  sides,  such 
varieties  of  enchantmpnt  broke  upon  me,  that,  with 
the  excess  alike  of  harmony  and  of  radiance,  I 
awoke. 

Tnat  infidels  should  he  superstitious  is  an  anoma- 
ly neither  unusual  nor  strange.  A  belief  in  super- 
human agency  seems  natural  and  necessary  to 
the  mind  ;  and,  if  not  suffered  to  flow  in  the  ob- 
vious channels,  it  will  find  a  vent  in  some  otiicr. 
Hence,  many  who  have  doubted  the  existence  of 
a  God,  have  yet  implicitly  placed  themselves  un- 
der the  patronage  of  Fate  or  the  stars.  Much  the 
same  inconsistency  I  was  conscious  of  in  my  own 
feelings.  Tnough  rejecting  all  belief  in  a  Divine 
Providence,  I  had  yet  a  faith  in  dreams,  that  ail 
my  philosopliy  could  not  conquer.  Nor  was  expe- 
rience wanting  to  confirm  me  in  my  delusion;  for, 
by  some  of  tliose  accidental  coincidences,  which 
make  the  fortune  of  soothsayers  and  prophets, 
dreams,  more  than  once,  had  been  to  me 

Oracles,  truer  fivr  than  n:ik, 
Or  dove,  or  tripod,  ever  spoke. 

It  was  not  wonderful,  therefore,  tiiat  the  vision  of 
that  night — touching,  as  it  did,  a  chord  so  ready 
to  vibrate — s'lould  have  affected  me  with  more 
than  ordinar\"  power,  and  even  sunk  deeper  into 
my  memory  with  every  effort  I  made  to  forget  it. 
In  vain  did  I  mock  at  my  own  weakness ; — such 
self-derision  is  seldom  sincere.  In  vain  did  I  pui-sue 
my  accustomed  pleasures.  Their  zest  was,  as  usual, 
forever  new ;  but  still,  in  the  midst  of  all  my  enjoy- 


ment, camo  the  cold  and  saddening  consciousness  of 
mortality,  and,  with  it,  the  recollection  of  tliat  vis- 
ionary promise,  to  which  my  fancy,  in  defiance  of 
reason,  stili  continued  to  cling. 

At  times  indulging  iu  reveries,  that  were  little 
else  than  a  continuation  of  my  dream,  I  even  con- 
templated the  possible  existence  of  some  mighty 
secret,  by  which  youth,  if  not  perpetuated,  might 
be  at  least  prolonged,  and  that  dreadful  vicinity  of 
death,  within  whose  circle  love  pines  and  pleasure 
sickens,  might  be  for  a  wh  h  averted.  "  Who 
knows,''  I  woujd  ask,  *'  but  that  in  Egypt,  that 
region  of  wonders  vhere  Mystery  hath  yet  un- 
folded but  half  her  treasures — where  still  remain, 
undeciphered,  upon  the  pillars  of  Seth,  so  many 
written  secrets  of  the  antediluvian  world — who  can 
tell  but  that  some  powerful  charm,  5ome  amulet, 
may  there  lie  hid,  whose  discovery,  as  this  pliantom 
hath  promised,  but  awaits  my  coming — some  com- 
pound of  the  same  pure  atoms  that  form  the  es- 
sence of  the  living  stars,  and  whose  infusion  into  the 
frame  of  man  might  render  him  also  unfading  and 
immortal !" 

Thus  fondly  did  I  sometimes  speculate,  in  those 
vague  moods  of  mind,  when  the  life  of  excitement 
in  which  I  was  engaged,  acting  upon  a  warm  heart 
and  vivid  fanc}',  produced  an-intoxicaliou  of  spirit, 
during  which  I  was  not  wholly  myself.  Tiiis  be- 
wilderment, too,  was  not  a  litllo  increased  by  the 
constant  struggle  I  experienced  between  my  own 
natural  feehngs,  and  the  cold,  mortal  creed  of  my 
sect — in  endeavoring  to  escape  from  whose  deaden- 
ing bondage  I  but  broke  loose  into  the  realms  of 
fantasy  and  romance. 

Even  in  my  soberest  moments,  however,  that 
strange  vision  forever  haunted  me  ;  and  every 
effort  I  made  to  chase  it  from  my  recollection  was 
unavailing.  The  deliberate  conclusion,  therefore, 
to  whicli  I  at  last  came,  was,  that  to  visit  Eg^'pt 
was  now  my  only  resource  ;  that,  without  seeing 
that  land  of  wonders,  I  could  not  rest,  nor,  until 
convinced  of  my  folly  by  disappointment,  be  reason- 
able. Without  delay,  accordingly,  I  announced  to 
my  friends  of  the  Garden,  the  intention  I  had  formed 
to  pay  a  visit  to  the  land  of  Pyramids.  'I'o  none  of 
them,  liowever,  did  I  dare  to  confess  the  vague, 
visionary  impulse  that  actuated  me ; — knowledge 
being  the  object  that  I  alleged,  while  Pleasure  was 
that  for  which  they  gave  mo  credit.  The  interests 
of  the  School,  it  was  feared,  might  suffer  by  my 
absence  ;  and  there  were  some  tenderer  tics,  which 
had  still  more  to  fear  from  separation.  But  for  the 
ormer  Aicouvenience  h  temporary  remedy  was 
provided  ;  while  the  latter  a  skilful  distribution  of 
vows  and  sighs  alleviated.  Being  furnished  with 
recommendatory  letters  to    all   parts  of  Egypt,    I 


S 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


667 


Bet  sail  in  the  summer  of  tlic  year  257,  a.  d.,  for 
Alexaudria. 


CHAPTER  III. 

To  one,  who  so  well  knew  Iiow  to  extract  pleas- 
ure from  every  moment  on  land,  a  sea-voyage,  how- 
rvor  smooth  and  favorable,  appeared  the  least  agree- 
:ih!o  mode  of  losing  time  thiit  Qonid  be  devised. 
'  >Uen,  indeed,  did  my  imaginalion,  in  passing  some 
\-~\o  of  tliose  seas,  people  it  with  fair  forms  and 
laing  hearts,  to  wliich  most  willingly  won!d  I  have 
ii  luscd  to  offer  homage.  But  tlie  wiijid  blew  direct 
inwards  the  land  of  Mystery;  and,  still  more,  I 
::<ard  a  voice  within  me,  whispering  forever,  "  On." 
As  we  approached  the  coast  of  Egypt,  onr  conrse 
Ill-came  less  prosperous;  and  we  had  a  specimen  of 
I'le  benevolence  of  the  divinities  of  the  Nile,  in  the 
!iape  of  a  storm,  or  rather  whirlwind,  which  had 
iK-arly  sunk  our  vessel,  and  which  tlie  Egyptians  on 
I' 'ard  declared  to  bo  the  work  of  their  deity,  Ty- 
l'';on.  After  a  day  and  niglit  of  danger,  during 
.'.  hich  we  were  driven  out  of  our  course  to  the 
'  :s-^tward,  some  benigner  influence  prevailed  above  ; 
J.  jud,  at  length,  as  the  morning  freshly  broke,  we 
saw  tlie  beautiful  city  of  Alexandria  rising  from  the 
sea,  with  its  proud  Palace  of  Kings,  its  portico  of 
four  hundred  columns,  and  the  fair  Pillar  of  Pillars,' 
towering  in  the  midst  to  heaven. 

After  passing  in  review  tliis  splendid  vision,  we 
shot  rapidly  round  the  Rock  of  Pharos,  and,  in  a 
few  minutes,  found  ourselves  in  the  harbor  of  Eu- 
nostus.  The  sun  had  risen,  but  the  light  on  the 
Great  Tower  of  the  Rock  was  still  burning;  and 
there  was  a  languor  iii  the  first  waking  movements 
of  that  voluptuous  city — whose  houses  and  temples 
lay  shining  in  silence  around  tlso  harbor — that 
sufKciently  attested  the  festivities  of  the  preceding 
night. 

We  were  soon  landed  on  the  quay ;  and,  as  I 
walked,  through  a  line  of  palaces  and  shrines,  up 
the  street  which  leads  from  the  sea  to  the  Gate  of 
Cauopus,  fresh  as  I  was  from  the  contemplation  of 
my  own  lovely  Athens.  I  yet  felt  a  glow  of  admira- 
tion at  the  scene  around  me,  which  its  novelty,  even 
more  than  its  magnificence,  inspired.  Nor  were 
the  luxuries  and  delights,  which  such  a  city  prom- 


1  More  properly,  perhaps,  "the  CoUmin  of  the  Pillars." 
Vide  Abdallatif,  Relation  de  TEpypte,  and  the  notes  of  M. 
dc  Sacy.  The  great  portico  anmnd  this  column  (formerly 
deiijiDated  Pmnpey's,  but  now  known  to  have  been  erected 
in  honor  of  Dioclesian)  whs  still  standing.  M.  de  Sacy  says, 
in  the  time  of  S;ila.din.    Vide  Lord  yalcittia^s  Travels. 


ised,  among  the  least  of  the  considerations  upon 
wliich  my  fancy  dwelt.  On  the  contraiy,  every 
thing  around  mo  seemed  prophetic  of  lovo  and 
pleasure.  The  very  forms  of  the  architecture,  lo 
my  Epicurean  imagination,  appeared  to  call  up 
images  of  living  grace  ;  and  even  the  dim  seclusion 
of  the  temples  and  groves  spoke  only  of  tender 
mysteries  to  my  mind.  As  the  whole  bright  scene 
grew  animated  around  me,  I  felt  that  though  Eg}'pt 
might  not  enable  me  to  lengthen  life,  she  could 
teach  the  next  betil  art — that  of  multiplying  its  en- 
joyments. 

The  population  of  Alexandria,^  at  this  period, 
consisted  of  the  most  motley  miscel'lany  of  nulions, 
religions,  and  sects,  that  had  ever  been  brought 
together  in  one  city.  Besides  the  school  of  the 
Grecian  Platonist  was  seen  tiie  oratory  of  the  caba- 
listic Jew ;  while  the  church  of  tlie  Ciiristian  stood, 
undisturbed,  over  tiio  crypts  of  the  Egyptian  Hiero- 
phant.  Here,  the  adorer  of  Fire,  from  the  East, 
laughed  at  tiie  less  elegant  superstition  of  the  wor- 
shipper of  cats,  from  the  West.  Here  Christianity, 
too,  liad  learned  to  emulate  the  pious  vagaries  of 
Paganism  ;  and  while,  on  one  side,  her  Ophite  pro- 
fessor was  seen  bending  his  knee  gravely  before  a 
serpent,  on  the  other,  a  Nicosian  Christian  was 
heard  contending,  with  no  less  gravity,  that  there 
could  be  no  chatice  whatever  of  salvation  out  of  the 
pale  of  the  Greek  alpliabet.  Still  worse,  th.e  un- 
charitable n  ess  of  Christian  scljism  was  already,  with 
equal  vigor,  distinguishing  itself;  and  I  heard  every- 
where, on  my  arrival,  of  the  fierce  rancor  and 
hate,  with  which  the  Greek  and  Latin  ciiurcimicn 
were  then  persecuting  each  other,  because,  forsooth, 
the  one  fasted  on  the  seventh  day  of  the  week,  and 
the  othei-s  fasted  upon  the  fourth  and  sixlli ! 

To  none,  however,  of  tiiese  different  creeds  and 
sects,  except  in  as  far  as  they  furnished  food  for 
ridicule,  had  I  time  to  pay  much  attention.  I  was 
now  in  the  most  luxurious  city  of  the  univeree,  and 
accordingly  gave  way,  without  reserve,  to  the 
various  seductions  that  sun-o-nidi-d  me.  My  repu- 
tation, both  as  a  philosopher  and  a  man  of  pleasure, 
had  preceded  my  coming;  and  Alexandria,  the 
second  Athens  of  the  world,  welcomed  me  as  her 
own.  I  found  my  celebrity,  indeed,  act  as  a  talis- 
man, that  opened  all  hearts  and  doors  at  my  ap- 
proach. The  usual  novitiate  of  acquaintance  was 
dispensed  with  in  my  favor,  and  not  only  intima- 
cies,  bLil  loves  and  friends'iips,   ripened  as  rapidly 


3  Ammiiinus  thus  speaks  of  the  st^ite  of. Alexandria  in  his 
time,  which  was,  I  believe,  as  late  as  the  end  of  the  fijurth 
century: — "  Ne  ntinc  quidem  in  eadcm  urbc  KnctrinEc  v;irlffl 
silent,  lion  apud  nos  t-varuit  Musica  ncc  narmonia  conticuiL  * 
Lib.  22. 


668 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


m  my  path,  as  vegetation  springs  up  where  the 
Nile  has  flowed.  Tlie  dark  beauty  of  the  Egyp- 
tian women'  possessed  a  novelty  in  my  eyes  that 
enhanced  its  otiier  charms;  and  the  hue  left  by 
the  sun  on  tlieir  rounded  checks  seemed  but  an 
c^.rucst  of  the  genial  ardor  lie  must  have  kindled  in 
their  hearts — 

Th'  iniliruwning  of  the  fruit,  thnt  tells, 

Huw  rich  wiihin  the  soul  of  sweetness  dwells. 

Some  weeks  had  now  passed  in  such  constant 
and  ever-changing  pleasures,  that  even  the  melan- 
choly voice  deep  within  my  heart,  thougii  it  still 
spoke,  was  but  seldom  listened  to,  and  soon  died 
away  in  the  sound  of  the  siren  songs  that  sur- 
rounded me.  At  length,  as  the  novelty  of  these 
gay  scenes  wore  off,  tlie  same  vague  and  gloomy 
bodings  began  to  mingle  with  all  my  joys ;  and  an 
incident  that  occurred,  at  this  time,  during  one  of 
my  gayest  revels,  conduced  still  more  to  deepen 
tlieir  gloom. 

The  celebration  of  the  annual  festival  of  Serapis 
happened  to  lake  place  during  my  stay  ;  and  I  was, 
more  than  once,  induced  to  mingle  with  tlio  gay 
nniltitudcs  that  flocked  to  the  shrine  at  Canopus 
on  the  occasion.  Day  and  night,  as  long  as  this 
festival  lasted,  the  great  canal,  which  led  from 
Alexandria  to  Canopus,  was  covered  with  boats 
full  of  pilgrims  of  both  sexes,  all  hastening  to  avail 
themselves  of  this  pious  license,  which  lent  the 
zest  of  a  religious  sanction  to  pleasure,  and  gave  a 
holyday  to  the  follies  and  passions  of  earth,  in 
honor  of  heaven. 

I  was  returning,  one  lovely  night,  to  Alexandria. 
The  north  wind,  that  welcome  visiter,  had  cooled 


1  From  the  character  of  Itie  features  of  the  Sphinx,  and  a 
passafre  in  HerodotU'*,  ilescribing  the  Egyptians  as  fiei^nyxpons 
Kai  u^'^ur/^l,\^f,  Volney,  Bruce,  antl  a  few  others,  have  con- 
cluiicd  thHi  the  ancient  inhaliitnnts  of  Egypt  were  negroes. 
But  tliis  opinion  is  contiadictcU  by  a  host  of  authorities- 
See  Ca^ffrrtV  notes  upon  Browne's  Travels,  for  the  result  of 
BliiMienb^ch's  dissection  of  a  variely  of  niunuuies.  Denon, 
ypeaking  of  the  character  of  the  heads  represented  in  the 
ancient  sepulchre  and  painting  of  Esypt,  says,  "Celle  des 
fenitries  rcssemble  encore  a  la  figure  des  jolies  femnies  d'au- 
jourd'hui:  de  la  rontleur.de  la  volupte,  le  uez  petit,  les  yeux 
long-*,  pcu  ouverts,"  &,c.  £tc.  He  could  judge,  too,  he  says, 
from  the  female  nmininies,  "quelcurs  ciieveux6toienl  longs 
et  lisses.que  Ic  caracterede  t^ie  de  la  plupart  tenoit  du  beau 
style." — "  Je  rapportai,"  he  adds,  "urie  lOlede  vieille  fcmme 
qui  etciit  aussi  belle  que  celles  de  Michel-Angc,  el  lour  res- 
sernbluit  beaucoup." 

In  a  "  Description  gtniralc  dc  T/icbrs"  by  Messrs.  Jolfois 
et  Dcsvillicrs,  they  say,''  Toules  les  sculptures  Epypticnnes, 
depuis  les  plus  prands  colosses  de  Thebes  jasqu'aux  plus 
petites  idoles,  ne  rappelcnt  en  aurune  nianiere  les  trails  de 
la  fit;iue  des  iiegrcs  ;  outre  que  les  i^tes  des  nioniies  des 
caiaconibes  de  Th6bes  pr6senlent  dos  profits  droits."  (See 
also  J\J.  Jomard's  "  Description  of  Syone  and  the  Cataracts." 
Baron    Larrey,  on   the   "conformation    physique"   of  the 


and  freshened  the  air,  while  the  banks,  on  either 
side  of  the  stream,  sent  forth,  from  groves  of  orange 
and  henna,  the  most  delicious  odors.  As  I  had 
left  all  the  crowd  behind  me  at  Canopus,  there  was 
not  a  boat  to  be  seen  on  the  canal  but  my  own  ;  and 
I  was  just  yielding  to  the  thoughts  which  solitude 
at  such  an  hour  inspires,  when  my  reveries  were 
suddenly  broken  by  the  sound  of  some  female  voices, 
coming  mingled  witii  '•iiu^hter  and  screams,  from 
the  garden  of  a  pavilion,  that  stood,  brilliantly  illumi- 
nated, upon  the  bank  of  the  canal. 

In  rowing  nea^-er,  I  perceived  that  both  the  mirth 
and  the  alarm  had  been  caused  by  the  efforts  of  some 
playful  girls  to  reach  a  hedge  of  jasmine  which  grew 
near  tlie  water,  and  in  bending  towards  wliich  they 
had  nearly  fallen  into  the  stream.  Hastening  to 
proffer  my  assistance,  I  soon  recognised  the  voice  of 
one  of  my  fair  Alexandrian  friends  ;  and,  springing  on 
the  bank,  was  surrounded  by  the  whole  group,  who 
insisted  on  my  joining  their  party  in  the  paviii^-.i  j 
and,  having  flung  aroimd  me,  as  fetters,  the  tendrils 
of  jasmine  which  they  had  just  plucked,  conducted 
me,  no  unwilling  captive,  to  the  banquet-room. 

I  found  here  an  assemblage  of  the  very  flower 
of  Alexandrian  society.  The  unexpectedness  of 
the  meeting  added  new  zest  to  it  on  both  sides  ; 
and  seldom  had  I  ever  felt  more  enlivened  myself, 
or  succeeded  better  in  infusing  life  and  gayety  into 
others. 

Among  the  company  wore  some  Greek  women, 
who,  according  to  the  fashion  of  their  country, 
wore  veils  ;  but,  as  usual,  rather  to  set  off  than  to 
conceal  their  beauty,  some  bright  gleams  of  which 
were  constantly  escaping  from  under  the  cloud. 
There  was,  however,  one  female,  who  particularly 

Egyptians,  &.r.)  But  the  most  satisfactory  refutation  of  the 
opinion  of  Volney  has  been  afforded  within  these  few  years 
by  Doctor  Granville,  who,  having  been  lucky  enough  to 
obtain  possession  of  a  perfect  female  niununy,  has,  by  the 
dissection  and  admeasurement  of  its  form,  completely  es- 
tablished the  fjct,  that  the  ancient  Egyptians  were  of  the 
Caucasian  nice,  not  of  the  Ethiopian.  See  lliisgenllcinan's 
curious  "  Essay  on  F.g-yplian  Jilummics"  read  before  the 
Royal  Fociety,  April  14,  1&23. 

De  I'auw,  the  great  depredator  of  every  Ihing  Egyptian* 
has,  on  the  authority  of  a  passage  in  ^lian,  presumed  to 
affix  to  the  countrywomen  of  Cleopatra  the  stiL;ma  of  com- 
plete and  unredeemed  ugliness.  The  following  line  of  Eu- 
ripides, however,  is  an  ans\ver  to  such  charges: — 

NfiAou  [lee  nli)e  KaWnrapOcvoi  l)oai. 

In  addition  to  the  celebrated  instances  of  Cleopatra,  Rho- 
dope,  &.C.,  weare  told,  on  the  authority  of  Manetho.  (as  given 
by  Zocga  from  Georgius  Synccllus,)  of  a  beautiful  queen 
of  Memphis,  Nitocris,  of  the  sixth  dynasty,  who,  in  addi- 
tion to  other  cliarms  and  perfections,  was  (rather  incon- 
sistently with  the  negro  hypothesis)  ^avOtf  rrjv  xpoiavj  ».  c. 
yellow-haired. 

See  for  a  tribute  to  the  beauty  of  the  Egyptian  women, 
Montesquieu's  Temple  de  Guide. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


C69 


attracted  my  attention,  on  whose  head  was  a  chap- 
lot  of  dark-colored  flowers,  and  who  sat  veiled 
and  silent  durin^  the  whole  of  the  banquet.  She 
took  no  share,  I  observed,  in  what  was  passing- 
around ;  the  viands  and  the  wine  went  by  her 
untouclied,  nor  did  a  word  that  was  spoken  seem 
addressed  to  her  ear.  Tliis  abstitiction  from  a  scene 
t^o  Bparkiing  with  gayety,  though  apparently  unno- 
t;(.ed  by  any  one  but  myself,  struck  ma  as  myste- 
rious and  strange.  I  inquired  of  my  fair  neighbor 
ill-'    cause   of  it,   but  she  looked  grave,   and  was 

,    S,l.Mlt. 

In  the  mean  time,  tlie  lyre  and  the  cup  went 
miaid;  and  a  young  maid  from  Athens,  as  if  in- 
snirod  by  the  presence  of  her  countrj'man,  took 
lur  lute,  and  sung  to  it  some  of  the  songs  of  Greece, 
w.th  a  warmth  of  feoHng  tliat  boro  me  back  to  the 
bjuks  of  the  Ilissus,  and,  even  in  the  bosom  of 
jircsent  pleasure,  drew  a  sigh  from  my  heart  for  that 
which  had  passed  away.  It  was  daybrealt  ere  our 
delighted  party  rose,  and  most  unwillingly  re-em- 
barked to  return  to  the  city 

We  were  scarce  afloat,  when  it  was  discovered 
that  the  lute  of  the  young  Athenian  had  been  left 
behind  ;  and,  with  a  heart  still  full  of  its  sweet 
sounds,  I  most  readily  sprang  on  shore  to  seek  It. 
I  hastened  at  once  to  the  banquet-room,  which 
\v;ls  now  dim  and  solitary,  except  that — there,  to 
my  utter  astonishment,  was  still  seated  that  silent 
!i:;iiro  whicli  had  awakened  so  much  my  curiosity 
(Inring  the  evening.  A  vague  feeling  of  ■^t  e  came 
nver  me,  as  I  now  slowly  approached  it.  Tliero 
V,  as  uo  motion,  no  sound  of  breathing  in  that  form  ; 
— not  a  loaf  of  the  dark  chaplet  upon  its  brow 
stirred.  By  the  light  of  a  dying  lamp  which  stood 
oil  the  table  before  the  figure,  I  raised,  with  a  hesi- 
tating hand,  the  veil ;  and  saw — what  my  fancy 
had  already  anticipated— that  the  shape  underneath 
\v;ls  lifeless,  was  a  skeletoii !  Startled  and  sliocked, 
I  hurried  back  with  the  lute  to  the  boat,  and  was 
almost  as  silent  as  that  shape  itself  during  the  re- 
in tinder  of  tlio  voyage. 

This  custom  among  the  Egyptians  of  placing  a 
mummy,  or  skeleton,  at  the  banquet-table,  had 
been  for  some  time  disused,  except  at  particular 
ceremonies;  and,  even  on  such  occasions,  it  had 
been  the  practice  of  the  luxurious  Alexandrians  to 
disguise  this  menorial  of  mortality  in  the  manner 
just  described.  But  to  me,  who  was  wholly  un- 
prepared for  such  a  spectacle,  it  gave  a  shock  from 
wliich  my  imagination  did  not  speedily  recover. 
This  silent  and  ghastly  witness  of  mirth  seemed  to 
embody,  as  it  were,  the  shadow  in  my  own  heart. 
The  features  of  the  grave  were  thus  stamped 
upon  the  idea  that  had  long  haunted  me,  and  this 
picture  of  what  I  was  to  be  now  associated  itself 


constantly  with  the  sunniest  aspect  of  what  I 
was. 

The  memory  of  the  dream  now  recurred  to  me 
more  livelily  than  ever.  Tlie  bright,  assuring  smile 
of  that  venerable  Spirit,  and  his  words,  *'  Go  to  the 
sliores  of  the  dark  Nile,  and  thou  wiit  find  the  eter- 
nal life  thou  seekest,"  were  forever  present  to  my 
mind.  But  as  yet,  alas,  I  had  done  nothing  towards 
realizing  the  proud  promise.  Alexandria  was  not 
Egypt ; — the  very  soil  on  which  it  now  stood  was 
not  in  existence,  when  already  Thebes  and  Mempliis 
had  numbered  ages  of  glory. 

"  No,"  I  exclaimed ;  "  it  is  only  beneath  the 
Pyramids  of  Memphis,  or  in  the  mystic  Haiis  of  the 
Labyrinth,  those  holy  arcana  arc  to  bo  found,  of 
which  the  antediluvian  world  has  made  Egypt  its 
heir,  and  among  which — blessed  thought ! — the  key 
to  eternal  life  may  lie." 

Having  formed  my  detennination,  I  took  leave 
of  my  many  Alexandrian  friends,  and  departed  for 
Memphis. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Egypt  was,  perhaps,  of  all  others,  the  country  most 
calculated,  from  that  mixture  of  the  mehu,  'loly 
and  the  voluptuous  which  marked  tlio  character  of 
her  people,  her  religion,  and  her  scenery,  to  affect 
deeply  a  fancy  and  temperament  like  mine,  and 
keep  both  forever  tremblingly  alive.  Wherever  I 
turned,  I  beheld  the  desert  and  the  garden,  mingling 
together  their  desolation  and  bloom.  I  saw  tho 
love-bower  and  the  tomb  standing  side  by  side,  as  if, 
in  that  land,  Pleasure  and  Death  kept  houriy  watch 
upon  each  other.  In  the  very  luxury  of  the  climate 
there  was  tiio  same  saddening  influence.  The 
monotonous  splendor  of  the  days,  the  solemn  radi- 
ance of  tho  nights — all  tended  to  cherish  that  ar- 
dent melancholy,  the  oflspring  of  passion  and  of 
thought,  which  had  been  so  long  tho  familiar  inmate 
of  my  soul. 

When  I  sailed  from  Alexandria,  the  inundation 
of  the  Nile  was  at  its  full.  The  whole  valley  of 
Egypt  lay  covered  by  its  blood ;  and,  as,  looking 
around  me,  I  saw  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun, 
shrines,  palaces,  and  monuments,  encircled  by  the 
waters,  I  could  almost  fancy  that  I  beheld  tho 
sinking  island  of  Atalantis,  on  the  last  evening  its 
temples  were  visible  above  the  wave.  Such  varieties, 
too,  of  animatiou  as  presented  themselves  on  every 
side ! — 

While,  far  as  sight  could  reach,  beneath  as  clear 
And  blue  a  heaven  as  ever  blessM  this  sphere, 


670 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Gtirtlens.  ond  pillnr'd  streets,  nml  porphyry  domes, 

Arul  hii'h  huilt  tcmiiles,  fit  to  be  the  homes 

Of  nujjhty  gods— and  pynuuids,  whuse  hour 

Oiuli-^is  iill  time,  above  the  waters  tower! 

Then.  Inn.  the  scenes  of  pomp  and  joy,  thai  niako 

One  theutre  of  this  vast  peopled  lake, 

Whore  all  that  Love,  Religion,  Cotnmerce  gives 

Oi'  life  and  nioiioii,  ever  moves  anil  lives. 

Hire,  np  the  bteps  of  temples,  from  the  wave 

A-^cendiiig.  in  procession  slow  and  grave, 

Tricsts,  in  white  garments,  go,  with  sacred  wands 

Ai'd  silver  cymbals  gleaming  in  their  hands  : 

^Vhiie,  there,  rich  b;irks — fresh  from  those  sunny  tracts 

Far  oil",  beyond  the  sounding  cataracts — 

Glide  with  tlieir  precious  luiing  to  the  sea, 

riumes  of  bright  birds,  rhinoceros'  ivory, 

Gein:i  from  the  isle  of  Merue,  and  (hose  grains 

Orgol<i,  wash'i!  down  by  Abyssinian  rains. 

Here,  where  the  waters  wind  into  a  bay 

61i;idiiwy  and  cool,  some  pilgriins  on  their  way 

'i'o  S.iis  or  Buba^tus,  among  beds 

Of  iipins-flowers.'  that  close  above  their  heads, 

Pii'li  their  light  barks,  and  hid,  as  in  a  t.ower, 

Sing,  talk,  or  sleep  away  the  sultry  hour; 

While  haply,  not  lar  olf,  beneath  a  bank 

Of  lilossnmiiig  acacias,  many  a  prank 

Is  pi   y'd  ill  the  cool  current  by  a  train 

Of  Nai'.'hing  nymphs,  lovely  as  she,  whose  chain 

Around  two  coiuiucrnrs  of  the  worhi  was  cast, 

IJui.  fur  a  third  too  feeble,  broke  at  last ! 

Encliaiited  with  the  whole  scene,  I  lingered  delight- 
edly on  my  voyajre,  visiting  all  tho.se  luxurious  and 
vcneiuble  pluce.s,  whoae  names  liave  been  consecra- 
ted by  the  wonder  of  ao;es.  At  Sais  I  was  present 
dunuji;  her  Festival  of  Lamps,  and  road,  by  the  blaze 
of  innumerable  lights,  those  sublime  words  on  the 
temple  of  Neitha  •? — "  I  am  all  that  has  been, 
that  is,  and  that  will  be,  and  no  man  hath  ever 
lifted  my  veil."  I  wandered  among  the  prostrate 
obelisks  of  lieliopolis,^  and  saw,  not  without  a  sigh, 
the  sun  smiling  over  her  ruins,  as  if  in  mockery  of 
the  mass  of  perishable  grandeur  that  had  once 
called  itself,  in  its  pride,  "  The  City  of  the  Sun." 
But  to  the  Isle  of  the  Golden  Venus*  was,  I  own, 
my  fondest  pilgrimage ; — and  there,  as  I  rambled 
througii  its  siiades,  wliere  bowers  are  the  only  temples, 
I  felt  how  far  more  worthy  to  form  the  slirine  of  a 
Deity  are  the  everliving  stems  of  the  garden  and  the 
grove,  than  the  most  precious  coluimis  the  inanimate 
quarry  can  supply. 

Kverywhere  new  pleasures,  new  interests  await- 
ed  me ;    and   though   Melancholy  stood,  as  usual, 


1  Vide  SIraho. 

2  'I'y  6'  IV  S«ci  Ti7f  A0i7va$,  ^v  Kat  Ictv  vom^ovatVfiSos, 
tniyo'iipiiv  c\ci  TOiuVTTjv.  I'.yo  cii^t  tthv  to  ycyovo^.  Km 
ov  Kill  tODfxci'Oi't  Kat  TOi  t;iov  nf^rXov  uvticti  Tui  a-rrcKaXvipEv. 
—  PlHtfirch.  dc  Isiil.  et  Osir. 

3  "  l)e  la,  en  remontant  loujimrs  Ic  Nil.  on  tronve  a  deux 
cent  ciiiqtiiinte  pas,  ou  enviren  de  la  Maiarte,  Ics  traces  de 
Taiirienne  Iieiiopolis,  ou  Ville  (le  Solril.  &  qui  ce  lieu  6iuit 
ptiriitulereinenl  cnnsacr^.  C'est  p'l  ir  cetie  misnn  qu*on 
TappL-loit  encore  I'CEil,  ou  la  Fontaine  du  Soleil."— Jl/ni7/c(. 


forever  near,  her  shadow  fell  but  half-way  over 
my  vagrant  path,  leaving  llio  rest  but  more  wel- 
comely  brilliant  from  the  contrast.  To  relate  my 
various  adventures,  during  this  short  voyage,  would 
only  detain  me  from  events,  far,  far  more  worthy 
of  record.  Amid:?!  all  this  endless  variety  of  attrac- 
tions, tiie  great  object  of  my  journey  had  been 
forgotten  ; — the  mysteries  of  this  land  of  the  sun  still 
remained,  to  me,  as  much  mysteries  as  ever,  and  as 
yet  I  had  been  initiated  in  nothing  but  its  pleasures. 

It  was  not  till  that  memorable  evening,  when  I 
first  stood  before  the  Pyramids  of  Memphis,  and 
beiield  them  towering  aloft,  like  the  watch-towers 
of  Time,  from  wliose  summit,  when  about  to  ex- 
pire, he  will  look  his  last — it  was  not  till  this 
moment  that  tl;o  great  secret  am.-,  pn.-"?d  in  my 
dream  again  rose,  in  f  Jl  its  inscrutable  .  ■^rkncss, 
upon  my  thoughts.  There  was  a  solemnity  in  the 
sunshine  resting  upon  those  monuments — a  still- 
ness, as  of  reverence,  in  the  air  that  breathed 
around  them,  which  seemed  to  steal,  like  the  music 
of  past  times,  into  my  heart.  I  thought  what 
myriads  of  the  wise,  the  beautifid,  and  the  brave, 
had  sunk  into  dust  since  earth  first  s-'/  those 
wonders;  and  in  the  sadness  of  my  soul,  I  ex- 
claimed,— '*  Must  man  alone,  then,  perish  ?  must 
minds  and  hearts  be  annihilated,  while  j)yramids 
endure?  Oh,  Death,  Death!  even  upon  these 
everlasting  tablets — the  only  approach  to  immor- 
tahty  that  kings  themselves  could  purchase — thou 
hast  written  our  doom  awfully,  and  intelligibly, 
saying,  '  There  is  for  man  no  eternal  mansion,  but 
the  grave !' " 

My  heart  sunk  at  the  thought ;  and,  for  the 
moment,  I  yielded  to  that  desolate  feeling,  which 
overspreads  the  soul  that  Iiatii  no  light  from  the 
future.  But  again  the  buoyancy  of  my  nature 
prevailed,  and  again,  the  willing  dupe  of  vain 
dreams,  I  deluded  myself  into  the  belief  of  al! 
that  my  heart  most  wished,  with  that  Iiappy 
facility  which  enables  imagination  to  stand  in  the 
place  of  happiness.  "  Yes,"  I  cried,  "  immortality 
7iutst  bo  within  man's  reach  ;  and,  as  wisdom  alone 
is  worthy  of  such  a  blessing,  to  the  wise  alone  must 
the  secret  have  been  revealed.  It  is  said,  tliat  deep 
under  yonder  pyramid,  has  lain  for  ages  concealed 
the  Table  of  Emerald,^  on  which  the  Thrice-Great 


*  "  On  trouvo  une  ile  nppel6e  Ycnus-DorOe,  ou  lo  chnmp 
d'or,  avant  de  remonter  jusqu'a  Mempliis." — Voyages  de 
Pytlingorc. 

6  For  !tn  account  of  the  Ta!)leof  Kmerald,  vide  Lcltrcssvr 
VOrigine  dcs  Dinix  d" K^jpte.  Dc  Panto  Fuppnses  it  to  be 
a  modern  fiction  of  the  Arabs.  Many  writers  have  fancied 
ih:il  the  art  nf  making  gold  \\;i-  ;'■<■  •  n-  t  -secret  limt  kiy  hid 
under  the  forms  nf  Egyptian  theology.  '■  La  science  herni6- 
liqne."  siiys  the  Rcnedictine.  Penietz.  "  I'art  s;cerdolil.  C'toil 
la  source  de  touies  les  richcsses  des  Kois  d'Egjpte.el  I'ubjet 


ill    '^'^ 

1    ^''' 
1      \m\ 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


671 


Hermes,  in  timps  before  the   flood,  engraved  the 

sicrot  of  Alclieiny,  wliieli  gives  gold  at  will.     Why, 

llien,m;iy  not  the  mightier,  the  more  god-liko  secret, 

ili,it  gives  life  at  will,  bo  recorded  there  also'     It 

was  by  the  power  of  gold,  of  endless  gold,  that  the 

■viiigs,  who  now  repose   in   those  massy  structures, 

s.'ooped  earth  to  its  very  centre,  and  raised  quarries 

iiilo  the  air,  to  provide  for  themselves  tombs  that 

ifiight   outstand  the  world.  .  Who  can  tell  but  that 

ihf  gift  of  iimnortality  was  also  theirs?  who  knows 

I  it    that  they  themselves,  triumphant  over  decay, 

:l   live  ; — those  mighty  mansions,  which  we   call 

I    Mibs,   being  rich   and  everlasting  palaces,  within 

Lose  depths,  concealed  from  this  withering  world, 

■y  still  wander,  with  the   few   Elect  who  have 

in  sharers  of  their  gift,  through  a  sunless,  but  ever 

i  unliuited  elysium  of  their  own?     Else,  wherefore 

"se  structures?  wherefore  tliat  subterranean  realm, 

whicli  the  whole  valley  of  Egypt  is  undermined? 

iiy,  else,  those  labyrinths,  u^iich   none  of  earth 

it!i  ever  beheld — which  none  of  heaven,  except 

it  God,  who  stands,  with  finger  on  his  hushed  lip,' 

;lli  ever  trodden?" 

While  thus  I  indulged  in  fond  dreams,  the  sun, 
already  half  sunk  beneath  the  horizon,  was  taking, 
calmly  and  gloriously,  his  last  look  of  the  Pyramids 
— as  he  had  done,  evening  after  evening,  for  ages, 
till  t!:ey  had  grown  familiar  to  him  as  the  earth 
ilsclf.  On  the  side  turned  to  his  ray  they  now  pre- 
sented a  front  of  dazzling  whiteness,'  while,  on  the 
other,  tlieir  great  shadows,  lengthening  away  to 
the  eastward,  looked  like  the  fiist  steps  of  Night, 
liaslening  to  envelope  the  liills  of  Araby  in  her 
sliade. 

No  sooner  had  the  last  gleam  of  the  sun  disap- 
peared, than  on  every  house-top  in  IMemphis,  gay, 
gilded  banners  were  seen  waving  aloft,  to  proclaim 
liis  selling — while,  at  the  same  moment,  a  full  burst 
of  harmony  was  heard  to  peal  from  all  the  temples 
along  the  shores. 

.Starlled  from  my  musing  by  these  sounds,  I  at 
once  i_  -Mlected,  that,  on  that  very  evening,  the 
great  festival  of  the  Moon  was  to  be  celebrated.  On 
a  little  island,  half-way  over  between  the  gardens  of 
Mempliis  and  the  eastern  shore,  stood  the  temple  of 
that  goddess. 


lie  ces  mysteres  si  c;ich6s  sous  \e  voile  de  leur  prtrtcndue 
Religion." — hhiiles  Esvpticnnfs.  The  hieroglyphs,  that 
fnrnie.-ly  covered  the  Pyramids,  are  sujiposed  ijy  some  of 
the.^e  writers  to  relate  to  the  same  art.    Sec  Jilutus  Liber, 

1  ■'  Efilin  Ilarpncrate  repri^sentnit  aiissi  le  Snleil.  II  est 
vrai  (jiie  c'lluit  aussi  le  Dieii  da  Silence  ;  il  nieltnit  le  doi;it 
snrlaboiiclie  p»rccii«'onadoroit  le.M)leilavec  nil  re^pectiieux 
silence,  et  c'esl  de  la  (\n  est  venu  le  Sig6  lies  Basilidicns, 
qni  Ureii^Dt  leur  origiue  de  I'E^-pte." — Bcausobre. 


whose  Ilea  1119 
Brins  the  su-eet  time  of  night-flowers  and  dreanie. 
JV'wi  the  cnlil  Dian  ot"the  North,  who  chains 
In  vestal  iro  the  current  of  young  veins  ; 
But  she,  who  haunts  the  gay,  DnUastian^  grove, 
And  owns  she  sees,  from  her  bright  heaven  above 
Nothing  on  earth  to  match  that  licaven,  but  love  ! 

Thus  did  I  exclaim,  in  the  words  of  one  of  llieit 
own  Egyptian  poets,  as,  anticipating  the  various 
delights  of  the  festival,  I  cast  away  from  my  mind 
all  gloomy  thoughts  ;  and,  hastening  to  my  lillle 
bark,  in  which  I  now  lived  the  life  of  a  Nilo-bird, 
on  the  waters,  steered  my  courso  to  the  island- 
temple  of  the  Moon 


CHAPTER  V. 

TitE  rising  of  the  Moon,  .slow  and  majestic,  a-; 
conscious  of  the  honors  that  awaited  her  upon  earth, 
was  welcomed  with  a  loud  acclaim  from  every  emi- 
nence, where  multitudes  stood  watching  for  her  fii^t 
light.  And  seldom  had  that  liglit  risen  upon  a  more 
beautiful  scene.  The  city  of  Memphis — still  grand, 
tliough  no  longer  the  unrivalled  Meiriphis  that  had 
borne  away  from  Thebes  the  crown  of  supremacy, 
and  worn  it  undispitted  through  ages— now.  softened 
by  the  mild  moonlight  that  harmonized  with  her  de- 
cline, shone  forth  among  her  lakes,  her  pyramids, 
and  her  shrines,  like  one  of  those  dreams  of  hninan 
glory  that  must  ere  long  pass  away.  Even  already 
ruin  was  visible  around  her.  The  sands  of  the 
Libyan  desert  were  gaining  upon  her  like  a  sea ; 
and  there,  among  solitary  columns  and  sphinxes, 
already  half  sunk  from  sight.  Time  seemed  to  stand 
waiting,  till  all  that  now  flourished  around  him 
should  fall  beneath  his  desolating  hand  like  the 
rest. 

On  the  waters  all  was  gayety  and  life.  As  fas  as 
eye  could  reach,  the  lights  of  innumerable  boat.s 
were  seen  studding,  like  rubies,  the  surface  of  the 
stream.  Vessels  of  every  kind — from  the  light  cora- 
cle,' built  for  shooting  down  the  cataracts,  to  tlie 
large  yacht  that  glides  slowly  to  the  sound  of  flutes 
—all  were  afloat  for  this  sacred  festival,  filled  with 
crowds  of  the  young  and  the  gay,  not  ouly  from 


3  "  By  reflecting  the  sun's  rays."  says  Clarht,  speaking  of 
the  Pyraniids,  "they  apjwared  white  as  snow." 

3  For  Bubastis,  the  Diana  of  the  Kgyptians,  vide  Jahloit- 
ski,  lib.  iii.,  cap.  4. 

*  Vide  JJmailhou,  "  Bistoire  de  la  JVavi^ntinn  et  du  Com- 
merce  des  E^jptitns  sous  les  PtoUmies.**  See  also,  Cor  a 
description  of  the  various  kinds  of  boats  used  on  the  Nile, 
Maitltt,  torn,  i.,  p.  98. 


672 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Memphis  and  Babylon,  but  from  cities  still  farther 
removed  from  tho  festal  scene. 

As  I  approached  the  island,  I  could  see,  glittering 
throuf^h  the  trees  on  the  bank,  tho  lamps  of  the 
pilgrims  liastening  to  the  ceremony.  Landing  ia 
the  direction  wliich  those  Hglits  pointed  out,  I  soon 
joined  the  crowd  ;  and,  passing  through  a  long  alley 
■  of  sphinxes,  whoso  spangling  marble  gleamed  out 
from  the  dark  sycamores  around  them,  readied  in  a 
short  time  tlie  grand  vestibiilo  of  the  temple,  where 
I  found  the  ceremonies  of  the  evening  already  com- 
menced. 

In  this  vast  hall,  which  was  surrounded  by  a 
double  range  of  colunms,  and  lay  open  over-head  to 
the  stars  of  heaven,  I  saw  a  group  of  young  maid- 
ens, moving  in  a  sort  of  measured  step,  between 
walk  and  dance,  round  a  email  shrine,  upon  whicli 
stood  one  of  those  sacred  birds,'  that,  on  account  of 
the  variegated  color  of  their  wing:^,  are  dedicated  to 
the  worship  of  tho  moon.  Tho  vestibule  was  dimly 
lighted — there  being  but  cue  lamp  of  naphtlia  hung 
on  each  of  tho  great  pillars  that  encircled  it.  Cut, 
having  taken  my  station  beside  one  of  those  pillars, 
I  liad  a  clear  view  of  the  young  dancers,  ajs  in  suc- 
cession they  passed  me. 

The  drapery  of  all  was  white  as  snow  ;  and  each 
wore  loosely,  beneath  the  bosom,  a  dark-blue  zone, 
or  bandelet,  studded,  like  the  skies  at  midnight, 
with  small  silver  stars.  Tlirough  their  dark  locks 
was  wreathed  tho  white  lily  of  the  Nile — that  sacred 
flower  being  accounted  no  less  welcome  to  tiie  moon, 
than  the  golden  blossoms  of  the  bean-flower'  are 
known  to  be  to  the  sun.  As  they  passed  under  the 
lamp,  a  gleam  of  light  flashed  from  their  bosoms, 
which,  I  could  perceive,  was  the  reflection  of  a 
small  mirror,  tliat,  in  tho  manner  of  the  women  of 
the  East,  eacli  of  the  dancers  wore  beueath  her  left 
shoulder. 

There  was  no  music  to  regulate  tlieir  steps  ;  but, 
as  they  gracefully  went  round  the  bird  on  the  shrine, 
some  to  the  beat  of  the  castauet,  some  to  the  shrill 
ring  of  a  sistrum^ — which  they  held  uplifted  in  the 
attitude  of  their  own  divine  Isis — continued  harmo- 
niously to  time  the  cadence  of  their  feet ;  while 
others,  at  every  step,  shook  a  small  cliain  of  silver, 
whose  sound,  mingling  with  those  of  tho  castanets 


1  Vide  Maurice,  Appendix  lo  "Ruins  of  Babylon."  An- 
other reason,  he  says,  for  tlieir  worship  of  the  Ibis,  "  found- 
ed on  their  love  of  gonnictry,  was  (iiccnrding  lo  riutuich) 
that  the  spiice  between  its  legs,  when  parted  asunder,  as  it 
walks,  together  with  its  bciik,  forms  a  complete  equilateral 
triangle."  From  the  examination  of  the  embalincil  birds, 
found  in  the  Catacombs  of  Saccara,  there  seems  to  be  no 
doubt  that  the  Ibis  was  the  same  kind  of  bird  us  that  de- 
scribed by  Bruce,  under  the  Arabian  name  of  Abou  Ilan- 
ne-3. 


and  sistrums,  produced  a  wild,  but  not  unpleasing 
harmony. 

They  seemed  all  lovely ;  but  there  was  one — 
whose  face  the  light  iiad  not  yet  reached,  so  down- 
cast she  held  it — who  attracted,  and,  at  length, 
riveted  all  my  looks  and  thoughts.  I  know  not  why, 
but  there  was  a  something  in  those  half-seen  fea- 
tures— a  charm  in  the  very  shadow  tliat  hung  over 
their  imagined  bcauty-;-wliicli  took  my  fancy  more 
than  all  the  out-shining  loveliness  of  her  companions. 
So  enchained  was  I  by  this  coy  mystery,  that  her 
alone,  of  all  the  group,  could  I  either  see  or  thiuk 
of — her  alone  I  watched,  as,  with  the  same  down- 
cast brow,  she  glided  gently  and  aerially  round  the 
altar,  as  if  her  presence,  like  that  of  a  spirit,  was 
something  to  be  felt,  not  seen. 

Suddenly,  while  I  gazed,  the  loud  crash  of  a 
thousand  cymbals  was  heard  ; — tho  massy  gates 
of  the  Temple  flew  open,  as  if  by  magic,  and  a 
flood  of  radiance  from  the  illuminated  aisle  filled 
the  whole  vestibule  ;  while,  at  the  same  instant,  as 
if  tlie  light  and  tho  sounds  were  born  together,  a 
pea!  of  rich  harmouj'  came  mingling  with  the  radi- 
ance. 

It  was  then — by  that  light,  which  shone  full  upon 
the  young  maiden's  features,  as,  starting  at  the  sud- 
den blaze,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  tho  portal,  and  as 
quickly  let  fall  their  lids  again — it  was  then  I  beheld, 
what  even  my  own  ardent  imagination,  in  its  most 
vivid  dreams  of  beauty,  had  never  pictured.  Not 
Psyche  herself,  when  pausing  on  the  threshold  of 
lieavcn,  while  its  first  glories  fell  on  her  dazzled  lids, 
could  liave  looked  more  purely  beautiful,  or  blushed 
with  a  more  innocent  shame.  Often  as  I  had  felt 
the  power  of  looks,  none  had  ever  entered  into  my 
soul  so  deeply.  It  was  a  new  feeling — a  new  sense 
— coming  as  suddenly  upon  me  as  that  radiance 
into  tlio  vestibule,  and,  at  once,  filling  my  whole 
being ; — and  had  that  bright  vision  but  lingered 
anotlicr  moment  before  my  eyes,  I  should  in  my 
transport  have  wholly  forgotten  who  I  was  and 
wliere,  and  thrown  myself,  in  prostrate  adoration,  at 
her  feet. 

But  scarcely  had  that  gush  of  harmony  been 
heard,  when  the  sacred  bird,  which  had,  till  now, 
been  standing  motionless  as  an  image,  spread  wide 


2  *' La  flcur  en  est  mille  fois  plus  odorifcTantc  que  celles 
de  nos  ffives  d'Europe,  quoique  leur  parfnm  nous  paroissc 
si  agrcnble.  Comme  on  ea  seme  beaucoup  dans  Ics  terres 
voisines  du  Caire,  du  ci^tj  de  I'occident,  c'est  quelque  chose 
de  charmant  que  Pair  embaum6  que  Ton  respire  le  soir  sur 
les  terrasses,  qiiand  le  vent  de  I'ouest  vient  a  souffler,  et  y 
apportc  cette  odeur  admirable." — Maillet. 

3  '"Isis  est  genius,"  says  Sfruius,"^gypti,  qui  per  siatri 
motnm,  quod  gcrit  in  dexlra,  Niti  accessas  recessusque  sig- 
nificat." 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


673 


iiis  wmjs,  ami  flew  into  the  Tcniplo ;  wliJIe  liis 
fjracefiil  young'  worshippers,  with  a  flectness  like 
his  own,  followed — and  she,  who  had  left  a  dream 
in  my  lieart  never  to  be  forgotten,  vanished  alonjr 
with  the  rest.  As  she  went  rapidly  past  the  pillar 
against  which  I  leaned,  the  i\y  that  encircled  it' 
cangiit  ill  her  drapery,  and  discngan;cd  same  orna- 
ment, which  fell  to  the  ground  It  was  the  small 
mirror'^  which  I  had  seen  shinin^  on  Iier  bosom. 
Hastily  and  tremulously  I  picked  it  up,  and  hurried 
to  restore  it  ;  but  she  was  already  lost  to  my  eyes 
n  the  crowd. 

Ill  vain  did  I  try  to  follow ; — the  aisles  were 
already  filled,  and  numbers  of  eager  pilgrims  pressed 
towards  tlie  portal.  But  the  servants  of  the  Temple 
denied  all  furtlicr  entrance,  and  still,  as  I  presented 
myself,  their  white  wands  barred  the  way.  Per- 
plexed and  irritated  amid  that  crowd  of  faces,  ro- 
gardinjT  all  as  enemies  that  impeded  my  progress, 
I  stood  on  tiptoe,  gazing  into  the  busy  aisles,  and 
with  a  heart  beating  as  I  caught,  from  timo  to 
time,  a  glimpse  of  some  spaugled  zone,  or  lotus 
wreath,  winch  led  me  to  fancy  that  I  had  dis- 
covered the  fair  object  of  my  search.  But  it  was 
all  in  vain ; — in  every  direction  files  of  sacred 
nymplis  were  moving,  but  nowhere  could  I  discover 
her  whom  alone  I  sought. 

In  tliis  state  of  breathless  agitation  did  I  stand 
for  some  time — bewildered  with  the  confusion  of 
faces  and  lights,  as  well- as  with  the  clouds  of 
incense  that  rolled  around  me — till,  fevered  and  im- 
patient, I  could  endure  it  no  longer.  Forcing  my 
way  out  of  the  vestibule  into  the  cool  air,  I  hurried 
bac-k  through  the  alley  of  sphinxes  to  the  shore  and 
flung  myself  into  my  boat. 

There  lies,  to  the  north  of  jWcmphls,^  a  solitary 
lake,  (which,  at  this  season  of  the  year,  mingles 
with  the  rest  of  tlie  waters,)  upon  whoso  shores 
stands  the  Necropolis,  or  City  of  the  Dead — a  place 
of  melancholy  grandeur,  covered  over  with  shrines 
and  pyramids,  where  many  a  kingly  head,  proud 
even  in  death,  has  lain  awaiting  througli  long  ages 
the  resurrection  of  its  glories.    Through  a  range 

1  The  ivy  was  consecrdtetl  lo  Osiris.  Vide  JOlodor.  Sic.  1. 10. 

2  "  Qiielqnes-unes,"  says  Z>«pMis,  describing  Ihe  proces- 
sions of  Isis.  "  portoient  des  niiroirs  attaches  a  leurs  6paules, 
nfiti  de  niultiulier  ct  de  porter  dans  (ous  Ics  sens  les  images 
de  la  Deesse." — Onjrine  des  Cullcs,  torn.  viii.  p.  847.  A 
mirror,  it  ;i|ippars,  was  also  ono  of  the  emblems  in  the  (nys- 
Icries  of  Bacclnis. 

5  "  Tout  prouve  que  la  territnire  de  Sakkariih  6toit  la  Ne- 
cropolis ;iu  sud  de  Memphis,  et  le  fanbourg  oppost.-  a  cclui- 
ci,  ou  soni  les  pyraj^iides  de  Gizeh,  uiie  autre  Ville  des 
Moris,  qui  terminoit  Memphis  au  nord." — Denon. 

There  is  nothing  known  with  certainty  as  (o  the  sito  of 
Memphis,  but  it  will  be  perceived  lint  the  description  of  its 
position  given  by  the  Epicnrean  corresponds,  in  almost  every 
parlicnlar,  with  that  which  M.  Maillet  (the  French  consul, 


43 


of  sepulchral  grots  underneath,  the  humbler  deni- 
zens of  the  tomb  are  deposited — looking  out  ou 
each  successive  generation  that  visits  them,  witli 
the  same  face  and  features*  they  wore  centuries 
ago.  Every  plant  and  tree,  consecrated  to  death, 
from  the  asphodel-flower  to  the  mystic  plantain, 
lends  ils  sweetness  or  shadow  to  this  place  of 
tombs ;  and  the  only  noise  that  disturbs  its  eternal 
calm,  is  the  low  humming  sound  of  the  priests  at 
prayer,  when  a  new  inhabitant  is  added  to  the 
Silent  City. 

It  was  towards  this  place  of  death  that,  in  a 
mood  of  mind,  as  usual,  half  gloomy,  half  bright, 
I  now,  almost  unconsciously,  directed  my  bark. 
The  form  of  the  young  Priestess  was  continually 
before  me.  That  ono  bright  look  of  hers,  the 
very  remembrance  of  which  was  worth  all  the 
actual  smiles  of  others,  never  for  a  moment  left  my 
mind.  Absorbed  in  buc\\  thoughts,  I  continued 
to  row  on,  scarce  knowing  whither  I  went,  till,  at 
length,  startled  to  find  myself  within  the  shadow 
of  the  City  of  the  Dead,  I  looked  up,  and  beheld, 
rising  in  succession  before  me,  pyramid  beyond 
pyramid,''  each  towering  more  loftily  than  the  other 
— while  all  were  out-topped  in  grandeur  by  one, 
upon  wliose  summit  the  bright  moon  rested  as  ou 
a  pedestal. 

Drawing  nearer  to  the  shore,  which  was  sufii- 
ciently  elevated  to  raise  this  silent  city  of  tombs 
above  the  level  of  the  inundation,  I  rested  my  oar, 
and  allowed  the  boat  to  rock  idly  upon  the  water; 
while,  iu  the  mean  time,  my  thoughts,  left  equally 
without  direction,  were  allowed  to  fluctuate  as 
idly.  How  vague  and  various  were  the  dreams 
that  then  floated  through  my  mind — that  bright 
vision  of  the  temple  still  mingling  itself  with  all  ! 
Sometimes  she  stood  before  me,  like  an  aerial 
spirit,  as  pure  as  if  that  element  of  music  and  light, 
into  wliich  I  had  seen  her  vanish,  was  her  only 
dwelling.  Sometimes,  animated  with  passion,  and 
kindling  into  a  creature  of  earth,  she  seemed  to 
lean  towards  me  with  looks  of  tenderness,  which 
it  were  worth  worlds,  but  for  one  instant,  to  inspn-e  ; 

for  many  years,  al  Cairo)  has,  in  his  work  on  Egypt,  left  us. 
It  must  be  always  borne  in  mind,  too,  that  of  the  distances 
between  the  respective  places  here  mentioned,  we  have  no 
longer  any  accnrute  means  of  judging. 

*"  Par-la  non-seulement  on  conservoit  les  corps  d'une 
famille  entiiire,  mais  en  descendant  dans  ces  lieux  suuler- 
rains,  oii  ils  etoicnt  deposes,  on  ponvoit  se  rcproseuter  en  un 
instant  tous  ses  ancclres  depuis  plusicurs  milliers  d'anneos 
tels  a  peu  prcs  qu'ils  Ctoient  de  Icur  vivant." — Maillet. 

6"Multas  oiim  pyramidas  fuisse  e  ruiiiis  arguitur.  * 
Zoega. —  Vansleb,  who  visited  more  than  ten  of  the  small 
pyramids,  is  of  opinion  that  there  must  have  originally  been 
a  hundred  in  this  pl;it.e. 

See.  on  the  subject  of  the  lake  to  the  northward  of  Memphis, 
Shaw's  Travels,  p.  302. 


674 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


and  apain — as  the  dark  fiincics,  lliat  ever  liannted 
me,  recurred — I  saw  her  cold,  parched,  and  black- 
ening, amid  the  gloom  of  those  eternal  sepulchres 
before  me  I 

Turning  away,  with  a  shudder,  from  the  ceme- 
tery at  this  thought,  I  jieard  the  sound  of  an 
oar  plying  swiftly  through  the  water,  and,  in  a 
few  moments,  saw,  shooting  past  me  towards  tlie 
shore,  a  small  boat  in  which  sat  twc  ^emale  figures, 
muffled  up  and  veiled.  Having  laimed  them  not 
fur  from  the  spot  where,  under  tho  shadow  of 
a  tomb  on  the  bank,  I  lay  concealed,  the  boat 
again  departed,  with  tho  same  tlcetuess,  over  the 
flood. 

Never  had  the  prospect  of  a  lively  adventure 
come  more  welcome  to  me  than  at  this  moment, 
when  my  busy  fancy  was  employed  in  weaving 
such  chains  for  my  heart,  as  threatened  a  bondage, 
of  all  others  the  most  difHcuIt  to  break.  To  be- 
come enamored  thus  of  a  creature  of  my  own 
imagination,  was  the  worst,  because  the  most  last- 
ing, of  follies.  It  is  only  reahty  that  can  afford 
any  chance  of  dissolving  such  spells,  and  ihe  idol 
I  was  now  creating  to  myself  must  forever  remaiii 
idea!.  Any  pursuit,  therefore,  that  seemed  likely 
to  divert  me  from  such  thoughts — to  bring  back 
my  imagination  to  earth  and  reality,  from  the 
vaguo  region  in  winch  it  had  Iieen  wandering,  was 
a  relief  far  too  seasonable  not  to  be  welcomed  with 
eagerness. 

I  had  watched  the  course  which  the  two  figures 
took,  and,  having  hastily  fastened  my  boat  to  the 
bank,  stepped  gently  on  shore,  and,  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, followed  them.  The  windings  through  wliich 
they  led  were  intricate ;  but,  by  the  brii^Iit  light  of 
the  moon,  I  was  enabled  to  keep  their  forms  in 
view,  as,  with  rapid  step,  they  glided  among  tho 
monuments.  At  length,  in  the  shade  of  a  small 
pyramid,  whose  peak  barely  surmounted  the  plane- 
trees  that  grew  nigh,  they  vanished  from  my  sight. 
I  hastened  to  the  spot,  but  there  was  not  a  sign  of 
life  around  ;  and,  liad  my  creed  extended  to  another 
world,  I  might  have  fancied  these  forms  were  spirits, 
sent  down  from  thence  to  mock  me — so  instanta- 
neously had  they  disappeared.  I  searched  through 
tho  neighboring  grove,  but  all  there  was  still  as 
death.  At  Icngtii,  in  examining  one  of  the  sides  of 
the  pyramid,  which,  for  a  few  feet  from  the  ground, 
was  furnished  with  steps,  I  found  midway  between 
peak  and  base,  a  part  of  its  surface,  wliich,  although 
presenting  to  the  eye  an  appeaj-ance  of  smoothness, 
gave  to  the  touch,  I  thouglit,  indications  of  a  con- 
cealed opening. 


1  "On  voit  en  Egj'pte.apresln  retraite  dii  Nilct  laf.'cnnd'i- 
Uon  des  lerres,  le  linion  couvert  d'une  inuhitude  ile  scarabecs. 


After  a  variety  of  efforts  and  experiments,  I,  at 
last,  more  by  accident  than  skilly  pressed  the  spring 
that  commanded  this  hidden  aperture.  In  an  in- 
stant the  porta]  slid  aside,  and  disclosed  a  narrow 
stainvay  within,  the  two  or  three  first  steps  of 
whicli  were  discernible  by  the  moonlight ,  while 
the  rest  were  all  lost  in  utter  darkness.  Though  it 
was  difficult  to  conceive  that  tho  persons  whom  I 
had  been  pursuing  would  have  ventured  to  pass 
through  this  gloomy  opening,  yet  to  account  for 
their  disappearance  otherwise  was  still  more  difli- 
cult.  At  ail  events,  my  curiosity  was  now  too 
eager  in  the  chase  to  relinquish  it  ; — the  spirit  of 
adventure,  once  raised,  could  not  be  so  easily  laid. 
Accordingly,  having  sent  up  a  gay  prayer  to  that 
bl  ss-loving  Queen  whose  eye  alone  was  upon  mej 
I  passed  through  the  portal,  and  descended  into  t!io 
P3'ramid. 


CHAPTER  Vr. 

At  the  end  of  the  stairway  I  found  myself  in  a 
low,  nanow  passage,  through  which,  without  stoop- 
ing aimobt  to  the  earth,  it  was  impossible  to  pro- 
ceed. Tiiough  leading  through  a  multiplicity  of 
dark  windings,  this  way  seemed  but  little  to  ad- 
vance my  progress — its  course,  I  perceived,  being 
chiefly  circular,  and  gathering,  at  ever)'  turn,  but  a 
deeper  intensity  of  darkness. 

"Can  any  thing,"  thought  I,  "of  human  kind, 
sojourn  here?" — and  had  scarcely  asked  myself  tho 
question,  when  the  path  opened  into  a  long  gallcr}', 
at  the  farthest  end  of  which  a  gleam  of  ligiit  was 
visible.  Tiiis  welcome  glimmer  appeared  to  issue 
from  some  cell  or  alcove,  in  which  the  right-hand 
wall  of  tlie  galieiy'  terminated,  and,  breathless  with 
expectation,  I  stole  gently  towards  it. 

Arrived  at  the  end  of  the  gallery,  a  scene  pre- 
sented itself  to  my  eyes,  for  which  my  fondest  ex- 
pectations of  adventure  could  not  have  prepared  mo. 
Tiie  place  from  wliich  tiie  light  proceeded  wtiS  a 
small  cliapel,  of  whose  interior,  from  the  dark  recess 
in  wliich  I  stood,  I  could  take,  unseen  myself,  :\ 
full  and  distinct  view.  Over  tho  walls  of  this 
oraloiy  were  painted  «ome  of  those  various  symbols, 
by  which  the  mystic  wisdom  of  tlie  Kgyptiany 
loves  to  shadow  out  the  History  of  the  ISoul  ;  tlio 
winged  globe  with  a  serpent — the  rays  descending 
from  above,  like  a  glory — and  the  Tlicban  beetle,' 
as  he   comes  forth   after  the   waters    iiavo  passed 


Vn  pareil  phenntn^ne  a  du  senit)ler  aiix  Etr^-ptiens  le  plus 
pnipre  d  peindre  une  nouvelle  exislcDCe." — M.  Jomhard. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


675 


away*  and  the  first  sunbeam  falls  on  Iiis  regenerated 
wings. 

.n  the  middle  of  Iho  chapel,  on  a  low  altar  of 
irrauite,  lay  a  hfeless  female  form,  enshrined  within 
a  case  of  crystal' — as  it  is  tlie  custom  to  preserve 
tiio  ^*zzd  in  Ethiopia — and  lo-jkini;  as  freshly  beau- 
tifti!  as  if  the  soul  had  but  a  few  iioiirs  departed. 
Amqng  the  emblems  of  deatli,-  on  the  front  of  the 
altar,  were  a  slender  lotus  branch  broken  in  two,  and 
a  small  bird  just  wiuijing  its  flight  from  the  spray. 

To  these  memorials  of  the  dead,  however,  I  paid 
l)tit  httle  attention ;  for  there  was  a  hving  object 
lliere  upon  which  my  eyes  were  now  intently  ^\ed. 

The  lamp,  by  whicli  the  whole  of  the  chape,  was 
illuminated,  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  pale 
imaf;e  in  tlie  shrine  ;  and  between  its  liglit  and  me 
stood  a  female  form,  bending  over  the  monument, 
as  if  to  gaze  upon  the  silent  features  within.  The 
position  in  which  this  figure  was  placed,  intercept- 
ing a  strong  hght,  afforded  me,  at  first,  but  an  im- 
perfect and  shadowy  view  of  it.  Yet  even  at  this 
mere  outline  I  felt  my  heart  beat  high — and  memo- 
ry had  no  less  share,  as  it  proved,  in  tiiis  feeling  than 
imat^ination.  For,  on  the  head  changing  its  posi- 
tion, so  as  to  let  a  gleam  fall  upon  the  features,  I 
saw,  with  a  transport  whicli  had  almost  led  me  to 
betray  my  lurking-place,  that  it  was  she — the  young 
woi-sliipper  of  Isis — t!ie  same,  tlie  very  same,  whom 
I  had  seen,  brightening  the  holy  place  where  she 
stood,  and  looking  like  an  inhabitant  of  some  purer 
\^'orld. 

The  movement,  by  which  .she  had  now  afforded 
me  an  opportunity  of  recognisiug  her,  was  made  in 
raising  from  the  slirine  a  small  cross^  of  silver, 
which  lay  directly  over  the  bosom  of  the  lifeless 
figure.  Bringing  it  close  to  her  lips,  she  kissed  it 
with  a  religious  fei-vor ;  then,  turning  her  eyes 
moinnfully  upv.-ards,  Iield  thera  fixed  with  a  degree 

P;irily  for  the  same  reason,  and  partly  for  another,  still  more 
fiinciful,  the  early  Christians  used  to  apply  this  emblem  to 
Christ.  "  Buniis  ille  scurab<cus  mens,"  says  St.  Augustine, 
"  non  ea  tJtntura  de  cniisa  quod  unigenitus,  qund  ipseiiiet 
sni  HUctor  niorlilium  spcciem  induerit,  sed  qiibd  in hac nos- 
tra lace  sesc  volutaverit  et  ex  hac  ipsi  nasci  voluerit." 

1  "  Lps  Egyptiens  unt  fait  aussi,  pour  conserver  leurs 
mnrL-i,  des  caisses  de  verre." — De  Pauw.  lie  mentions,  also, 
in  another  place,  a  sort  of  transparent  substance,  which  the 
Ethiopians  used  for  the  same  purpose,  and  which  was  fre- 
qnrntly  mismken  by  the  Greek';  for  glass. 

-  "  Un  prctre,  qui  brise  la  tige  d'une  tleur,  des  oiseau-xqui 
I'ftivolent,  sont  les  cmblenies  de  la  morl  et  dc  ITime  qui  se 
s(!!p:ire  du  corps." — Denon. 

Theseus  employs  the  same  image  in  the  Phtcdra:— 

Opvii  yap  us  Tij  CK  XE.owv  afpavTOS  £(, 
Tlr]6}](i*  a  aiov  jrtKpov  bp^T}aa(ra  ftoi. 

3  A  cross  was,  among  the  Egyptians,  the  emblem  of  a 
fulnre  life. 

"The  singular  appearance  of  a   Cross  so  frequently  re- 


of  inspired  earnestness,  as  if,  at  that  moment,  m 
direct  communion  with  Heaven,  they  saw  neither 
roof,  nor  any  other  earthly  barrier,  between  them 
and  the  skies. 

What  a  power  is  there  in  innocence  !  whose  very 
helplessness  is  its  safeguard — in  whose  presence 
even  Passion  himself  stands  abashed,  and  turns 
worshipper  at  the  very  altar  which  he  came  to  de- 
spoil !  She,  who,  but  a  short  hour  before,  had  pre- 
sented herself  to  my  imagination  as  something  I 
could  have  risked  immortality  to  win — she,  whom 
gladly,  from  the  floor  of  her  own  lighted  temple, 
in  the  very  face  of  its  proud  ministers,  I  would  have 
borne  away  in  triumph,  and  dared  all  punishments, 
divine  and  human,  to  make  her  mine — that  vert' 
creature  was  now  before  me,  as  if  thrown  by  fate 
itself,  into  my  power — standing  there,  beautiful  and 
alone,  with  nothing  but  her  innocence  for  her 
guard  !  Yet,  no — so  touching  was  the  purity  of 
the  whole  scene,  so  calm  and  august  that  protection 
which  the  dead  extended  over  the  living,  that  every 
earthly  feeling  was  forgotten  as  I  gazed,  and  love 
itstif  became  exalted  into  reverence. 

But,  entranced  as  I  felt  in  witnessing  such  a 
scene,  thus  to  enjoy  it  by  stealth  seemed  to  me  a 
wrong,  a  sacrilege — and,  rather  than  let  her  eyes 
encounter  the  flash  of  mine,  or  distmb,  by  a  whis- 
per, that  sacred  silence,  in  which  Youth  and  Death 
held  communion  through  undying  Love,  I  would 
have  suffered  my  heart  to  break,  without  a  murmur, 
where  I  stood.  Gently,  as  if  life  itself  depended  on 
my  every  movement,  I  stole  away  from  that  tran- 
quil and  holy  scene — leaving  it  still  holy  and  tran- 
quil as  I  had  found  it — and,  gliding  back  through  the 
same  passages  and  windings  by  which  I  had  enter- 
ed, readied  again  the  narrow  stairway,  and  reas- 
ccnded  into  light. 

The  sun  had  just  risen,  and,  from  the  sim^.mit  of 


earring  amr)ng  the  hieroglyphics  of  Egypt,  had  excited  the 
curiosity  of  the  Christians  at  a  very  early  period  of  ecclesi- 
astical history;  and  as  some  of  the  Priests,  who  were  ac- 
quainted with  the  meaning  of  the  hieroglyphics,  became 
converted  to  Christianity,  the  secret  transpired.  'The  con- 
verted heathens,'  says  Socrates  Pcholasticus,  'explained  the 
symbol,  and  declared  that  it  signified  Life  to  Come.'" — Clarke. 

Lipsius,  therefore,  is  mistaken  in  supposing  the  Cross  to 
have  been  an  emblem  peculiar  to  the  Cliristians.  See,  on 
this  subjr'ct,  VHistoire  dcs  Jiiifs,  liv.  vi.  c.  10- 

It  is  singiil'ir  enough  that  while  the  Cro^s  was  thus  held 
sacred  aiming  the  Egypiinns,  not  only  the  custom  of  marking 
the  forehead  with  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  but  Baptism  and 
the  consecratiim  of  the  bread  in  the  Eucharist,  were  imitated 
in  the  mysterious  ceremonies  of  Mithra. —  TcrlulL  de  Pro' 
scriptiiine  Hcreticorum. 

Zuena  is  of  opinion  that  the  Cross,  said  to  have  been  for  the 
first  time  found,  on  the  destruction  of  the  temple  of  Serapis» 
by  the  Christians,  could  not  have  been  the  crux  nnsata;  as 
nothini;  is  more  common  than  this  emblem  on  all  the  Egyp- 
tian monuments. 


676 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


the  Arabian  hills,  was  pouring  down  Iiis  beams  into 
that  vast  valley  of  waters — as  if  proud  of  last  night's 
homa<'e  to  his  own  divine  Isis,  now  fading  away  in 
the  superior  splendor  of  her  Lord.  My  fnst  impulse 
was  to  fly  at  once  from  this  duiM^erons  ypot,  and  in 
new  loves  and  pleasures  seek  forge' fulness  of  the 
wondrous  scene  I  had  just  witnesst'd.  "  Once,"  I 
p.velaimed,  "  out  of  the  eircle  of  this  cnchuntment,  I 
know  too  well  my  own  susceptibility  to  n  -w  impres- 
sions, to  feel  any  doubt  that  I  shall  soon  break  the 
spell  that  is  now  around  me." 

But  vain  were  all  iuy  efibrts  and  resohes.  Even 
while  swearing  to  fly  that  spot,  I  found  my  steps 
still  lingering  fondly  round  the  pyramiJ — my  eyes 
still  turned  towards  the  portal  which  iovcred  this 
enchantress  from  the  woild  of  tho  living.  Hour  af- 
ter hour  did  I  wander  through  that  City  of  Silence, 
till,  already,  it  was  mid-Jay,  and,  under  the  sun's 
meridian  eye,  the  mighty  )iyramid  of  pyramids  stood, 
like  a  gnu,    spirit,  shadowless.' 

Again  did  those  wild  and  passionate  feelings, 
which,  for  tho  moment,  her  presence  had  subdued 
into  reverence,  return  to  talce  possession  of  my  im- 
agination and  my  senses.  I  even  reproached  my- 
self for  the  awe  that  had  h.eld  mo  spell-bound  before 
her.  "  What,"  thought  I.  "  would  my  companions 
of  the  Garden  say,  did  they  know  that  their  chief — 
he  whose  path  Love  had  strewed  with  trophies — 
was  now  pniing  for  a  simple  Egj'ptian  girl,  in  whose 
presence  he  had  not  dared  to  utter  a  single  sigh,  and 
who  had  vauquislied  the  victor,  without  even  know- 
ing her  triumph !" 

A  blush  came  over  my  cheek  a't  tho  humiliating 
thought,  and  I  determined,  at  all  rislts,  to  await  her 
coming.  That  she  should  be  an  inmate  of  those 
gloomy  caverns  seemed  inconceivable ;  nor  did  there 
appear  to  be  any  egress  or.t  of  their  depths  but  by 
the  pyramid.  Again,  therefore,  like  a  sentinel  of 
the  dead,  did  I  pace  up  and  down  among  those 
tombs,  contrasting  mournfully  the  buniing  fever  in 
my  own  veins  with  the  cold  quiet  of  those  who  lay 
shmibering  around. 

At  length  the  intense  glow  of  the  sun  over  my 
head,  and,  still  more,  that  ever  restless  agitation  in 
my  heart,  became  too  much  for  even  strength  like 
mine  to  endure.  Exhausted,  I  threw  myself  down 
at  the  base  of  the  pyramid — choosing  my  place 
rlirectly  under  the  portal,  where,  even  should  slum- 
1  er  surprise  me,   my  heart,  if  not  my  ear,  might 


1  It  was  an  idea  entertained  nmong  the  ancients  that  the 
Pyramids  wi-re  so  constructed  ("  mecanicA  constructione," 
says  .fjTitmittints  Marcellinns)  as  never  to  cast  any  shadow. 

2  From  the  story  ol"  Rtiodope,  Zoe^a  ttiinkJ,  "  vidcntur 
Aralies  ansam  arripnisse  ut  in  unae.T  pyramidilius, genii  loco, 
habitare  dicerent  inulierem  nudam  insif^nis  pulchritudicis 


still  keep  watch,  and  her  footstep,  light  is  it  was, 
could  not  fail  to  awake  me. 

After  many  an  ineflcctual  struggle  against  drow- 
siness, I  at  length  sunk  into  sleep — but  not  into 
forgetfulncss.  The  same  image  still  haunted  me, 
in  every  variety  of  shape,  with  which  imagination, 
assisted  by  memorj',  could  invest  it.  Now,  like  tho 
goddess  Neitha,  upon  her  throne  at  Sal's,  she  seemed 
to  sit,  with  the  veil  just  raised  from  that  brow, 
wiilcli  till  then  no  mortal  had  ever  beheld — and 
now,  hke  the  beautiful  enchantress  Rhodope,  I  h.\7? 
her  rise  from  out  the  pyramid  in  which  sho  had 
dwelt  for  ages, — 

"  Fair  Rhodope, 2  as  story  tells, 
The  l;rijrlit  unearthly  nymph,  who  dwells 
'Mid  sunless  finld  anil  j-v'wch  hid. 
The  Lady  of  the  Pyramid  :" 

So  long  had  my  sleep  continued,  that,  wh^5U  I 
awoke,  I  found  the  moon  again  resplendent  £,t\:'."0 
the  horizon.  But  all  around  was  looking  tranquil 
aud  lifeless  as  before  ;  nor  did  a  print  on  the  grass 
betray  that  any  foot  had  passed  there  since  my  own. 
Refresh.cd,  however,  by  my  lonj»  rest,  and  witji  a 
fancy  still  more  excited  by  the  mystic  wonders  of 
which  I  had  been  dreaming,  I  now  resolved  to  revisit 
the  chapel  in  tiie  pyramid,  and  put  an  end,  if  possi- 
ble, to  this  strange  mystery  that  haunted  me. 

Havuig  learned,  from  the  experience  of  the  pre- 
ceding night,  the  inconvenience  of  encountering 
those  labyrinths  without  a  light,  I  now  hastened  to 
pi'ovide  myself  with  a  lamp  from  my  boat.  Track- 
ing my  way  back  with  some  difficulty  to  the  shore, 
I  there  found  not  only  ray  lamp,  but  also  some 
dates  and  dried  fruits,  of  which  I  was  always  pro- 
vided with  store,  for  my  roving  hfe  upon  the 
waters,  and  which,  after  so  many  hours  of  absti- 
nence, wcro  now  a  most  welcome  and  necessary 
relief. 

Tlius  prepared,  I  again  ascended  the  pyramid, 
and  was  proceeding  to  search  out  the  secret  spring, 
when  a  loud,  dismal  noise  was  heard  at  a  distance, 
to  which  all  tl:e  melancholy  echoes  of  the  cemetery 
gave  answer.  Tho  sound  came,  I  knew,  from  the 
Great  Temple  on  the  shore  of  the  lake,  and  was  the 
sort  of  shriek  which  its  gates — the  Gates  of  Obliv- 
ion' as  they  are  called — used  always  to  send  forth 
from  their  hinges,  when  opening  at  night,  to  receive 
the  newly-landed  dead. 

I  had,  more  than  once  before,  heard  that  sound 


quae  as|>ecto  sno  homines  insaniro  faciat." — De  Usu  Obeli* 
cornm.     Sec  also  tj* Kgypte  de  Miirtadi,  par  Vaitier. 

3  "  Apud  Mcniphim  apneas  quasdam  pnrtas,  qua'  Letlies  el 
Cocyti  (hoc  est  oblivionis  et  lamenlationis)  apitellantnr, 
aperiri,  graveni  aspenunque  edcntes  sonum." — Zorffa. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


G77 


and  always  with  sadnces ;  but,  at  this  moment,  it 
liirilied  thror.g'i  mc  like  i\  voice  of  ill  omen,  and 
I  almost  doubted  whether  I  sliould  not  abandon  my 
enterprise.  Tlie  liesitatlon,  however,  was  but  mo- 
ineiitar)' ; — even  wliile  it  passed  through  my  m:ud, 
I  had  touched  the  spring  of  the  portal.  In  a  few 
ppconds  more,  I  was  again  in  tho  passage  beneath 
ihe  pyramid  ;  and,  being  enabled  by  the  light  of 
jny  lamp  to  follow  tho  windings  more  rap'dly,  soon 
iound  myself  at  the  door  of  the  small  chapel  in  the 
p;a!Iery. 

I  entered,  still  awed,  though  there  was  now,  alas, 
naught  living  within.  The  young  Priestess  had 
vanished  like  a  spirit  into  the  darkness  ;  and  all  the 
rest  remained  as  I  had  left  it  on  the  preceding 
night.  The  lamp  still  stood  burning  upon  the  crj's- 
tal  shrine  ;  the  cross  was  lying  where  tho  hands  of 
tlie  young  mourner  had  placed  it,  and  the  cold 
image,  within  the  shrine,  wore  still  the  same  tran- 
(jiiil  look,  as  if  resigned  to  the  solitude  of  death — 
of  all  lone  things  the  loneliest.  Remembering  the 
hps  tliat  I  had  seen  kisg  that  cross,  nnd  kindling 
with  the  recollection,  I  raised  it  passionately  to  my 
own ; — but  the  dead  eyes,  I  thought,  met  mine, 
and,  awed  and  saddened  in  tlie  midst  of  my  ardor, 
I  replaced  tho  cross  upon  tlie  shrine. 

I  had  now  lost  every  clue  to  the  object  of  my 
pursuit,  and,  with  all  that  sullen  satisfaction  which 
certainty,  even  when  unwelcome,  bring.^,  was  about 
to  retrace  my  steps  slowly  to  earth,  when,  as  I  held 
forth  my  lamp,  on  leaving  tlie  chapel,  I  perceived 
that  tho  gallery,  instead  of  terminating  here,  took 
a  sudden  and  snake-like  bend  to  the  left,  whicli 
had  before  eluded  my  observation,  and  which  seemed 
to  give  promise  of  a  pathway  still  farther  into  those 
recesses.  Reanimated  by  this  discovery,  which 
opened  a  new  source  of  liopc  to  my  heart,  I  cast, 
for  a  moment,  a  hesitating  look  at  my  lamp,  as  if 
to  inquire  whether  it  would  be  faithful  through 
the  gloom  I  was  about  to  encounter,  and  then, 
without  further  consideration,  rushed  eagerly  for- 
ward. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  path  led,  for  a  while,  through  the  sime  sort 
of  narrow  windings  as  those  which  I  had  before 
enconntered  in  descending  tho  stairway ;  and  at 
Kiigth  opened,  in  a  similar  manner,  into  a  trtraight 
and  steep  gallery,  along  each  side  of  which,  stood, 

See  for  ihe  custom  of  burying  the  dead  uprifrht,  ("  post 
futiiis  stiiniia  biisto  corporn,"  as  Statiu^  describes  it.)  Dr. 
Clarke's  preface  to  the  2d  section  of  his  fifth  volume.     They 


closely  ranged  and  upright,  a  file  of  lifeless  bodies,' 
\.-hose  glassy  eys  appeared  to  glare  upon  mo  pre- 
lornaturaliy  as  I  passed. 

Arrived  at  the  end  cf  this  gallery,  I  foimd  my 
liopes,  for  the  second  time,  vanish  ;  as  the  path,  it 
was  manifest,  extei.ded  no  farther.  The  only  object 
I  was  able  to  discern,  by  the  glimmering  of  my 
lamp,  which  now  burned,  every  minute,  fainter  and 
fainter,  was  tlie  mouth  of  a  huge  well,  that  lay 
gaping  before  me — a  reservoir  of  darkness,  black 
and  uniathomable  It  now  crossed  my  memory 
that  I  had  once  heard  of  such  wells,  as  being  used 
occasionally  for  passages  by  the  priests.  Leaning 
down,  therefore,  over  the  edge,  I  examined  anxiously 
all  within,  in  order  to  see  if  it  aiForded  the  means  of 
effecting  a  descent  into  the  chasm  ;  but  the  sidee,  I 
could  perceive,  were  I.ard  and  sraocwi  as  glass, 
being  varnished  all  over  wjth  that  sort  0/  c'ark 
pitch,  which  the  Dead  Sea  throws  out  nj-on  its 
shmy  shore. 

After  a  more  attentive  scrutiny,  however,  I  ob- 
sen'ed,  at  the  depth  of  a  few  feet,  a  soil  of  iron 
step,  projecting  dimly  from  the  side,  and,  below  it, 
another,  which,  though  hardly  perceptible,  was 
just  sufficient  to  encourage  an  adventurous  foot  to 
the  trial.  Though  all  hope  of  tracing  the  young 
Priestess  was  now  at  an  end — it  being  impossible 
that  female  foot  sh.culd  have  ventured  on  this 
descent — yet,  as  I  had  engaged  so  far  in  the  ad- 
venture, and  there  was,  at  least,  a  mysteiy  to  be 
unravelled,  I  determined,  at  all  hazards,  to  explore 
the  chasm.  Placing  m}''  lamp,  therefore,  (which 
was  hollowed  at  the  bottom,  so  as  to  be  worn  like 
a  helmet,)  firmly  upon  my  head,  and  having  thus 
botli  hands  at  liberty  for  exertion,  I  set  my  foot 
cautiously  on  the  iron  stej),  and  descended  into  the 
well. 

I  found  the  same  footing,  at  regular  intervals,  to 
a  considerable  depth ;  and  had  already  counted  near 
a  hundred  of  these  steps,  when  the  ladder  altogether 
ceased,  and  I  could  descend  no  farther.  In  vain 
did  I  stretch  down  my  foot  in  search  of  support — 
the  hard  slippery  sides  were  all  that  it  encountered. 
At  length,  stooping  my  head,  so  as  to  let  the  light 
fall  below,  I  observed  an  openiftg  or  window  directly 
above  the  step  on  which  I  steed ;  and,  taking  for 
granted  that  the  way  nmst  lie  in  that  direction, 
contrived  to  clamber,  with  no  small  difficulty, 
through  the  ajterture. 

1  now  found  myself  on  a  rude  and  narrow  stair- 
way, the  steps  of  which  ^vere  cut  out  of  the  living 
rock,  and  wound  spirally  downward  in  the  same 


^uscd  to  insert  precious  stones  in  the  place  of  the  eyes.  "  Lei 
ycii-v  f-tuicnl  formes  d'tjmtiraudes.de  turquoises," &c. — Vide 
.Vasoudy,  quoted  by  Quatrcmr^e. 


678 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


direction  as  the  well.  Almost  dizzy  with  the  de- 
s;eiit,  which  seemed  as  if  it  would  never  end,  I,  at 
last,  reached  the  bottom,  where  a  pair  of  massy  Iron 
gates  were  closed  directly  across  my  path,  as  if 
wholly  to  forbid  any  further  progress.  Massy  and 
gigantic,  however,  as  they  were,  I  fonnd,  to  my 
surprise,  that  the  hand  of  an  infant  might  have 
opened  them  with  ease — so  readily  did  their  stu- 
pendous folds  give  way  to  my  touch, 

"  Light  as  a  Itnie-bu:^Ii,  Ih;it  receives 
Some  wamlcring  bird  among  it:*  leaves.'' 

No  sooner,  however,  had  I  passed  through,  than  the 
astounding  din,  with  which  the  gates  clashed  to- 
gether again, ^  was  such  as  might  have  awakened 
death  itself.  It  seemed  as  if  everj'  echo"  throughout 
that  vast,  subterranean  world,  from  the  Catacombs 
of  Alexandria  to  Thcbcs's  Valley  of  Kings,  had 
caught  up  and  repeated  the  thundering  sound. 

Startled  as  I  was  by  the  crash,  not  even  this  su- 
pernatural clangor  could  divert  my  attention  from 
the  sudden  light  that  now  broke  around  me — soft, 
warm,  and  welcome,  as  are  the  stars  of  his  own 
South  to  the  eyes  of  tlie  mariner  who  has  long  been 
wandering  through  the  cold  seas  of  the  North. 
Looking  for  the  source  of  this  splendor  I  saw, 
througli  an  archway  opposite,  a  long  illuminated 
alley,  stretching  away  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
and  fenced,  on  one  side,  with  thickets  of  odoriferous 
slu-ubs  ;  while  along  tlie  other  e\tended  a  line  of 
lofly  arcades,  from  which  the  light,  that  filled  the 
whole  area,  issued.  As  soon,  too,  as  the  din  of  the 
deep  echoes  had  subsided,  there  stole  gradually  on 
my  ear  a  strain  of  choral  music,  which  appeared  to 
come  mellowed  and  sweetened  in  its  passage, 
through  many  a  spacious  halh  whhin  those  shining 
arcades ;  while  among  the  voices  I  could  distinguish 
some  female  tones,  whicli,  towering  high  and  clear 
above  all  the  rest,  formed  the  spire,  as  it  were,  into 
which  the  harmony  tapered  as  it  rose. 

So  excited  wasmy  fancy  by  this  sudden  enchant- 
ment, that — though  never  had  I  caught  a  sound 
from  the  fair  Egyptian's  hps — I  yet  persuaded  my- 
self that  the  voice  I  now  heard  was  hers,  soundnig 
highest  and  most  heavenly  of  all  that  ciioir,  and 
calling  to  me,  like  a*  distant  spirit  from  its  sphere. 
Animated  by  this  thought,  I  flow  forward  to  the 
archway,  but   found,  to    my  mortification,  that  it 

I  The  following  verses  of  Claxidian  are  supposed  to  have 
been  meant  as  a  description  nf  those  imitations  of  the  noise 
ofearthqxiake  and  thunder,  which,  by  means  of  the  Cerauno- 
scope,  and  other  such  contrivances,  were  practised  in  ihe 
shows  of  the  Mysteries ; 

Jam  niihi  cernuntur  trepidis  delubra  mnvrri 
Se<hbus.  ct  claram  dispcrgsre  culniina  luceni, 
Adventum  tesiata  Dei.    Jam  magnus  ab  iniis 
Auditur  fremitus  terris,  templumquo  remugit 
Cecropium.  Rapt.  Proserp.  lib.  i. 


was  guarded  by  a  trellis-work,  whose  bars,  though 
invisible  at  a  distance,  resisted  all  my  efforts  to  force 
them. 

While  occupied  in  llicse  ineiTectual  struggles,  I 
perceived,  to  the  left  of  the  archway,  a  dark  cav- 
ernous opening,  whic'a  seemed  to  lead  in  a  direction 
parallel  tq$  the  lighted  arcades.  Notwithstanding, 
however,  my  impatience,  the  aspect  of  this  pas- 
sage, as  I  looked  shudderlngly  into  it,  chilled  my 
very  blood.  It  was  not  so  mucli  darknes-s,  as  a  sort 
of  livid  and  ghastly  twilight,  from  whicli  a  damp,  like 
that  of  death-vaults  exhaled,  and  tlirough  wiiich, 
if  my  eyes  did  not  deceive  me,  pale,  pliantom-like 
shapes^  were,  at  that  veiy  moment,  hovering. 

Looking  anxiously  round,  to  discover  some  less 
formidable  outlet,  I  saw,  over  the  vast  folding-gates 
through  which  I  had  just  passed,  a  blue,  tremulous 
flame,  which,  after  playing  for  a  few  seconds  over 
the  dark  ground  of  the  pediment,  settled  gradually 
into  characters  of  light,  and  formed  the  following 
words : — 

You.  who  would  tr)' 
Yon  terrible  track, 
To  live,  or  to  die, 
But  ne'er  to  look  back — 

You.  who  a?pire 

To  be  purified  there, 
By  the  terrors  of  Fire, 

Of  Water,  and  Air — 

If  danger,  and  pain, 

And  death,  you  despise, 
On — for  again 

Into  light  you  shall  rise; 

Klse  into  light 

With  that  Secret  Divine, 
Now  shrouded  from  sight 

By  the  Veils  of  the  Shrine  ! 

Bui  if 

Here  the  letters  faded  away  into  a  dead  blans,  more 
awfully  intelligible  than  the  most  eloquent  words. 

A  new  hope  now  flashed  across  me.  The  dream 
of  the  Garden,  which  had  been  for  some  time 
almost  forgotten,  returned  freshly  to  my  mind. 
"  Am  I,  then,"  1  exclaimed,  "  in  the  path  to  the 
promised  mystery  ?  and  shall  tlie  great  secret  of 
Eternal  Life  indeed  be  mine  ?" 

"  Yes  !'■  seemed  to  answer  out  of  the  air,  that 
spirit-voice,    which   still    was    lieard  at   a  distance 

2  See,  fur  the  echoes  in  the  pynmiids,  Plutanh  dc  riacitis 
Philosoph. 

3 '*  Ce  moment  heureux  (de  rAutopsie)  etoit  prepare  par 
des  scenes  cffrayanles,  p;ir  les  alternatives  dc  crainte  ct  de 
jote,  delumiere  etde  tcn^bres,  par  la  Incur  des  ijclairs,  parte 
bruit  terrible  de  la  foudre,  qu'on  imitnit,  ct  par  des  apparitiuns 
de  spectres,  des  illusions  mngiqucs,  qui  frai'poient  les  yeux 
et  les  orcilles  tout  ensemble." — Dupuis. 


THE  EPICUUKAN. 


679 


crowning  the  choir  wltii  its  jinglo  sweetness.  I 
hailed  tho  omen  witli  transport.  Love  and  Immor- 
tuUty,  both  beckoning  me  onward — who  would  give 
even  a  thought  to  fear,  with  two  such  brigiit  hopes 
in  prospect?  Having  invoked  and  blessed  that  un- 
known enchantress,  whoso  steps  had  led  me  to  tliis 
abode  of  mysterj'  and  knowledge,  I  instantly  phinged 
into  the  chasm. 

Instead  of  that  vague,  spectral  twilight  which 
had  at  first  met  my  eye,  I  now  found,  as  I  entered, 
a  tliick  darkness,  which,  though  far  less  horrible, 
was,  at  this  moment,  still  more  disconcerting,  as  my 
lamp,  whicii  had  been,  for  some  time,  almost  use- 
less, was  now  fast  expiring.  Resolved,  liowever,  to 
make  the  most  of  its  last  gleam,  I  hastened,  with 
rapid  step,  tiirough  this  gloomy  region,  which  ap- 
peared to  be  wider  and  more  open  to  the  air  than 
any  I  had  yet  passed.  Nor  was  it  long  before  the 
sudden  appearance  of  a  bright  blaze  in  tho  distance 
announced  to  me  that  my  first  great  Trial  was  at 
hand.  As  I  drew  nearer,  the  flames  before  me 
burst  high  and  wide  on  all  sides ; — and  the  awful 
spectacle  that  then  presented  itself  was  such  as 
might  have  daunted  hearts  far  more  accustomed  to 
dangers  than  mine. 

There  lay  before  me,  extending  completely  across 
my  path,  a  thicket,  or  grove,  of  the  most  combusti- 
ble trees  of  Egypt — tamarind,  pine,  and  Arabian 
balm  ;  while  around  they-  stems  and  branches  were 
coiled  serpents  of  fire,^  which,  twisting  themselves 
rapidly  from  bougli  to  bough,  spread  the  contagion 
of  their  o^ii  wild-fire  as  they  went,  and  involved 
tree  after  tree  in  one  general  blaze.  It  was,  indeed, 
rapid  as  the  burning  of  those  reed-beds  of  Ethiopia,^ 
whose  light  is  often  seen  brightening,  at  night,  the 
distant  cataracts  of  the  Nile. 

Through  the  middle  of  this  blazing  grove,  I  could 
now  perceive  my  only  pathway  lay.  There  was 
not  a  moment,  therefore,  to  be  lost — for  the  confla- 
gration gained  rapidly  on  either  side,  and  already 
the  narrowing  path  between  was  strewed  with 
vivid  fire.  Casting  away  my  now  useless  lamp,  and 
holding  my  robe  as  some  slight  protection  over  my 
head,  I  ventured,  with  trembling  limbs,  into  the 
blaze. 

Instantly,  as  if  my  presence  had  given  new  hfe 
to  the  flames,  a  fresh  outbreak  of  combustion  arose 
on  all  sides.  The  trees  clustered  into  a  bower  of 
foe  above  my  head,  while  tho  serpents  tliat  hung 
hissing   from   the    red    branches    sliot   showers  of 


»  "  Ces  considerations  me  portent  d  penser  que,  dans  les 
niysieres.  ccs  p!i6noiii6ncs  6toient  beaucoup  mieux  ex6cu- 
tees,  ei  s;in3  e  imparaisoa  plus  terribles  ii  I'aidp  ile  quelque 
composition  pyrii|ue.  qui  est  resttio  cachOe,  coniiiie  celle  du 
feu  Gr»^geuis." — De  Pautc. 

s  "  II  n'y  a  point  d'aulre  nioycn  que  de  porter  le  feu  dans 


sparkles  down  upon  me  as  I  passed.  Never  were 
decision  and  activity  of  more  avail : — one  minute 
later,  and  I  mu.-it  have  perished.  The  narrow  open- 
ing, of  which  I  had  so  promptly  availed  myself, 
closed  instantly  behind  me  ;  and  as  I  looked  back, 
to  contemplate  the  ordeal  which  I  had  passed,  I  saw 
that  the  wliole  gro\?  was  already  one  mass  of  fire. 

R*>joiced  to  have  escaped  this  first  trial,  I  instantly 
plucked  from  one  of  the  pine-trees  a  bough  that  was 
but  just  kindled,  and,  with  this  for  my  only  guide, 
hastened  breathlesjsly  forward.  I  had  advanced  but 
a  few  paces,  when  tho  path  turned  suddenly  off, 
leading  downwards,  as  I  could  perceive  by  the  glim- 
mer of  my  brand,  into  a  more  confined  region, 
through  wiiich  a  chilling  air,  as  if  from  some  neigh- 
boring waters,  blew  over  my  brow.  Nor  had  I 
proceeded  far  in  this  course,  when  the  sound  of  tor- 
rents'— mixed,  as  I  thought,  from  time  to  time,  witii 
shrill  wailings,  resembling  the  cries  of  persor^  in 
danger  or  distress — fell  mournfully  upon  my  ear.  .s.t 
every  step  the  noise  of  the  dashing  wate  r  5icreased, 
and  I  now  perceived  that  I  had  entered  a:'  immense 
rocky  cavern,  througii  tho  middle  of  which,  head- 
long as  a  winter-torrent,  the  dark  flood,  to  whose 
roar  I  had  been  listening,  poured  its  waters  ;  while 
upon  its  suifaee  floated  grim  spectre-like  shapes, 
which,  as  they  went  by,  sent  forth  those  dismal 
shrieks  I  had  heard — as  if  in  fear  of  some  awful 
precipice  towards  whose  brink  they  were  hurr}'ing. 

I  saw  plainly  that  across  that  torrent  must  be  my 
course.  It  was,  indeed,  fearful ;  but  in  courage 
and  perseverance  now  lay  my  only  hope.  What 
awaited  me  on  the  opposite  shore,  I  knew  not ; 
for  all  tliere  was  immersed  in  impenetrable  gloom, 
nor  could  the  feeble  light  which  I  carried  send  its 
glimmer  half  so  far.  Dismissing,  however,  all 
tlioughts  but  that  of  pressing  onward,  I  sprung  from 
the  rock  on  which  I  stood  into  the  flood,  trusting 
that,  with  my  right  hand,  I  sliould  be  able  to  bufiet 
the  current,  while,  with  the  other,  as  long  as  a  gleam 
of  my  brand  remained,  I  might  hold  it  aloft  to  guide 
me  safely  to  the  shore. 

Long,  formidable,  and  almost  hopeless  was  the 
struggle  I  had  now  to  maintain  ;  and  more  than 
once,  overpowered  by  the  rush  of  t!ie  waters,  I  had 
given  myself  up,*  as  destined  to  follow  those  pale, 
death-like  apparitions,  that  still  went  past  me,  hur- 
rj'ing  onward,  with  mournful  cries,  to  fijid  tlieir 
doom  in  some  invisible  gulf  beyond. 

At  length,  just  as     ty  strength  was  nearly  ex- 


ecs forfits  de  roseaux,  qui  rtpandent  alors  dans  toit  ,e  pais 
une  himiere  luissi  coiisiderable  que  celle  du  jour  m6me.'* — 
Jltaillct,  toui.  i.  p.  63. 
3  The  Nile,  Pliiuj  tells  us,  was  admitted  into  the  Pyramid, 
*  "  On  exercoit,"  says  Dupuis,  "  les  recipiendaires,  pen- 
dant ptusicurs  jours,  d  traverser,  a  la  nage,  une   grande 


680 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


1 


hansted,  and  the  last  remains  of  the  pine  branch 
were  dropping  from  my  hand,  I  saw,  outstretching 
towards  me  into  the  water,  a  lif^lit  double  balus- 
trade, with  a  flight  of  steps  between,  ascending, 
almost  perpendicularly,  from  the  wave,  till  they 
seemed  lost  in  a  dense  mass  of  clouds  above.  This  i 
glimpse — for  it  was  nothing  more,  as  my  light 
expired  in  giving  it — lent  new  spring  to  my 
courage.  Having  now  both  hands  at  liberty,  so 
desperate  were  my  efforts,  that,  after  a  few  min- 
utes' struggle,  I  felt  my  brow  strike  against  the 
stairway,  and,  in  an  instant,  my  feet  were  on  the 
steps. 

Rejoiced  at  my  escape  from  that  perilous  flood, 
though  I  knew  not  whither  the  stairway  led,  I 
promptly  ascended  the  steps.  But  this  feeling  of 
confidence  was  of  short  duration.  I  had  not 
mounted  far,  when,  to  my  horror,  I  perceived  that 
each  successive  step,  as  my  foot  left  it,  broke 
away  from  beneath  me,  leaving  me  in  mid-air, 
with  no  other  alternative  than  that  of  still  mount- 
ing by  the  same  momentary  footing,  and  with  the 
appalling  doubt  whether  it  would  even  endure  my 
tread. 

And  thus  did  I,  for  a  few  seconds,  continue  to 
ascend,  with  notiiing  beneath  me  but  that  awful 
river,  in  whicli — so  tranquil  had  it  now  become — 
I  could  hear  the  plash  of  the  falling  fragments,  as 
every  step  in  succession  gave  way  from  under  my 
feet.  It  was  a  most  fearful  moment — but  even  still 
worse  remained.  I  now  found  the  balustrade,  by 
which  I  had  held  during  my  ascent,  and  which  had 
hitherto  appeared  to  be  firm,  growing  tremulous  in 
my  hand,  while  the  step,  to  which  I  was  about  to 
trust  myself,  tottered  under  my  foot.  Just  then,  a 
momentary  flash,  as  if  of  lightning,  broke  around 
me  ;  and  I  saw,  hanging  out  of  the  clouds,  so  as  to 
bo  barely  within  my  reach,  a  huge  brazen  ring. 
Instinctively  I  stretched  forth  my  arm  to  seize  it, 
and,  at  the  same  instant,  both  balustrade  and  steps 
gave  way  beneath  me,  and  I  was  left  swinging  by 
my  hands  in  the  dark  void.  As  if,  too,  this  massy 
ring,  which  I  grasped,  was  by  some  magic  power 
linked  with  all  the  winds  in  lieaven,  no  sooner  had 
I  seized  it  than,  like  the  touching  of  a  spring, 
it  seemed  to  give  loose  to  every  variety  of  gusts 
and  tempests,  that  ever  strewed  the  sea-shore 
with  wrecks  or  dead  ;  and,  as  I  swung  about,  tlie 
sport  of  this  elemental  strife,  every  new  hurst  of  its 
fury  threatened  to  shiver  me,  like  a  storm-sail,  to 
atoms ! 

Nor  was  even  this  the  worst ; — for,  still  holding, 


itendne  d'eau.  On  les  y  jettoil,  et  ce  n'etoil  qn'avcc  peine 
quMts  s'en  reliroienl.  On  appliqunit  le  leret  le  felisur  leurs 
Oienibres,    On  les  faisoit  passer  a  Iravers  les  flanunes." 


I  know  not  how,  by  the  ring,  I  felt  myself  caught 
up,  as  if  by  a  thousand  whirlwinds,  and  then 
round  and  round,  like  a  stone-shot  in  a  sling,  con- 
tinued to  be  whirled  hi  the  midst  of  all  this  deafen- 
ing chaos,  till  my  brain  grew  dizzy,  my  recollection 
became  confused,  and  I  almost  fancied  myself  on 
that  wheel  of  the  infernal  world,  whoso  rotations 
Eternity  alone  can  number  1 

Human  strength  could  no  longer  sustain  such  a 
trial.  I  was  on  the  point,  at  last,  of  loosing  my 
hold,  when  suddenly  the  violence  of  the  storm 
moderated ; — my  whirl  through  the  air  gradually 
ceased,  and  I  felt  the  ring  slowly  descend  with  me, 
till — happy  as  a  shipwrecked  mariner  at  the  first 
touch  of  land — I  found  my  feet  once  more  upon  firm 
ground. 

At  the  same  moment,  a  light  of  the  most  delicious 
softness  filled  tlie  whole  air.  Music,  such  as  is 
heard  in  dreams,  came  floating  at  a  distance  ;  and 
as  my  eyes  gradually  recoverfi<i  ,beh"  powers  of 
vision,  a  scene  of  glory  was  revealed  to  them,  al- 
most too  bright  for  imagination,  and  yet  living  and 
real.  As  far  as  the  sight  could  reach,  enchanting 
gardens  were  seen,  opening  away  through  long 
tracts  of  light  and  verdure,  and  sparkling  everj'- 
where  with  fountains,  that  circulated,  like  streams 
of  life,  among  the  flowers.  Not  a  chami  was  liere 
wanting,  that  the  fancy  of  poet  or  prophet,  in  their 
warmest  pictures  of  Elysium,  have  over  yet  dreamed 
or  promised.  Vistas,  opening  into  scenes  of  indis- 
tinct grandeur — streams,  shining  out  at  intervals, 
in  their  shadowy  course — and  labyrinths  of  flowers, 
leadincr,  by  mysterious  windings,  to  green,  spacious 
glades  full  of  splendor  and  repose.  Over  all  this, 
too,  there  fell  a  ligiit,  from  some  unseen  source, 
resembling  nothing  that  illumines  our  upper  world 
— a  sort  of  golden  moonlight,  mingling  the  wami 
radiance  of  day  with  the  calm  and  melancholy  lustre 
of  night. 

Nor  were  there  w^anting  inhabitants  for  this  sun- 
less Paradise.  Through  all  the  bright  gardens 
were  seen  wandering,  with  the  serene  air  and  step 
of  happy  spirits,  groups  both  of  young  and  old,  of 
venerable  and  of  lovely  forms,  bearing,  most  of 
them,  the  Nile's  white  flowers  on  their  heads,  and 
branches  of  the  eternal  palm  iu  their  hands  ;  while, 
over  the  verdant  turf,  fair  children  and  maidens 
went  dancing  to  aerial  music,  whose  source  was, 
like  that  of  the  light,  invisible,  but  which  filled  the 
whole  air  with  its  mystic  sweetness. 

E.xhaustcd  as  I  was  by  the  painful  trials  I  had 
undergone,  no  sooner  did  I  perceive  those  fair  groups 


The  aspirants  were  often  in  con5ideral)le  danger,  and  Py- 
thagoras, we  are  told,  nearly  lost  his  life  in  the  trials.  Vide 
Rcehcrehcs  sur  Us  Initiations,  par  Robin. 


i 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


o&_ 


in  the  distance,  tlian  my  weariness,  Ixith  of  frame 
and  spirit,  was  forgotten.  A  thoiirrlit  crossed  nie 
that  she.  whom  I  souccht,  might  haply  bo  amonrj 
them  ;  and  notwithstanding  the  feehng  of  awe,  with 
which  that  unearthly  scene  inspired  me,  I  was 
a!)Oiit  to  fly,  on  tlie  instant,  to  asceilain  my  hope. 
But  while  in  the  act  of  malting  the  effort,  I  felt  my 
rohe  gently  pulled,  and  turning  round,  beheld  an 
aged  man  before  me,  wliom,  by  tho  eacred  hue  of 
his  garb,  I  knew  at  once  to  bo  a  Hierophaut.  Pla- 
cing a  branch  of  the  consecrated  pahu  in  my  hand, 
lie  said,  in  a  solemn  voice,  **  Aspirant  of  tho  Mys- 
teries, welcome !" — tlien,  regarding  me  for  a  few 
seconds  with  grave  attention,  added,  in  a  tone  of 
courtcousness  and  interest,  "  Tiie  victory  over  the 
body  hath  been  gained  I — Follow  me,  youug  Greek, 
to  thy  resting-place." 

1  obeyed  the  command  in  silence — and  the 
Priest,  turning  away  from  this  scene  of  splendor, 
into  a  secluded  pathway,  where  the  Hght  gradually 
faded  as  we  advanced,  led  mo  to  a  small  pavilion, 
by  the  side  of  a  whispering  stream,  where  tho  very 
spirit  of  slumber  seemed  to  preside,  and,  pointizig 
silently  to  a  bed  of  dried  poppy-leaves,  left  me  to 
repose 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Though  the  sight  of  that  splendid  scene,  whose 
glories  opened  upon  me  like  a  momentary  glimpse 
into  another  world,  had,  for  an  instant,  reanimated 
my  strength  and  spirit,  yet,  so  completely  was  my 
whole  frame  subdiicd  by  fatigue,  tluit,  even  had  the 
form  of  the  young  Priestess  herself  then  stood  be- 
fore me,  ray  limbs  would  have  sunk  in  the  effort  to 
reach  her.  No  sooner  had  I  fallen  on  my  leafy 
couch,  than  sleep,  like  a  sudden  death,  came  over 
me  ;  and  I  lay,  for  hours,  in  that  deep  and  motioiiP 
less  rest,  which  not  even  a  shadow  of  life  disturbs. 

On  awaking,  I  saw,  beside  me,  the  same  venera- 
ble personage,  who  had  welcomed  me  to  this  sub- 
terranean world  on  tlio  preceding  night.  At  the 
foot  of  my  couch  stood  a  statue,  of  Grecian  work- 
manship, rei>resenting  a  boy,  with  wings,  seated 
gracefully  on  a  lotus-Qower,  and  having  the  fore- 
finger of  his  right  hand  pressed  to  his  lips.     This 

I  "  Enfin  Il.irpncrate  6[oit  assis  sur  le  loins,  qui  est  la 
plaote  <!il  ScU'.l."     I/ist.  des  Juifs. 

3  For  llie  iwn  cup.>  useil  in  the  mysteries,  see  VHistoire 
des  Juifs,  liv.  ix.  c.  16. 

3  O-iiris  luider  the  name  of  Serapis,  was  supposed  to  rule 
over  the  subterranean  world  ;  mid  perfurined  the  office  of 
I''uto,  in  the  inytfaiikig^'  of  the  Egyptians.     "  They  behaved," 


action,  together  with  the  glory  round  his  brows, 
denoted,  as  I  already  knew,  the  God  of  Silence  and 
Light.* 

Impatient  to  know  what  furtlier  trials  awaited 
mo,  I  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  Priest  ex- 
claimed, anxiously,  "Hush!" — and,  pointing  to  tlie 
statue  at  the  foot  of  the  conch,  said, — "  Let  tho 
spell  of  tiiat  Spirit  be  upon  thy  lips,  young  stranger, 
till  the  wisdom  of  thy  instructors  shall  lliink  iit  to 
remove  it.  Not  unaptly  doth  the  same  deity  pre- 
side over  Silence  and  Liglit ;  since  it  is  only  out  of 
the  depth  of  contemplative  silence,  that  the  great 
ligiit  of  the  soul,  Truth,  can  arise  1" 

Little  used  to  tho  language  of  dictation  or  in- 
struction, I  was  now  preparing  to  rise,  when  the 
Priest  again  restrained  me ;  and,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, two  boys,  beautiful  as  the  young  Genii  of  the 
stars,  entered  the  pavilion.  They  wcje  habited  in 
long  garments  of  the  purest  white,  and  bore  eacli  a 
small  golden  chalice  in  his  hand.''  Advunciirg 
towards  mo,  they  stopped  on  opposite  siuvs  of  the 
coucl],  and  one  of  them,  presenting  to  me  his  chal- 
ice of  gold,  said,  in  a  tone  between  singing  and 
speaking, — 

"  Drink  of  this  cup — Osiris^  sips 
The  sniiie  in  his  halls  beluw ; 
And  the  same  he  gives,  to  cool  the  lips 
Of  the  Dead*  who  downward  go. 
"Drink  of  this  cu[) — the  water  within 
Is  fresh  from  Lethe's  streanj : 
'Twill  make  the  past,  with  all  its  sin, 
And  all  its  pain  and  sorrows,  seem 
Like  a  lont^-foigotten  dream  ! 
"The  pleasure,  whose  charms 
Are  steep'd  in  wo; 
The  knowledge,  that  harms 
The  soul  to  know; 
"The  hope,  that,  bright 
As  the  lake  of  the  waste, 
Allures  the  sight, 
But  mocks  the  taste  ; 
"The  Rive,  that  binds 
Its  innocent  wreath, 
Where  tho  serpent  winds, 
In  venom,  beneath;— 
"  All  that,  of  evil  or  false,  by  thee 
llath  ever  been  known  or  seen. 
Shall  melt  away  in  this  cup,  and  be 
Forgot,  as  it  never  had  been  !" 

Unwilling  to  tfu-ow  a  slight  on  tliLs  strange  cere- 
mony, I  leaned  forward,  with  all  due  gravity,  and 
tasted  the  cup  ;  which  I  had  no  sooner  done  thin 

says  Dr.  Prichard,  "  that  Sepis  presided  over  the  region  of 
departed  souls,  during  the  pehnd  of  their  absence,  when 
languishing  wilhfiui  bodies,  and  ilint  the  dead  were  deposit- 
ed in  his  palace."     Analysis  of  the  Ei^yptian  Mythology. 

*  "Frigidam  illam  aquain  po^t  iiiorii m,  tanquaiu  Hebes 
poculum,  expetitani."  Zorga,—T\\Q  L(_tlit'  of  the  Eiryptiana 
was  called  Anieles.    See  Dupuis,  torn.  viii.  p.  G5L 


682 


MOORE'S    WORKS. 


tlie  young  cup-bearer,  on  tlie  other  side,'  invited  my 
attention  ;  and,  iu  his  turn,  presenting  the  chalice 
which  he  lield,  sung,  with  a  voice  still  sweeter  than 
tiiat  of  liiy  companion,  tlie  following  strain  : — 

"Drink  of  this  cup — when  Tsis  ied 

fler  boy,  of  old,  to  llie  beaming  sky, 

£ho  mingled  a  (Imnght  divine,-  and  said — 

'  Urink  of  this  cup,  lliou'It  never  die  I' 

'•Thus  do  I  say  and  sing  to  thee, 

Heir  of  lliat  boundless  heaven  on  liigli, 
Though  frail,  and  fall'n,  and  lost  thou  be, 
Drink  of  this  cup,  thou*lt  never  die  ;" 

Well  as  I  had  Iiitherto  kept  my  philosophy  on  its 
guard  against  the  illusions  with  which,  I  knew,  this 
region  abounded,  tlie  young  cup-bcarcr  had  here 
touched  a  spring  of  imagination,  over  which  my 
philosophy,  as  has  been  seen,  had  but  little  control. 
No  sooner  had  the  words,  "  thou  shalt  never  die," 
struck  on  my  ear,  than  the  dream  of  the  Garden 
came  fidly  to  my  mind ;  and,  starting  half-way 
from  the  couch,  I  stretched  forth  my  hands  to  the 
cup.  But,  recollecting  myself  instantly,  and  fearing 
that  I  had  betrayed  to  others  a  weakness  fit  only 
for  my  own  secret  indulgence,  I  sunk  back  again, 
with  a  smile  of  affected  indiflcreuce  on  my  couch — ■ 
while  the  young  minstrel,  but  little  interrupted  by 
my  movement,  still  continued  his  strain,  of  wliicb  I 
heard  but  the  concluding  words; — 

"  And  Memory,  too,  with  her  dreams  shall  come, 
Dreams  of  a  former,  happier  day. 
When  Heaven  w;is  slill  the  Spirit's  home, 
And  her  wings  had  not  yet  fallen  away ; 
"Glimpses  of  glory,  ne'er  forgot, 

That  tell,  like  gleams  on  u  sunset  sea, 
Whnt  once  hath  been,  what  now  is  not, 
But,  oh !  what  again  shall  brightly  be." 

Though  the '  assurances  of  immortality  contained 
in  these  verses  would  at  any  other  moment — vain 
and  visionary  as  I  thought  them — have  sent  my 
fancy  wandering  into  reveries  of  tho  future,  the 
effort  of  self-control  I  had  just  made  enabled  me  to 
hear  them  with  indifference. 

Having  gone  through  the  form  of  tasting  his  sec- 
ond cup,  I  again  looked  anxiously  to  tho  Hierophant, 
to  ascertain  whether  I  might  bo  pennitted  to  rise. 
His    assent   having   been  given,  the  young  pages 


»  "  Enfin  on  disoitqu'il  yavoit  dciix  coupes,  I'uneenliaut 
et  I'auire  en  bas.  Celui  qui  buvoit  de  la  coupe  d'en  bas, 
avoit  loujourssoif,  ses  desirs  s'augmentoit  au  lieu  de  s'eteln- 
dre ;  inais  celui  qui  buvoit  de  la  coupe  en  haut.  fioit  rempli 
ct  content.  Cclte  premiere  coupe  ituit  laconnoissancc  de  la 
Nature,  qui  ne  satisfail  jamais  pleincmcnt  ccux  qui  en  son- 
dent  Ics  niysteres;  et  la  scconde  coupe,  dans  laquelle  on 
devoil  boire  pour  n'avoir  jamais  soif,  etoit  la  connoissance 
des  mysieres  du  Ciel."     Hist,  dcs  Juifs,  liv.  ix.  cbiip.  IG. 

3  The  Tfjs  a6avaaiai  <papuaKov^  which,  according  to  Dlo* 
dorus  Siculus,  Isis  prepared  for  her  son  Onis. — Lib.  i. 


brought  to  my  couch  a  robe  and  tunic,  which,  like 
their  own,  were  of  linen  of  the  purest  while ;  and 
having  assisted  to  clothe  me  in  this  sacred  garb,  they 
then  placed  upon  my  head  a  chaplet  of  myrtle,  in 
which  the  symbol  of  Initiation,  a  golden  grass- 
hopper,' was  seen  shining  out  from  among»llie  dark 
leaves. 

Though  sleep  hnu  .^ono  much  to  refresh  my 
frame,  something  more  was  still  wanting  to  restore 
jts  strength  •  and  it  was  not  without  a  smile  at  my 
own  reveries  reflected,  how  much  mor^  welcomo 
than  even  the  young  page's  cup  i. "  immortality  was 
the  unpretending,  but  real,  repast  now  set  beforo 
mc — fresii  frui^  from  the  Isle  of  Gardens*  in  the 
Nile,  tho  delicate  flesh  of  the  desert  antelope,  and 
wine  from  the  Vine^-ard  of  the  ;^aeens  at  Antliylla,^ 
which  one  of  tlie  pages  fanned  with  a  palm-Icaf,  to 
keep  it  cool. 

Having  done  justice  to  these  dainties,  it  was  with 
pleasure  I  heard  the  proposal  of  the  Priest,  that  we 
should  walk  forth  together,  and  meditate  among  the 
scenes  without.  I  had  not  forgotten  tho  splendid 
Elysium  that  last  night  welcomed  me — those  rich 
gardens,  that  soft  unearthly  music  and  liglit,  and, 
above  all,  those  fair  forms  I  had  seen  wandering 
about — as  if,  in  tho  very  midst  of  happiness,  still 
seeking  it.  Tho  hope,  which  liad  then  occurred  to 
me,  that,  among  those  bright  groups  might  i.aply  bo 
found  tho  young  maiden  I  sought,  now  returned 
with  increased  strength.  I  had  little  doubt  Ihat  my 
guide  was  leading  me  to  tlie  same  Elysian  scene, 
and  that  the  fonn,  so  fit  to  inhabit  it,  would  again 
appear  before  my  eyes. 

But  far  diflerent,  I  found,  was  tiie  region  to 
which  he  now  conducted  me  ; — nor  could  tho 
whole  world  have  produced  a  Kccnc  more  gloomy, 
or  more  strange.  It  wore  tne  appearance  of  a 
small,  solitaiy  valley,  enclosed,  on  every  side,  by 
rocks,  which  seemed  to  rise,  almost  perpendi- 
cularly, till  they  reached  tho  verj'  sky  ;— for  it 
was,  indeed,  the  blue  sky  that  I  saw  shining  be- 
tween their  summits,  and  whose  light,  dimmed  thus 
and  nearly  lost  in  its  long  descent,  formed  the  mel- 
ancholy daylight  of  this  nether  world.*'  Down 
the  side  of  these  rocky  walls  descended  a  cataract, 
whose    source    was    upon    earth,    and    on    whose 


3  Hor.  JJpoll. — The  grasshopiKir  was  also  consecrated  to 
the  sun,  as  being  musical. 

*  The  isle  Antirrhudus,  near  Alexandria.    Jlfaittet. 

^  Vide  .Ithcn.  Dcipnos. 

6  "On  s'.  toitni&nie  avise,depnisla  prerol.'-re  constriction 
de  ces  demeures,  de  pcrcer  en  plusicurs  endroiis  jii;qu*ai 
hnut  les  terres  qui  les  couvroient ;  nou  pas.  &  la  vt-ritti.  poar 
tirer  nn  joiir  qui  n'auroit  jamais  ete  siiflisant^  mais  poar 
recevoir  un  air  salutaire,"  &c.     Sctlios. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


683 


waters,  as  they  rolled  glassily  over  the  edge  above, 
a  gieam  of  radiance  rested,  showing  how  hriiliant 
and  puro  was  the  sunshine  they  liad  left  behind. 
From  thence,  ffiadi'.ally  growing"  darker,  and  fre- 
quently broken  by  alternate  ciiasms  and  projec- 
tions, the  stream  fell,  at  last,  in  a  palo  and  thin  mist 
— the  pliautom  of  what  it  luid  been  on  earth — into 
a  small  lake  that  lay  at  the  base  of  tho  rock  to  re- 
ceive it. 

Nothing  was  ever  so  bleak  and  saddening  as  tlie 
appearance  of  tliis  lake.  The  usual  ornaments  of 
tlie  waters  of  Kgypt  were  not  wanting  to  it :  tlie 
tall  lotus  here  uplifted  her  silvery  flowere,  and  the 
crimson  flamingo  floated  over  the  tide.  But  tliey 
looked  not  tlie  same  as  in  tlie  world  above  ; — the 
flower  had  exchanged  its  whiteness  for  a  livid  hue, 
and  the  wings  of  the  bird  hung  heavy  and  colorless. 
Every  thing  wore  the  same  half-living  aspect  ;  and 
the  only  sounds  that  disturbed  the  mournful  stillness 
were  the  wailing  cry  of  a  heron  among  the  sedges, 
and  that  din  of  the  faUing  waters,  in  their  midway 
struggle,  above. 

There  was,  indeed,  an  unearthly  sadness  in  the 
whole  scene,  of  which  no  heart,  however  hglit, 
could  resist  the  influence.  Perceiving  how  much 
I  was  affected  by  it,  "  Such  scenes,"  remarked  the 
Priest,  "  are  best  suited  to  that  solemn  complexion 
of  mind,  which  becomes  him  who  approaches  the 
Great  Mystery  of  futurity.  Beliold" — and,  in  say- 
ing thus  he  pointed  to  tlie  opening  over  our  heads, 
through  which,  though  the  sun  had  but  just  passed 
his  meridian,  I  could  perceive  a  star  or  two  twinkling 
in  the  heavens — "in  the  same  manner  as  from  this 
gloomy  depth  we  can  see  those  fixed  stars, ^  which 
are  invisible  now  to  the  dwellers  on  the  briglit  earth, 
even  eo,  to  the  sad  and  self-humbled  spirit,  doth 
many  a  mysiery  of  heaven  reveal  itself,  of  which 
tiiey,  who  walk  in  the  light  of  the  proud  world, 
know  not  I'' 

He  now  led  me  towards  a  rustic  seat  or  alcove, 
beside  which  stood  an  image  of  that  dark  Deity ,^ 
that  God  without  a  smile,  who  presides  over  the 
silent  kingdom  of  the  Dead.^  The  same  livid  and 
lifeless  hue  was  upon  his  features,  that  hung  over 
cveiy  thing  in  this  dim  valley,  and,  with  his  right 
hand,  he  pointed  directly  downwards,  to  denote 
that  his  melancholy  king'dom   lay  tlicre.     A  plan- 

'  "On  voynit  en  plein  jour  par  ces  ouverturcs  les  6toiIes, 
et  in 'me  quclqiies  pianetcs  en  Icur  pins  gmnde  latiUidc  srp- 
tenirion^ile  ;  ei  les  prfitres  avoient  bieiitot  prnfi[i>  tie  ce  ph6- 
noniene,  pour  observer  a  diverses  heiires  la  passage  des 
6t(tiles."  Sethos. — Strabo  mentions  certain  caves,  or  pits, 
constructed  for  the  purpose  of  astronomical  observations, 
which  lay  iu  the  Heliopolitan  prefecture,  beyond  Heliop- 
olis. 

3  Sf-ropis,  Sol  Infems. — Athenodorus,  scriptor  vetustus, 
ap&d  Clenieiilem  Alexandrium  in  Protreptico,  ait  *'simu- 


tain' — tliat  favorite  tree  of  the  genii  of  Death — 
stood  behind  the  statue,  and  spread  its  branciics  over 
tho  alcove,  in  which  tho  Priest  now  seated  himself, 
and  made  a  sign  that  I  should  take  my  place  by 
his  side. 

After  a  long  pause,  as  if  of  thought  and  prep- 
aration,— *'  Nobly,"  said  he,  "  young  Greek,  hast 
tliou  sustained  the  fust  trials  of  Initiation.  What 
slill  remains,  though  of  vital  import  to  the  soul, 
brings  with  it  neither  pain  nor  peril  to  tlie  body. 
Having  now  proved  and  cliastened  thy  mortal  frame 
by  t!ie  three  ordeals  of  Fire,  of  Water,  and  of  Air, 
the  next  task  to  which  we  are  called  is  the  purifi- 
cation of  thy  spirit — the  effectual  cleansmg  of  that 
inward  and  immortal  part,  so  as  to  render  it  fit  for 
the  reception  of  tho  last  luminous  rcvcalment,  when 
the  Veils  of  the  Sanctuary  siiall  be  thrown  aside, 
and  the  Great  Secret  of  Secrets  unfolded  to  thy 
view  I — Towards  this  object,  the  primary  and  most 
important  step  is,  instruction.  What  the  three  puri- 
fying elements  thou  hast  passed  through  have  done 
for  thy  body,  instruction  will  effect  for -" 

"  But  that  lovely  maiden  I"'  I  exclaimed,  burst- 
ing from  my  silence,  having  fallen,  during  his 
speech,  into  a  deep  revcry,  in  which  I  had  forgot- 
ten him,  myself,  the  Great  Secret,  every  thing — 
but  her. 

Startled  by  tliis  profane  interruption,  he  cast  a 
look  of  alarm  towards  the  statue,  as  if  fearful  lest 
the  God  should  iuive  heard  my  words.  Then,  turn- 
ing to  me,  in  a  tone  of  mild  solemnity,  "  It  is  but 
too  plain,"  said  he,  "  that  thougiits  of  the  upper 
world,  and  of  its  vain,  shadowy  delights,  still  engross 
thee  fur  too  much  to  allow  the  lessons  of  Truth  to 
sink  profitably  into  thy  heart.  A  few  hours  of 
meditation  amid  this  solemn  scenery — of  tliat  whole- 
some meditation,  which  pm'ifics,  by  saddening — may 
haply  dispose  thee  to  receive,  with  due  feelings  of 
reverence,  the  holy  and  impcrisliable  knowledge  we 
have  in  store  for  tliee.  With  this  hope  I  now  leave 
thee  to  thy  own  thoughts,  and  to  that  God,  before 
whose  calm  and  mournful  e}c  ah  the  vanities  of  the 
world,  from  which  tl  on  comest,  wither  I" 

Thus  saying,  he  turned  slowly  away,  and  passing 
behind  the  statue,  towards  which  he  had  pointed 
during  the  last  sentence,  suddenly,  and  as  if  by  en- 
chantment, disappeared  from  my  sight. 

lacra  gpnpWlis  conspicua  esse  colore  Cipruleoet  niciicantc.' 
Macrubius,  in  verbis  descriptis,  §  6,  docet  nos  apud  JF,-^yp- 
tios  "simulacra  solis  inf--Ta  fingi  colore  caeruleo."  Jablon- 
Shi. 

3  Osiris. 

4  This  tree  was  dedicated  to  the  Genii  of  the  Shndes,  from 
its  being  an  emblem  of  rrpose  and  cnoling  airs.  '■  Cui  im- 
minet  n)U5ip  folium,  quod  ab  Iside  infera  genii?que  ei  juI- 
dictis  manu  geri  solitum,  umbram  requiemque  et  auras  fri- 
gidas  subindigitare  videtur."     Zoega. 


G81 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Being  now  left  to  my  own  solitary  thoughts,  I 
^vas  fully  at  leisure  to  reflect,  with  some  degree  of 
coolness,  upon  tlie  inconveniences,  if  not  dangers, 
of  Iho  situation  into  which  my  love  of  adventure 
had  hurried  me  However  prompt  my  imagination 
was  always  to  kindle,  in  its  own  ideal  sphere,  I 
liav  ever  found  tliat,  when  brougl.t  into  contact 
with  reality,  it  as  suddenly  cooled  ; — -like  tliose  me- 
teors, that  appear  to  be  stars,  while  in  the  air,  but 
the  moment  tliey  touch  uartli,  are  extinguislicd. 
And  such  was  the  feelinf  of  disenchantment  that 
now  succeeded  to  the  wild  dreams  in  which  I  'liad 
been  indulging.  As  long  as  Fancy  had  the  field  of 
'lie  future  to  herself,  even  immortality  did  not  seem 
t>A,  distant  a  race  for  lier.  But  when  human  in- 
struments interposed,  the  illusion  all  vanished.  From 
morlal  lips  tl:e  jiromise  of  immortality  seemed  a 
mockery,  and  even  imagination  had  no  wings  that 
could  carry  beyond  the  grave. 

Nor  was  this  disappointment  tlio  only  feeling  that 
pained  and  haunted  me ; — the  imprudence  of  the 
step,  on  wliich  I  had  ventured,  now  appeared  in 
its  full  extent  before  my  eyes.  I  had  here  thrown 
myself  into  (he  power  of  the  most  artful  priest- 
hood in  lii3  world,  without  even  a  chance  of  being 
able  to  escape  from  their  toils,  or  to  resist  any 
machinations  with  which  they  might  beset  me. 
It  a]5pearcd  evident,  from  the  state  of  preparation 
in  wiiich  I  had  found  all  that  wonderful  apparatus, 
by  which  tho  terrors  and  splendors  of  Initiation 
are  produced,  that  my  descent  into  the  pyramid 
was  not  unexpected.  Numerous,  indeed,  and  active 
as  were  the  spies  of  the  Sacred  College  of  Memphis, 
it  could  little  bo  doubted  that  all  my  movements, 
since  my  arrival,  had  been  watchfully  tracked ; 
and  the  many  hours  I  had  employed  in  wandering 
and  exploring  around  the  pyranjid.  betrayed  a  curi- 
osity and  spirit  of  adventure  which  might  well  sug- 
gest to  these  wily  priests  the  hope  of  inveigling  an 
Epicurean  into  their  toils. 

I  was  well  aware  of  their  hatred  to  tho  sect  of 
which  I  was  Chief; — tliat  they  considered  the 
Epicureans  as,  next  to  tho  Christians,  the  most  for- 
midable enemies  of  their  craft  and  power.  "  How 
thoughtless,  then,''  I  exclaimed,  "to  have  placed 
myself  in  a  situation,  where  I  am  equally  helpless 
against  fraud  and  violence,  and  must  either  pretend 
to  be  the  dupe  of  their  impostures,  or  else  submit  to 
become  the  victim  of  their  vengeance  !"  Of  these 
alternatives,  bitter  is  they  both  were,  tlio  latter 
appeared  by  far  ths  more  welcome.  It  was  with  a 
bhis!\  tliat  I  even  looked  back  upon  tho  mockeries 
I  had  already  yielded  to  ;  and  the  prospect  of  being 


put  through  still  further  ceremonials,  and  of  being 
tutored  and  preached  to  by  hypocrites  wh.om  I  so 
much  despised,  appeared  to  me,  in  my  present  mood 
of  mind,  a  trial  of  patience,  compared  to  which  tlie 
flames  and  whirlwinds  I  had  already  encountered 
were  pastime. 

Often  and  impatiently  did  I  look  up,  between 
those  rocky  walls,  to  the  bright  sky  that  appeared 
to  rest  upon  their  summits,  as,  pacing  round  and 
round,  through  every  part  of  the  valley,  I  endeav- 
ored to  find  some  outlet  from  its  gloomy  precincts. 
But  vain  were  all  my  endeavors  ; — that  rocky  bar- 
rier, which  seemed  to  end  but  in  heaven,  inteiposed 
itself  everywhere.  Neither  did  the  image  of  the 
young  maiden,  though  constantly  in  my  mind,  now 
bring  with  it  the  least  consolation  or  h-^.  Of  what 
avail  was  it  that  she  perhaps  was  an  inliabitant  of 
this  region,  if  I  could  neither  behold  her  smde,  nor 
catch  tho  sound  of  her  voice— -if,  while  among 
preacliing  priests  I  wasted  away  my  hor.rs,  her 
presence  was,  alas,  diffusing  its  enchantment  else- 
where. 

At  length,  exhausted,  I  lay  down  by  the  brink 
of  the  lake,  and  gave  myself  up  to  all  tlie  melan- 
choly of  ray  fancy.  The  pale  semblance  of  day- 
light, wliich  had  hitherto  glinnnered  around,  grew, 
every  moment,  more  dim  and  dismal.  Even  the 
rich  gleam,  at  the  summit  of  tho  cascade,  had 
faded  ;  and  the  sunshine,  like  the  water,  exliausted 
in  its  descent,  had  now  dwindled  into  a  ghostly 
glimmer,  far  worse  than  darkness.  Tlie  birds  upon 
the  lake,  as  if  about  to  die  with  the  dying  liglit, 
sunk  down  their  heads :  and,  as  I  looked  to  the 
statue,  the  deepening  shadows  gave  such  an  expres- 
sion to  its  mournful  features  as  chilled  my  very 
soul. 

The  thought  of  death,  ever  ready  to  present  itself 
to  my  imagination,  now  came,  with  a  disheartening 
weight,  such  as  I  had  never  before  felt.  I  almost 
fancied  myself  already  in  the  dark  vestibule  of  tiie 
grave — removed,  forever,  from  the  v.'orld  above, 
and  with  nothing  but  the  blank  of  an  eternal  sleep 
before  me.  It  had  happened,  I  knew,  frequently, 
that  the  visitants  of  this  mysterious  realm  were, 
after  their  descent  from  earth,  never  seen  or  heard 
of ; — being  condemned,  for  some  failure  in  their  ini- 
tiatory trials,  to  pine  away  their  lives  in  those  dark 
dungeons,  with  which,  as  well  as  with  altars,  this 
region  abounded.  Such,  I  shuddered  to  think,  miglit 
probi:bly  be  my  own  destiny  ;  and  so  appalling  was 
the  tlionght,  that  even  the  courage  by  which  I  had 
been  hitherto  sustained  died  witliin  me,  and  I  was 
already  giving  myself  up  to  helplessness  and  de- 
spair. 

At  length,  after  some  hours  of  this  gloomy 
musing,  I   heard   a   rustling   in   the   sacred  grove 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


685 


behind  the  statue  ;  and  soon  after,  the  sound  of 
the  Priest's  voice — more  welcome  tlian  I  liad  ever 
thought  such  voice  could  be — brought  tlio  assurance 
tJiiit  J  was  not  yet  wliolly  abandoned.  Finding 
liis  way  to  mo  tlirougli  the  gloorn,  lie  now  led 
i;io  to  the  same  spot,  on  whicli  we  had  parted  so 
niany  liours  be£">'j ;  and  addressing  me  in  a  voice 
tint  rotair.  i.'  lu  i  ace  of  dispkasure,  bespoke  my 
attention,  ivliile  he  should  reveal  to  me  some  of 
those  divine  truths,  by  whose  infusion,  lie  said, 
into  the  soul  of  man,  its  purification  can  alone  be 
effected. 

The  valley  had  now  become  so  dark,  that  we 
coulii  no  longer,  a.s  we  sat,  discern  each  other's 
faces.  Tiiere  was  a  melancholy  in  the  voice  of  my 
insti-uctor  tliat  vrell  accorded  with  the  gloom  around 
us :  and,  saddened  and  subdued,  I  now  listened 
with  resignation,  if  not  with  interest,  to  tliose  sub- 
lime, but,  alu-s,  I  thought,  vain  tenets,  which,  with 
all  the  warmth  of  a  true  believer,  this  Hieropliant 
expoiuided  to  me. 

He  spoke  of  the  prc-ex'istence  of  the  soul' — of  its 
abode,  from  all  eternity,  in  a  place  of  splendor  and 
blis-s,  of  which  whatever  v/o  have  m.ost  beautiful  in 
our  conceptions  here  is  but  a  dim  transcript,  a 
clouded  remembrance.  In  the  blue  depths  of  ether, 
he  said,  lay  that  "  Country  of  the  Soul" — its  bound- 
ary alone  visible  in  tlie  line  of  milky  light,  which, 
as  by  a  barrier  of  stars,  separates  it  from  the  dark 
eartli.  "  Oli,  realm  of  purity  !  Home  of  the  yet 
uufallen  Spirit ! — where,  in  the  days  of  her  first 
uinocence,  she  wandered ;  ere  yet  her  beauty 
was  soiled  by  the  touch  of  earth,  or  lier  resplendent 
wings  had  withered  away.  IMethinks  I  see,"  he 
cried,  "  at  this  moment,  those  fields  of  radiance^ — 
I  look  back,  through  the  mists  of  life,  into  that 
luminous  world,  where  the  souls  that  have  never 
lost  their  high,  heavenly  rank,  still  soar  with- 
out a  stain,  above  tlie  shadowless  stars,  and  there 
dwell  together  in  infinite  perfection  and  bliss !" 

As  he  spoko  tl'.ese  words,  a  bur«t  of  pure,  brilliant 
light,'  like  a  sudden  opening  of  heaven,  broke 
through  the  valley  ;  and,  as  soon  as  my  eyes  were 
able  to  endure  the  splendor,  such  a  vision  of  glory 
and  loveliness  opened  upon  them,  as  took  even  my 

1  For  a  full  nccoiintof  the  doclrines  which  are  here  repre- 
sented as  having  lieen  taught  to  the  initi:itcd  in  the  E;r^'i)tirtn 
mysteries,  the  ^c.^de^  iil:iy  consult  Dupuis,  Prichard^s  Ana- 
lysis of  tlie  Kt^jjjUian  Jiltjlkologit,  &c.  tc.  "  L'on  decouvroit 
I'origine  de  raine,  s:i  chute  sur  U  terre,  a  Iravers  Ics  spheres 
el  les  flrmens,  ct  son  retour  au  lieu  de  son  orijpne  .  .  .  . 
c'6toit  ici  la  parlie  I  l  plus  m6taphysiqne.  et  que  ne  pourroit 
guere  entendre  le  coininuu  des  Ijiities.  mriia  dont  on  lui  don- 
noit  !e  spccncle  par  des  figures  et  des  spectres  all^goriques." 
Dupuis. 

3  Sea  Beausobre,  lib.  iii.  c.  4,  for  the  *'  terre  bicnheureuse 
et  lumineuie,"  which  llie  Manicbeans  supposed  God  to  in- 
habit.   Fluto,  too,  speaks  (in  Phaid.)  of  a  pure  land  lying  in 


skeptical  spirit  by  surprise,  and  made  it  yield,  at 
once,  to  tlie  potency  of  the  spell. 

Suspended,  as  1  thought,  in  air,  and  occupj-ing 
the  whole  of  tho  opposite  region  of  the  valley,  there 
appeared  an  immense  orb  of  light,  within  which, 
tlirough  a  haze  of  radiance,  I  could  see  distinctly 
fair  groups  of  young  female  spirits,  who,  in  silent, 
but  hannonious  movement,  like  that  of  tho  stars, 
wound  slowly  through  a  variety  of  fanciful  evolu- 
tions ;  seeming,  as  they  linlced  and  unlinked  each 
other's  arms,  to  form  a  living  labyrinth  of  beauty 
and  grace.  Though  their  feet  appeared  to  glide 
along  a  field  ot  light,  they  had  also  wings,  of  the 
most  brilliant  hue,  which  like  rainbows  over  water- 
fulls,  when  played  with  by  the  breeze,  reflected, 
every  moment,  a  new  variety  c:  '^i:-'Y- 

i\s  I  stood,  gazing  with  wonder,  the  orb,  with  all 
its  ethereal  inmates,  began  gradually  to  recede  into 
the  dark  void,  lessening,  as  it  went,  and  becoming 
more'briglit,  as  it  lessened  ; — till,  at  length,  distant, 
to  all  appearance,  as  a  retiring  comet,  this  little 
world  of  Spirits,  in  one  small  point  of  intense 
radiance,  shone  its  last  and  vanished.  "  Go,"  ex- 
claimed tlie  rapt  Priest,  "  ye  happy  souls,  of  whose 
dwelling  a  glimpse  is  thus  given  to  our  eyes, — go, 
wander  in  your  orb,  through  the  boundless  heaven, 
nor  ever  let  a  thought  of  this  perishable  world  come 
to  mingle  its  dross  v,'ith  your  divine  nature,  or  allure 
you  down  earthward  to  that  mortal  fall  by  which 
spirits,  no  less  bright  and  admirable,  have  been 
ruined  !" 

A  pause  ensued,  during  which,  still  under  the  in- 
fluence of  wonder,  I  sent  my  fancy  wandering  after 
tlio  inhabitants  of  that  orb — almost  wishing  myself 
credulous  enough  to  beUeve  in  a  heaven,  of  which 
creatures,  so  much  lie  those  I  had  worshipped  on 
earth,  were  inmates. 

At  length,  the  Priest,  with  a  mournful  sigh  at 
the  sad  contrast  he  was  about  to  draw  between  the 
happy  spirits  we  had  just  seen  and  the  fallen  ones 
of  earth,  resumed  again  his  melancholy  History  of 
the  Soul.  Tracing  it  gradually,  from  tlio  first 
moment  of  earthward  desire'  to  its  final  eclipse  in 
the  shadows  of  this  world,  he  dwelt  upon  every 
stage  of  its  darkening  descent,  witli  a  pathos  that 

llie  pure  sky  (n^v  yjiv  Kadapav  £v  KaBafia  KStcOat  oi'(iav(^,) 
the  abode  of  divinity,  of  innocence,  and  of  life." 

3  The  power  of  producing  a  sudden  and  d::zzliu;;  cflusion 
of  light,  wliich  was  one  of  Ilic  arts  employed  by  th^cor.trivers 
of  the  ancient  Mysteries,  is  thus  described  in  a  few  words 
by  Apulcius,  who  was  himself  admitted  to  witness  the  Isiac 
ceremonies  at  Corinth  : — "Nocte  media  vidi  soleni  candido 
coruscanteiii  luinine." 

*  In  the  original  construction  of  this  work,  there  was  nn 
episode  intrciduccd  here,  (which  [  have  since  published  in 
a  more  extended  form.)  illustrating  the  doctrine  of  the 
fall  of  tho  soul  by  the  Oriental  fable  of  the  Loves  of  the 
Angels. 


686 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


sent  sadiiees  into  the  very  depths  of  the  Jieart.     The 

firet  downward  look  of  t!ie  spirit  towards  cartii — the 
trcniblo  of  he.  winn;s  on  t)ie  cdj^e  of  Heaven — the 
giddy  slido,  at  Icnglh,  down  that  fatal  descent — and 
the  Lethean  cup,  midway  iii  the  sky,  of  which 
when  she  has  once  tasted,  Heaven  is  forgot — 
tlirough  all  these  gradations  he  traced  mournfully 
her  full,  to  tliat  last  stage  of  darkness,  wlicn  wholly 
immersed  in  this  world,  lier  celciitial  nature  be- 
comes chajiged,  she  no  longer  can  rise  above  eailh, 
nor  even  remember  her  former  home,  except  by 
glimpses  60  vague,  that,  at  length,  mistaking  for 
hope  wtiat  is  only,  alas  I  rccoiiectlon,  she  believes 
tliose  gleams  to  be  a  light  from  the  Future,  not  the 
Past. 

"  To.  retrieve  this  ruin  of  the  once-b!cssed  Soul 
— 10  clear  away  from  around  her  the  clouds  of 
earth,  and,  restoring  her  lost  wings,'  facilitate  their 
"'■turn  to  Heaven — such,'*  said  the  reverend  man, 
"  ^  the  great  task  of  our  religion,  and  sudi  the 
Irlumpii  of  those  divine  Mysteries,  in  whose  inmost 
depths  the  life  and  essence  of  that  holy  religion  lie 
treasured.  Huwever  sunk,  and  ciianged,  and  cloud- 
ed may  be  the  Spirit,  yet  as  long  as  a  single  trace 
of  her  original  light  remains,  there  is  still  hope 
that ■' 

Hei'e  the  voice  of  tiie  Priest  was  interrupted  by  a 
strain  of  mom-iiful  music,  of  wliich  the  low,  distant 
breatiiiugs  had  been,  for  some  minutes,  audible,  but 
wliich  now  gained  upon  the  ear  too  thrilUngly  to  let 
it  listen  to  any  more  earthly  sound.  A  faint  light, 
too,  at  that  instant  broke  through  the  valley — 
and  I  could  perceive,  not  far  from  the  spot  where 
we  sat,  a  female  figure,  veiled,  and  crouciilug 
to  earth,  a,s  if  subdued  by  sorrow,  or  under  the 
infiuenco  of  shame. 

The  ff^^ble  light,  by  which  I  saw  her,  came  from 
a  pale,  moonlight  meteor  whicli  had  gradually 
formed  itself  in  the  air  as  the  m"sic  approached, 
and  now  shed  over  the  rocks  ana  the  lake  a  glim- 
mer as  cold  as  that  by  which  the  Dead,  in  their 
own  kingdom,  gaze  upon  each  other.  Tlie  music, 
too,  v/hich  appeared  to  rise  from  out  of  the  lake, 
full    of    the   breath   of   its   dark   waters,  spoke   a 

1  In  the  liinguage  of  Plalo,  Ilicrncles,  &.c.,  to  "  restore  to 
ilu-  s<ml  its  wings,"  is  the  main  object  bolU  of  ruligion  and 
philtiophy. 

Dn.n'isciiis,  in  his  Life  of  Isidoni^,  says,  "  Ex  aiitiquisaiiuis 
rhili'^oplils  I'ythnpnruni  el  Plalnneni  I-'idonis  ut  Deo3  coluil, 
cT  loriim  animas  alatas  esse  (liAit  qiris  in  loiuni  super- 
ciEle-teni  in<iue  cauipuni  veri talis  et  pratunielevaias,  lUviiiis 
])Ul:ivit  idoi-s  pasci."    Jipud  Phot.  JiiOliothec. 

"  !ti  li'icidt;  the  early  conneclioii  uf  spectacles  with  the 
cercinimies  of  religion,  P-'oltaire  says,  "  II  y  a  blen  plus  ;  les 
vViritiibles  {"randes  trag6dies,  Ics  represenlations  iniposantcs 
ct  ifr:iblc3,  tluient  lesinysteressacres,  qu'on  celObruilduns 


despondency  in  every  note  which  no  language  could 
express  ; — and  as  I  listened  to  its  tones,  and  looked 
upon  that  fallen  Spirit,  (for  such,  the  holy  man 
whispered,  was  the  form  before  us,)  so  entirely  did 
the  illusion  of  the  scene  take  possession  of  me^,  tiiut, 
with  almost  pauiful  anxiety,  I  now  awaited  the 
result. 

Nor  had  I  gazed  long  before  that  form  rose  slowly 
from  its  drooping  position  ; — tlie  air  around  it  grew 
bright,  and  the  pale  meteor  overhead  assumed  a  more 
cheerful  and  hving  light.  Tlie  veil,  which  had  be- 
fore shrouded  the  face  of  the  figure,  became  ever)'' 
minute  more  transparent,  and  tlie  features,  one  by 
one,  gradually  disclosed  themselves.  Having  trem- 
blingly watched  the  progress  of  the  apparition,  I 
now  started  from  my  seat,  and  half  exclaimed,  "  it 
is  she  I"  In  another  minute,  this  veil  had,  like  a 
thin  mist,  melted  away,  and  the  youuff  priestess  of 
tlie  Moon  stood,  for  the  third  time,  revealed  before 
my  eyes  I 

To  rush  instantly  towards  h.er  wns  my  Hryl.  im- 
pulse— but  tiie  arm  of  the  Priest  held  me  firmly 
back.  The  fresh  light,  which  had  begun  to  flow  hi 
from  all  sides,  collected  itself  in  a  flood  of  glory 
around  the  spot  where  she  stood.  Instead  of  melan- 
choly music,  strains  of  the  most  exalted  rapture 
were  heard  ;  and  the  young  maiden,  buoyant  as  tne 
inhabitants  of  the  fairy  orb,  amid  a  blaze  of  light 
like  that  which  fell  upon  her  in  tlie  Temple,  as- 
cended slowly  into  the  air. 

"  Stay,  beautiful  vision,  stay  !'*  I  cxclahned,  as, 
breaking  from  the  hold  of  the  Priest,  I  flung  myself 
prostrate  on  the  ground — the  only  mode  by  which  I 
could  express  llie  admiration,  even  to  worship,  with 
which  I  was  filled.  But  the  vanishing  spirit  heard 
mc  not : — receding  into  the  darkness,  like  that  orb, 
whose  heavenward  track  she  seemed  to  follow,  her 
form  lessened  by  degrees  away,  till  she  was  seen  no 
more :  while,  gazing,  till  the  last  luminous  speck 
had  disappeared,  I  allowed  myself  uirconsciously  to 
be  led  away  by  my  reverend  guide,  wlio,  plucuig 
me  once  more  on  my  bed  of  poppy-leaves,  left  rae 
there  to  sucli  repose  as  it  was  possible,  after  such  a 
scene,  to  enjoy. 

Ics  plus  vastes  temples  da  monde,  en  pr6sencc  dcs  seuls 
Initiiis;  c'utoitlaque  les  habits,  les  ddcorations,  les  machines 
titoient  prcjpres  au  sujet ;  et  le  sujet  titoit  la  vie  prCsenie  et  la 
vie  future."  J}cs  divers  Chajigcmcus  ari-ives  a  I'jJrt  tra- 
gigue. 

To  these  scenic  representations  in  the  Egyptian  mysteries, 
there  is  evidently  an  allusion  in  the  viMon  ol'  Ezekitl,  where 
the  Spirit  shows  him  the  nhominations  uhich  the  Israelites 
had  learned  in  Ffiypi: — "  Then  said  he  unto  me,  Sou  nf  n:an, 
hast  thou  seen  what  the  anciei-t^  .i'.'  V..:-  house  of  Israel  do 
in  the  dark,  every  man  in  the  chambers  of  his  imagery?" 
Chap.  viii. 


ti  •'<( 


— ^ 

' 

^  "*"««.'.<  look 

■^*''fcW,M, 

.^.  ■"•^""•Wra 

•• 

"^"•'^ta^.i.,* 

•*■>-*).»  ,ro„j;,pj 

■  "'"''iliiiiii-iiainj, 

'!-»::tlitill,. 

■  -:».lfeia.{[„y 

""'"''"^■■■'^'i«ie,oitii 

"— -■»:>,  H,vj,i„„. 

^■'r^tiefejpp;,,^, 

-'•'!-aa.':tttUjifi],«i, 

.mi^i 

'■■■---■•,  Itii  id  uJ.fc, 

"flRS 

■'"  '-''•■'««.'pii(tlea(| 

■'•* 

■  ■*.'/' 

''  ■■■'J^te.Ke.lfdttB 

"  'I'i'  '•'!  I'j  CT  k  i«. 

1 

''■■s  tfil  me  inly 

I'^s'if^iiDiflfiowin 

--j'iJifcilotsloiy 

^''  [^■l^^ilofnielaji* 

:  Mito 

-■'  'j.iiilB 

-is  lilt  of  [.Si 

' 

■  1  lilt  Teaple, » 

' !  '-v'  .,W,  1', 

-    L,....  Ill  R'iiXi;  1 

i-uloffofih'^,mlli 

-..iitiiijspmtkfsid 

:,j!s,lielU(* 

.Mdmiloiiliei 

■Llu^i^^i-^sffDnO: 

.  .,:,)- 1: 

■■.;  rj- 

,;»:eMiiiSlil 

^au,*^mra'«"! 

■',',»>.!i?-y». 

-Kvijr: --•r.;w 

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^^^ 

.   -FtTiMmpi^f^i 

,;l.k''"'''* 

VKillW' 

.,      .-:!!',«!'' 

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^  •  ,.^  •«  *^  -11  4,  '■■ 


■0   v   *  li  ■■^'  ■> 


%'A  .i 


•*•  •       • 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


687 


CHAPTER  X. 

Ti:k  apparition  witli  wliicli  I  liad  boon  blessed  in 
tbat  Valley  of  Visions^for  so  tlio  place  wliere  I 
liad  witnessed  these  wonders  was  called— brought 
buck  to  my  heart  all  the  hopes  and  fancies  in  which, 
diulnr;  my  descent  from  earth,  I  had  indvilgcd.  I 
had  now  seen  once  more  that  matchless  creature, 
who  had  been  my  (rnidintr  star  into  this  mysterious 
nalm ;  and  that  she  was  destined  to  be,  in  some 
way,  connected  with  the  further  revelations  that 
awaited  me,  I  saw  no  reason  to  doubt.  There  was 
a  sublimity,  too,  in  the  doctrines  of  my  reverend 
teacher,  and  even  a  hope  in  the  promises  of  immor- 
tality held  out  by  him,  which,  in  spite  of  reason, 
won  insensibly  both  upon  my  fancy  and  my  pride. 

The  Future,  however,  was  now  but  of  secondary 
t^ontideration  ; — the  Present,  and  that  deity  of  the 
Present,  woman,  were  the  objects  that  engros,sed 
my  whole  soul.  It  was,  indeed,  for  the  sake  of 
such  beinjrs  alone  that  I  considered  immortality  de- 
sirable, non  without  them,  would  eternal  life  have 
appeared  tj  me  worth  a  single  prayer.  To  every 
further  trial  of  my  patience  and  faith,  I  now  made 
up  my  mind  to  submit  without  a  murmur.  Some 
kind  cliance,  I  fondly  persuaded  myself,  might  yet 
hrlnjT  me  nearer  to  the  object  of  my  adoration,  and 
enable  nie  to  address,  as  mortal  woman,  one 
T'ho  had  hitherto  been  to  me  but  as  a  vision,  a 
shade. 

T!:e  period  of  my  probation,  however,  wa.s  nearly 
at  an  end  Both  frame  and  spirit  had  now  stood 
the  trial  ;  and  as  the  crowning  test  of  the  purifica- 
tion of  the  latter  was  that  power  of  seeing  into  the 
world  of  spirits,  with  which  I  had  proved  myself,  in 
tl.o  Valley  of  Visions,  to  be  endowed,  there  now 
ri'maiped,  to  complete  my  Initiation,  but  this  one 
night  more,  when,  in  the  Temple  of  Isis,  and  in  the 
presence  of  her  unveiled  image,  the  last  grand  rev- 
elation of  the  .Secret  of  Secrets  was  to  be  laid  open 
to  me. 

I  pa'ssed  the  morning  of  this  day  in  company  with 
I'le  same  venerable  personage  who  had,  from  the 
lift,  presidLxI  over  tlie  ceremonies  of  my  instruction  ; 
and  who,  to  inspire  me  with  due  reverence  for  the 
jiower  and  magnificence  of  his  religion,  now  con- 
ducted me  through  the  long  range  of  illuminated 
galleries  and  shrines,  that  extend  under   the  site 


1  "  Rprnrird,  Comte  rie  la  Marchc-Tr6visa»e.  in>;tniit  par 
li  Icniire  lies  livres  anciens,  dit,  que  Hermes  tfonva  sept 
laities  dans  la  vallOe  ri'llilbron,  sur  lesqiielles  dtnient  griv6s 
.es  principps  d^s  arts  libtr-ltix.'*  Fables  Efftjptiennes.  See 
Jablonski  tip  str/is  flerm. 

2  For  an  acrnunl  of  the  nniina.  Worship  of  the  Egj-ptians, 
see  De  Vauw,  lorn  ii. 


upon  which  Memphis  and  the  Pyramids  stanO,  and 
form  a  counler|)art  under  ground  to  that  mighty 
city  of  temples  upon  earth. 

lie  then  descended  with  me,  still  lower,  into 
those  winding  crj-pts,  where  lay  the  Seven  Tables 
of  stone,"  found  by  Hermes  in  the  valley  of  He- 
bron. "  On  these  tables,"  said  he,  "  is  written  all 
the  knowledge  of  the  antediluvian  race — the  de- 
crees of  the  stars  from  the  begiiming  of  time,  the 
annals  of  a  still  earlier  world,  and  all  tlie  marvellous 
secrets,  both  of  heaven  and  earth,  which  would  have 
been, 

'  but  for  this  key. 
Lost  in  the  Universal  Sea.'  " 

Returning  to  ^ue  region  from  which  we  had  de- 
scended, we  next  visited,  in  succession,  a  series  of 
small  shrines  representing  tho  various  objects  -^f 
adoration  throughout  Egypt,  and  thus  furnishing  to 
the  Priest  an  occasion  of  explaining  the  mysterious 
nature  of  animal  worship,  and  the  refined  doctrines 
of  theologj*  that  lay  veiled  under  its  forms.  Every 
shrine  was  consecrated  to  a  particular  faith,  and 
contained  a  living  image  of  the  deity  which  it 
adored.  Beside  tho  goat  of  Mendes,^  with  his  re- 
fulgent star  upon  his  breast,  I  saw  the  crocodile,  as 
presented  to  the  eyes  of  its  idolater  at  Arsinoe,  with 
costly  gems'  in  its  loathsome  ears,  and  rich  b.-acc- 
lets  of  gold  encircling  its  feet.  Here,  floating 
through  a  tank  in  th.e  centre  of  a  temple,  the  sacred 
carp  of  liCpidotum  showed  its  silver}'  scales ;  wliile, 
there,  the  Isiac  serpents'  trailed  languidly  over  th.e 
altar,  with  that  sort  of  movement  which  is  thought 
most  favorable  to  th.e  aspirations  of  their  votaries. 
In  one  of  the  small  chapels  we  found  a  beautiful 
child,  employed  in  feedhig  and  watching  over  those 
golden  beetles,  whicb.  are  adored  for  their  bright- 
ness, as  emblems  of  the  sun  ;  while,  in  another, 
stood  a  sacred  ibis  upon  its  pedestal,  so  like,  in  plu- 
mage and  attitude,  to  the  bird  of  the  young  Priestess, 
that  most  gladly  would  I  have  knelt  down  and 
worshipped  it  for  her  sake. 

After  visiting  all  these  various  shrines,  and  hear- 
ing the  reflections  which  they  suggested,  I  was  next 
led  by  my  guide  to  the  Great  Hall  of  the  Zodiac,  on 
whose  ceiling  was  delineated,  in  bright  and  undying 
colors,  the  map  of  the  firmament,  as  it  appeared  at 
the  first  dawn  of  time.  Here,  in  pointing  out  the 
track  of  the  sun  among  the  spheres,  he  spoke  of 
the  analogy  that  exists  between  moial  and  pliy- 


3  Hcrndntus  (Eutcrp.)  tells  lis  that  t)ie  people  aliout 
Theljes  and  Lake  Mceris  kept  a  number  of  t'lnic  crocodiles, 
which  they  worshipped,  and  dressed  ihem  out  wilh  fienis 
and  golden  ornaments  in  their  ears. 

4  "On  augurnit  bien  de  serpens  isiaqucs,  lorsqu'ds  gnfl- 
tolent  roftrande  et  se  trainoienl  lenteinent  aulour  de  raulel." 
IJc  Pauw. 


688 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


sical  darkness — of  t!ie  sympathy  with  wliicli  all 
spiritual  creatures  regard  tlie  sun,  so  as  to  sadden 
and  decline  when  he  sinks  into  his  wintry  lienii- 
spl:ere,  and  to  rejoice  when  ho  resumes  his  own 
empire  of  liglit.  Hence,  tlie  festivals  and  hymns, 
witli  wiiich  most  of  the  nations  of  the  eartii  are 
Tvont  to  welcome  the  resurrection  of  his  orh  in 
spring,  as  an  emblem  and  pledge  of  the  reascent 
of  the  soul  to  heaven.  Hence,  tlie  songs  of  sorrow, 
the  mournful  ceremonies' — like  those  Mysteries 
of  the  Night,"  upon  the  Lake  of  Sals — in  which 
they  brood  over  its  autumnal  descent  into  the 
shades,  as  a  type  of  the  Spirit's  fall  into  this  world 
of  death. 

In  discourses  such  as  these  the  hours  pa-ssed 
away  ;  and  though  there  was  nothing  in  the  light 
of  this  sunless  region  to  mark  to  the  eye  the  decline 
of  day,  ray  own  feelings  told  me  that  tlie  night 
drew  near ; — nor,  in  spite  of  my  increduUty,  could 
I  refrain  from  a  slight  flutter  of  hope,  as  that  prom- 
ised moment  of  revelation  drew  nigh,  when  the 
Mystery  of  Mysteries  was  to  he  made  all  my  own. 
This  consummation,  however,  w;is  less  near  than 
I  expected.  My  patience  had  still  further  trials 
to  encounter.  It  was  necessary,  I  now  found,  that, 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  night,  I  should  keep 
watch  in  the  Sanctuary  of  the  Temple,  alone  and 
in  utter  darkness — thus  preparing  myself,  by  medi- 
tation, for  the  awful  moment,  when  the  irradiation 
from  behind  tlie  sacred  Veils  was  to  burst  upon 
me. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  wo  left  the  Hall  of  the 
Zodiac,  and  proceeded  through  a  long  Une  of  marble 
galleries,  where  the  lamps  were  more  thinly  scat- 
tered as  we  advanced,  till,  at  length,  wo  found  our- 
selves ill  total  darkness.  Here  the  Priest,  taking 
me  by  the  hand,  and  leading  mo  down  a  flight  of 
steps,  into  a  place  v.'here  the  same  deep  gloom  pre- 
vailed, said,  with  a  voice  trembling,  as  if  from  e.\cess 
of  awe, — "  Tiiou  art  now  within  the  Sanctuary  of 
•  our  goddess,  Isis,  and  the  veils,  that  conceal  her 
sacred  image,  are  before  thee  I" 

After  exliorting  me  earnestly  to  that  train  of 
thought  which  best  accorded  with  the  spirit  of  the 
place  where  I  stood,  and,  above  all,  to  that  full  and 
unhesitating  faith,  with  which  alone,  he  said,  the 
manifestation  of  such  mysteries  should  be  approach- 
ed, the  holy  man  took  leave  of  me,  and  reasccnded 
the  steps ; — while,  so  spell-bound  did  I  feel  by 
that  deep  darkness,  that  the  last  sound  of  his 
footsteps  died  upon  my  ear,  before   I  ventured   to 


»  For  an  account  of  the  various  festiviils  at  the  ditfcreiit 
periods  of  the  sun's  progress,  in  the  spring,  auti  iu  the  au- 
tllinn,  sec  Diiputs  and  Pricliard. 

*  Vide  Atlienag.  Leg.  pro  C/irist.,  p.  133. 


stu'  a  limb  from  the  position  in  which  l.c  had  left 
me. 

The  prospect  of  the  long  watch  I  had  now  to 
look  forward  to  was  dreadful.  Even  danger  itself, 
if  in  an  active  form,  would  have  been  far  preferable 
to  this  sort  of  safe,  but  dull,  probation,  by  which  pa- 
tience was  the  only  virtue  put  to  the  proof.  Having 
ascertained  how  far  the  space  around  mo  was  free 
from  obstacles,  I  endeavored  to  beguile  tlie  lime  by 
pacing  up  and  down  within  those  limits,  till  I  became 
tired  of  the  monotonous  echoes  of  my  own  tread. 
Finding  my  way,  then,  to  what  I  felt  to  be  a  mas- 
sive pillar,  and  leaning  wearily  against  it,  I  surren- 
dered myself  to  a  train  of  thoughts  and  feelings,  far 
different  from  those  with  which  tlie  good  Hiorophant 
had  hoped  to  inspire  me. 

"  If  these  priests,"  thought  I,  "  possess  really  the 
secret  of  life,  why  are  they  themselves  the  vic- 
tims of  death  ?  why  sink  into  the  grave  with  the 
cup  of  immortality  in  their  hands  .'  But  no,  safe 
boasters,  the  eternity  they  so  lavishly  promise  is  re- 
sented for  another,  a  future  world — that  ready  re- 
source of  all  priestly  promises — that  depository  of  the 
airy  pledges  of  all  creeds.  Another  world  ! — alas ! 
where  doth  it  lie?  or,  what  spirit  hath  ever  come  to 
say  that  Life  is  there  ?" 

The  conclusion  at  which,  half  sadly,  half  pas- 
sionately, I  arrived,  was  that,  life  being  but  a  dream 
of  the  moment  never  to  come  again,  every  bliss  so 
vaguely  promised  for  hereafter  ought  to  be  secured 
by  the  wise  man  here.  And,  as  no  heaven  I  had 
ever  hoard  of  from  these  visionary  priests  opened  half 
such  certainty  of  happiness  as  that  smile  which  I 
beheld  last  night — "  Let  me,"  I  exclaimed,  impa- 
tiently, striking  the  massy  pillar  till  it  rung,  "  let  me 
but  make  that  beautiful  Priestess  my  own,  and  I 
here  willingly  exchange  for  her  every  chance  of  im- 
mortality, tliat  the  combined  wisdom  of  Egypt's 
Twelve  Temples  can  offer  me!" 

No  sooner  had  I  uttered  these  words,  tiiau  a  tre- 
mendous peal,  like  that  of  thunder,'  rolled  over  the 
Sanctuary,  and  seemed  to  shake  its  vcrj'  walls.  On 
every  side,  too,  a  succession  of  blue,  vivid  flashes 
pierced,  like  lances  of  light,  through  tlic  gloom,  re- 
vealing to  mo,  at  intervals,  the  migiity  dome  in 
which  I  stood — its  ceiling  of  azure,  studded  with 
stars — its  colossal  columns,  towering  aloft, — and 
those  dark,  awful  veils,  whose  massy  drapery  hung 
from  tlie  roof  to  the  floor,  covering  tlie  rich  glories 
of  the  Shrine  beneath  their  folds. 

So  weary  liad  I  grown  of  my  tedious  watch,  that 


3  See,  for  some  rnriijus  remarks  on  llic  nmrle  of  iniitatinp 
thunder  and  liglitning  in  the  ancient  niysterie-;,  Dc  Fnuio, 
torn.  i.  p.  323.  The  machine  with  which  these  tlfdcts  were 
produced  on  the  stage  was  called  a  Ceraunoscope 


1i 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


689 


iliis  stormy  and  filfiil  illiimination,  during  wliicli  the 
Sanctuary  seemed  to  rock  to  its  base,  was  by  no 
means  an  unwelcome  interruption  of  tlie  monoto- 
nous trial  my  patience  had  to  suffer.  After  a  short 
interval,  however,  the  flashes  ceased  ; — the  sounds 
died  away,  like  exhausted  thunder,  tlirough  tho  abyss, 
and  darkness  and  silence,  like  that  of  the  grave, 
succeeded. 

Resting  my  back  onoo  more  against  the  pillar, 
and  fi.xing  my  eyes  upon  that  side  of  the  .Sanctuary 
from  wtiich  liie  promised  irradiation  was  to  burst,  I 
now  resolved  lo  await  the  awful  moment  in  patience. 
Resigned,  and  almost  immoveable,  I  had  remained 
thus  for  nearly  another  hour,  when  suddenly  along 
the  edges  of  the  migiity  Veils,  I  perceived  a  thin  rim 
of  light,  as  if  from  some  brilliant  object  under  them  ; 
— resembling  that  border  which  encircles  a  cloud  at 
sunset,  when  the  rich  radiance  from  behind  is  es- 
caping at  its  edges. 

This  indication  of  concealed  glories  grew  eveiy 
instant  more  strong ;  till,  at  last,  vividly  marked  as 
it  was  upon  the  darkness,  the  narrow  fringe  of  lustre 
almost  pained  the  eye — giving  promise  of  a  fulness 
of  splendor  too  bright  to  be  enJui'ed.  My  expecta- 
tions were  now  wound  to  the  highest  pitch,  and  all 
tho  skepticism,  into  which  I  had  been  cooling  down 
ray  mind,  was  forgotten.  The  wonders  tl-.at  had 
been  presented  to  me  since  my  descent  from  earth — 
that  glimpse  into  Elysium  on  the  fu^t  night  of  my 
coming — those  visitants  from  the  land  of  Spirits  iu 
the  mysterious  valley — all  led  me  to  e.xpect,  in  this 
last  and  brightest  revelation,  such  visions  of  glory 
and  knowledge  as  might  transcend  even  fancy  itself, 
nor  leave  a  doubt  that  they  belonged  less  to  earth 
than  heaven. 

While,  with  au  imagination  thus  excited,  I  stood 
waiting  the  result,  an  increased  gush  of  light  still 
more  awakened  my  attention ;  and  I  saw  with  an 
intenseness  of  interest,  which  made  my  heart  beat 
aloud,  one  of  the  corners  of  tho  mighty  Veil  raised 
slowly  from  the  floor.  I  now  felt  that  the  Great 
Secret,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  at  baud.  A  vague 
hope  even  crossed  my  mind — so  v.'holiy  had  imagina- 
tion now  resumed  her  empire — that  the  splendid 
promise  of  my  dream  was  on  tho  very  point  of  being 
realized  I 

Witli  surprise,  hov;ever,  and,  for  the  moment, 
with  some  disappointment,  I  perceived,  that  the 
massy  corner  of  the  Veil  was  but  lifted  sufficiently 
from  the  ground  to  allow  a  female  figure  to  emerge 
from  under  it — and  then  fell  over  its  mystic  splendors 
as  utterly  dark  as  before.  By  the  strong  light,  too, 
that  issued  when  the  drapery  was  raised,  and  illu- 
minated the  profile  of  the  emerging  figure,  I  either 
saw,  or  fancied  that  I  saw,  the  same  bright  features 
that  had  already  so  often  mocked  mo  with  their  mo- 


mentary charm,  and  seemed  destined,  indeed,  to 
haunt  my  fancy  as  unavailingly  as  even  the  fond, 
vain  dream  of  Immortality  itself 

Dazzled  as  I  had  been  by  that  short  gush  of 
splendor,  and  distrusting  even  my  senses,  when 
under  the  influence  of  so  much  excitement,  I  had 
but  just  begun  to  question  myself  as  to  the  reality 
of  my  impression,  when  I  heard  tho  sounds  of 
light  footsteps  approaching  mo  through  the  gloom. 
In  a  second  or  two  more,  the  figure  stopped  before 
mo,  and,  placing  tho  end  of  a  riband  gently  in  my 
hand,  said,  in  a  tremulous  whisper,  "  Follow,  aud  bo 
silent." 

So  sudden  and  strange  was  tho  adventure,  that, 
for  a  moment,  I  hesitated — fearing  that  my  eyes 
might  possibly  have  been  decePved  as  to  t!ie  object 
they  had  seen,  fasting  a  look  towards  the  Veil, 
which  seemed  bursting  with  its  luminous  secret,  I 
was  almost  doubting  to  wliich  of  the  two  chances 
I  should  commit  myself,  when  I  felt  the  riband  in 
my  hand  pulled  softly  at  the  other  extremity.  This 
movement,  like  a  touch  of  magic,  at  once  decided 
me.  Without  any  further  deliberation,  I  yielded 
to  tho  silent  summons,  aud  following  my  guide, 
who  was  already  at  some  distance  before  me, 
found  myself  led  up  the  same  flight  of  marble  steps, 
by  which  tho  Priest  had  conducted  me  into  the 
Sanctuary.  Arrived  at  their  summit,  I  felt  the 
pace  of  my  conductress  quicken,  and  giving  one 
mors  look  to  the  Veiled  Shrine,  whose  glories  we 
left  burning  uselessly  behind  us,  hastened  onward 
into  the  gloom,  full  of  confidence  in  the  belief,  that 
she,  who  now  held  the  other  end  of  that  clue,  was 
one  whom  I  was  ready  to  follow  devotedly  through 
the  world. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

With  such  rapidity  was  I  hurried  along  by  my 
unseen  guide,  full  of  wonder  at  the  speed  with 
which  she  ventured  through  tliese  labyrinths,  that 
I  had  but  little  time  left  for  reflection  upon  the 
strangeness  of  the  adventure  to  which  I  had  com- 
mitted myself.  My  knowledge  of  the  character 
of  the  I\Iemphiaa  priests,  as  well  as  some  fearful 
rumors  that  had  reached  me,  concerning  the  fate 
that  often  attended  unbelievei-s  in  their  hands, 
awakened  a  momentary  suspicion  of  treachery  in 
my  mind.  But,  when  I  recalled  the  face  of  my 
guide,  as  I  had  seen  it  in  the  small  chapel,  with 
that  divine  look,  the  very  memory  of  which  brought 
purity  into  the  heart,  I  found  my  suspicions  all  vanish, 


690 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


aiid  felt  BJiamc  at  Iiaving  harbored  tlicm  but  an 
instant. 

In  the  mean  while,  onr  rapid  course  continued 
without  any  interruption,  tlirougli  windings  even 
more  capriciously  intricate^  tiuni  any  I  Iiad  yet 
passed,  and  whose  thick  fflooin  seemed  never  to 
have  been  broken  by  a  single  glimmer  of  light. 
My  uiiseen  conductress  was  still  at  some  distance 
before  me,  and  the  slight  clue,  to  wliich  I  clung 
as  if  it  were  Destiny's  own  tin-ead,  was  ttill  kept, 
by  the  speed  of  her  course,  at  full  stretch  between 
us.  At  length,  suddeidy  stopping,  she  said,  in  a 
breathless  whisper,  "  Seat  thyself  here  ;"  and,  at 
the  same  moment,  led  me  by  the  hand  to  a  sort  of 
low  car,  in  wliich,  obeyuig  her  brief  command,  I 
lost  not  a  moment  in  placing  myself,  while  the 
maiden,  no  less  promptly,  look  her  seat  by  my 
side. 

A  sudden  click,  like  the  touching  of  a  spring,  was 
then  heard,  and  the  car — wliich,  as  I  had  felt  in 
entering  it,  leaned  half-way  over  a  steep  descent 
— on  being  let  loose  from  its  station,  shot  down, 
almost  perpendicularly,  into  tlio  darkness,  with  a 
rapidity  which,  at  first,  nearly  deprived  me  of 
breath.  Tiie  wheels  slid  smoothly  and  noiselessly 
in  grooves,  and  the  impetus,  which  the  car  ac- 
quired in  descending,  was  sufficient,  I  perceived, 
to  carry  it  up  an  eminence  that  succeeded — from 
the  summit  of  which  it  again  rushed  down  another 
declivity,  even  still  more  long  and  precipitous 
than  the  former.  In  this  maimer  we  proceeded, 
by  alternate  falls  and  rises,  till,  at  length,  from  the 
last  and  steepest  elevation,  tho  car  descended  upon 
a  level  of  deep  sand,  wliere,  after  running  for  a 
few  yards,  it  by  degrees  lost  its  motion,  and 
stopped. 

Here  the  maiden,  alighting  again,  placed  the 
riband  in  my  hands — and  again  I  followed  her, 
though  with  more  slowness  and  difriculty  than 
before  as  our  way  now  led  up  a  flight  of  damp 
and  time-worn  steps,  whose  ascent  seemed  to  the 
wearied  and  insecure  foot  interminable.  Per- 
ceiving with  what  languor  my  guide  advanced,  I 


I  In  nddition  to  the  accounts  which  the  ancients  have  left 
us  of  tlie  prodiginus  excavations  in  all  parts  of  Egypt — the 
fiheea  hunilreil  chamlicrs  uniler  ttle  Labyrialh — the  subterra- 
nean stables  of  the  Tlielmicl,  conUiiuin;!  a  tlniusani)  horses — 
the  crypts  of  Upper  Ejrypt  passing  unilcr  tlie  bed  nf  the  Nile, 
&c.  tc— the  stories  and  traditions  current  ninr>ns  tlie  Arabs 
still  preserve  the  memory  of  those  wonderful  subitriictions. 
"tin  Arabe,"  says  Paul  Lucas,  "tjiii^tiiilavccnoiis,  m'assura 
qu'elanl  cntrc  autrefois  dans  le  Labyrinlhe,  il  avoil  utarch6 
dans  Ics  chanibressontorraincs  jiuqu'en  un  lieu  mi  il  yavoit 
unp  grandc  place  cnvironnec  de  plnsieurs  niches  qui  ressoni- 
liloit  il  de  petites  boutiques,  d'ou  Ton  rntroit  d.ans  d*iiiures 
allocs  et  dans  chambres,  sans  pouvoir  en  Irouver  la  tin."  In 
sjieHkinj;,  too,  of  the  arcades  alonp  ihc  Nile,  near  Cosscif, 
**  Ub  me  dirent  ineine  que  ces  souterraines  ( toicnt  si  jirofundes 


was  on  the  point  of  making  an  cfTort  to  assist  her 
progress,  when  tl.o  creak  of  an  opening  door 
above,  and  a  faint  gleam  of  light  which,  at  the 
same  moment,  shone  upon  her  figure,  apprized  me 
that  wo  were  at  last  arrived  within  reach  of  sun- 
shine. 

Joyfully  I  followed  through  this  opening,  and,  hv 
the  dim  light,  could  discern,  that  wo  were  now  in 
the  sanctuary  of  a  vast,  ruined  temple — having 
entered  by  a  secret  passage  under  the  pedestal,  upon 
which  an  image  of  the  idol  of  the  place  once  stood. 
Tl;e  first  movement  of  the  young  maiden,  after 
closing  again  the  portal  under  the  pedestal,  was, 
without  even  a  single  look  towards  me,  to  cast  her- 
self down  upon  her  knees,  with  her  hands  clasped 
and  uplifted,  as  if  m  thank.sgiving  or  prayer.  But 
s'le  was  unable,  evidently,  to  sustain  herself  in  this 
position ; — her  strength  could  hold  out  no  longer. 
Overcome  by  agitation  and  fatigue,  she  sunk  sense- 
less upon  the  pavement. 

Bewildered  as  I  was  myself,  by  the  strange  events 
of  the  niglit,  I  stood  for  some  minutes  looking  upon 
her  in  a  slate  of  helplessness  and  alarm.  But,  re- 
minded, by  my  own  feverish  sensations,  of  the 
reviving  effects  of  the  air,  I  raised  her  gently  in  my 
arms,  and  crossing  the  corridor  that  surrounded 
the  sanctuary,  found  my  way  to  the  outer  vestibule 
of  the  Temple.  Here,  shading  her  eyes  from  the 
sun,  I  placed  her,  reclining  upon  the  steps,  where 
the  cool  north-wind,  then  blowing  freshly  between 
the  pillars,  might  play,  with  free  draught,  over  her 
brow. 

It  was,  indeed — as  I  now  saw,  with  certainty — 
the  same  beautiful  and  mysterious  girl,  who  liad 
been  the  cause  of  my  descent  into  that  subterranean 
world,  and  who  now,  under  such  strange  and  unac- 
countable circumstances,  was  my  guide  back  again 
to  the  realms  of  day.  I  looked  around  to  diccover 
where  wo  were,  and  beheld  such  a  scene  of  gran- 
deur, as,  could  my  eyes  have  been  then  attracted  to 
aiiy  object  but  the  pale  form  reclining  at  my  side, 
might  well  have  induced  them  to  dwell  on  its  splen- 
did beauties. 


qu'il  y  en  avoienl  qui  alloicnt  a  trois  joumt^es  de  la,  et  qu'ils 
condui^oicnt  dans  un  pays  oii  Ton  voyoit  de  Ijeaux  jardins, 
qu'on  y  tnnivuit  de  belles  maisons,"  &c.  iScc. 

See  also  in  M.  Qitatremere's  Mcmoircs  snr  r F-^jptr,  torn, 
i.  p.  142.,  an  accnuiitof  a  subterranean  reservoir,  said  to  have 
been  discovered  at  Kais,  and  of  the  expedition  nnder:akcn 
by  a  pnrty  of  persons,  in  a  long  narrow  boat,  for  the  purpose 
of  exploring  it.  "Leur  voyage  avoit  iti  de  six.ifMirs,  donl 
les  qualre  premiers  I'nrent  employt-s  A  penetrer  les  bords; 
les  deux  autres  a  revenir  au  lieu  d'nii  its  etoienl  partis. 
lYndanl  tout  eel  intervalle  ils  ne  purentatlcindrc  rextrfenti- 
te  du  bassin.  L'6niir  Ala-eddin-Tanibnga,  pouverneur  de 
Behnesa,  tcrivit  ccs  details  av  sultan,  qui  en  fut  txlrCioe- 
nient  surpris." 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


691 


I  was  now  standing,  I  found,  on  the  small  Uland 
in  *h©  centre  of  Lako  Mosris ;'  and  that  sanctuary, 
wnere  we  Iiad  just  emerged  from  darkness,  fomicd 
pi-rt  of  the  ruins  of  un  ancient  temple,  which  was-, 
(a?  I  have  since  learned,)  in  the  grander  daj's  of 
Memphis,  a  place  of  pilcrrlina^o  for  worshippers 
from  all  parts  of  Egypt.  The  fair  Lake,  itself,  out 
of  whose  waters  onco  rose  pavilions,  palaces,  and 
even  lofly  pyramids,  was  still,  tliough  divested  of 
many  of  these  wonders,  a  scene  of  interest  and 
splendor  snc!i  as  Ihe  whole  world  could  not  equal. 
AVl.ile  tlio  sliores  still  sparkled  with  mansions  and 
temples,  that  bore  testimony  to  the  luxury  of  allvin<x 
race, — the  voice  of  the  Past,  speaking  out  of  un- 
numbered ruins,  whose  summits,  jiere  and  there,  rose 
blackly  above  tiie  wave,^  told  of  times  long  fled,  and 
generations  long  swept  away,  before  whose  giant 
remains  all  tlio  glory  of  the  present  stood  humbled. 
Over  the  southern  bank  of  the  Lake  hung  the  dark 
relics  of  t!ie  Labyrinth  ; — its  twelve  Royal  Palaces, 
representing  tlie  mansions  of  the  Zodiac — its  thun- 
dering portals'  and  coustellated  halls,  having  left 
notliing  now  behind  but  a  few  frowning  ruins, 
which,  contrasted  with  the  soft  groves  of  acacia  and 
olive  around  tliem,  seemed  to  rebuke  the  luxuriant 
smiles  of  nature,  and  threw  a  melancholy  grandeur 
over  the  whole  scene. 

Tiie  effects  of  tlie  air,  in  reanimating  the  young 
Priestess,  were  less  speedy  than  I  had  expected  ; — 
her  eyes  were  still  closed,  and  she  remained  pale 
and  insensible.  Alarmed,  I  now  rested  her  head 
(which  had  been,  for  some  time,  supported  by  my 
arm)  against  the  base  of  ono  of  tlie  columns,  with 
my  cloak  for  its  pillow,  while  I  hastened  to  procure 
some  water  from  the  Lake.  The  temple  stood  high, 
and  the  descent  to  the  sliore  was  precipitous.  But, 
my  Epicurean  liabits  having  but  little  impaired  my 
activity,  I  soon  descended,  with  tho  lightness  of  a 
desert  deer,  to  tho  bottom.  Here,  plucking  from  a 
:fty  bean-tree,  wliose  flowers  stood,  shining  like 
gold,  above  the  water,  one  of  those  large  hollowed 
leaves  that  serve  as  cups*  for  the  Hebes  of  the  Nile, 
I  filled  it  from  the  Lake,  and  iiurried  ba:i-  with  the 
cool  draught  towards  the  Temple.  It  was  not, 
however,  without  some  difficulty  tiiat  I  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  bearing  my  rustic  chalice  steadily  up  the 
steep  ;  more  than  once  did  an  unlucky  slip  waste 

1  The  pntiiiinn  here  given  to  Lake  Mccri?.  in  making  it  the 
inimeiliaie  boundary  of  (he  city  of  Mentphis  to  the  south, 
corre>po[iih  exactly  with  the  siic  assigned  to  it  by  Maillet: — 
*' Memphis  avoitencore  a  son  niicli  unvdste  reservoir,  par  uii 
loot  re  qui  peul  servir  a  la  cominoilit;  et  a  Tap-^uient  de  la 
vie  lui  etoit  voiuu6  aiiondaniment  de  tnutcs  les  parties  de 
I'E^ypte.  Ce  hic  qui  la.  tcraunoit  de  ce  c6l6-la,"  Sec.  &,c. — 
Tuin.  ii.  p.  7. 

a  '•  Ou  voit  snr  la  rive  nrientale  dos  antiquitfis  qui  sonl 
presque  entierenienl  sous  les  eaux." — Belioni. 


all  its  contents,  and  as  often  did  I  return  impatiently 
to  refill  it. 

During  this  time,  tlie  young  maiden  was  f.tst 
recovering  her  animation  and  consciousness  ;  and, 
at  the  moment  when  I  appeared  above  the  edge  of 
the  sleep,  was  just  rising  from  the  steps,  with  her 
hand  pressed  to  her  forehead,  as  if  confusedly  re- 
calling the  recollection  of  what  had  occurred.  No 
eoouer  did  she  observe  me,  than  a  short  cry  of  alarm 
brol;e  from  her  lips.  Looking  auxioutily  round, 
as  though  she  souglit  for  protection,  and  half- 
audibly  uttering  the  words,  "  Where  is  he  ?"  Bl;e 
made  an  efJbrt,  as  I  approached,  to  retreat  into 
tlie  Temple. 

Already,  however,  I  was  by  her  side,  and  taking 
her  hand,  as  she  turned  away  from  me,  gently  in 
mine,  asked,  '•  Whom  dost  thou  seek,  fail  ?riestess?" 
— thus,  for  the  first  t.ne,  breaking  the  silence  she 
had  enjoined,  and  in  a  tone  tliat  might  have  re- 
assured tl:e  most  timid  spirit.  But  my  words  had 
no  effect  in  calming  her  apprehension.  Trembling, 
and  with  her  eyes  still  averted  towards  the  Temple, 
she  continued  in  a  voice  of  suppressed  alarm, — 
"  Wliere  can  he  be  ? — that  venerable  Athenian, 
that  philosopher,  who " 

'*  Here,  here,"  I  exclaimed,  anxlouslj',  interrupt- 
ing her — "  behold  liim  still  by  thy  side — the  same, 
the  very  same,  who  saw  thee  steal  from  imder  tho 
Veils  of  the  Sanctuary,  wl:om  thou  hast  guided  by 
a  clue  through  those  labyrinths  below,  and  who 
now  only  waits  his  command  from  those  lips,  to  de- 
vote himself  through  life  and  death  to  thy  seiTice." 
As  I  spoke  these  words,  she  turned  slowly  round, 
and  looking  timidly  in  my  face,  while  her  own 
burned  with  blushes,  said,  in  a  tone  of  doubt  and 
wonder,  *'  Thou  I"  and  then  hid  her  eyes  in  her 
hands. 

I  knew  not  how  to  interpret  a  reception  so  un- 
expected. That  some  mistake  or  disappointment 
had  occurred  was  evident ;  but  so  inexplicable  did 
the  whole  adventure  appear  to  me,  that  it  was  in 
vain  to  think  of  unravelling  any  part  of  it.  W^eak 
and  agitated,  she  now  tottered  to  the  steps  of  tho 
Temple,  and  there  seating  herself,  with  her  fore- 
head against  the  cold  marble,  seemed  for  some 
moments  absorbed  in  the  most  anxious  thought; 
wliile  silent  and  watchful  I  awaiied  her  decision, 

3  "  Quonindam  antcm  dnniornin  (in  Labyrintho)  talis  est 
situs,  ut  juhiperientibus  fores  tonitruura  intus  terribile  ex- 
is  tat."— P/i«r/. 

4  Strabo.  According  to  the  French  translator  of  Sirabo, 
it  was  the  fruit  of  the/.iJa  ^^gjjptiaca:  nof  Ihe  leaf,  that  was 
used  for  this  purpose.  "Lc  KSta^tov"  he  says,  "rievoit 
s'eiitendre  de  In  capsule  ou  fruit  de  cetie  plantc,  dont  les 
Egyptiens  se  servoient  conime  d'un  vase,  iuiaginanl  que  I'eaa 
du  i\il  y  devenoii  dclicieusc." 


692 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


though,  at  tlie  same  time,  with  a  feclinj  which  the 
result  proved  to  be  prophetic — that  ray  destiny 
was,  from  tliciicefortli,  linked  inseparably  with  hers. 

Tlic  inward  stnig;le  by  wliicii  she  was  agitated, 
though  violent,  was  not  of  long  continuance.  Start- 
ing suddenly  from  her  seat,  with  a  look  of  terror  to- 
wards tlie  Temple,  as  if  the  fear  of  imni-diate  pur- 
suit had  alono  decided  iier,  slie  pointed  eagerly  to- 
wards the  East,  and  exclaimed,  "  To  tlio  Nile, 
without  delay  '." — clasping  her  hands,  all  t  she  had 
thus  s|)okcn,  with  the  most  suppliant  fcr\  or,  as  if  to 
soften  the  abruptness  of  the  mandate  she  had  given, 
and  appealing  to  mo  at  the  same  time,  with  a 
look  that  v/ould  have  taught  Stoics  themselves 
tenderness. 

I  lost  not  a  moment  in  obeying  the  welcome 
command.  With  a  thousand  wild  liopes  naturally 
crowding  upon  ray  fancy,  at  the  thoughts  of  a 
voyage,  under  such  auspices,  I  descended  rapidly  to 
the  si'.ore,  and  hailing  one  of  those  boats  that  ply 
upon  the  Lake  for  hire,  arranged  speedily  for  a 
passage  down  the  canal  to  the  Nile.  Having  learn- 
ed, too,  from  the  boatmen,  a  more  easy  path  up  the 
rock,  I  hastened  baek  to  tlie  Temple  for  my  fair 
charge ;  and,  without  a  word  or  look,  that  could 
alarm,  even  by  its  kindness,  or  disturb  the  innocent 
confideuce  which  she  now  evidently  reposed  in  me, 
led  her  down  by  the  winding  patli  to  the  boat. 

Every  thing  around  looked  sunny  and  smiling 
as  we  embarked.  Tlie  morning  was  in  its  firet 
freshness,  and  the  path  of  the  breeze  might  clearly 
be  traced  over  the  Lake,  as  it  went  wakening  up 
the  waters  from  their  sleep  of  the  night.  The  gay, 
golden-winged  birds  that  haunt  these  shores,  were, 
in  every  dii'ection,  skimming  along  the  Lake  ;  while, 
with  a  graver  consciousness  of  beauty,  the  swan 
and  the  pelican  were  seen  dressing  their  white 
plumage  in  the  mirror  of  its  wave.  To  add  to 
the  liveliness  of  the  scene,  there  came,  at  intervals, 
on  the  breeze,  a  sweet  tinkling  of  musical  instru- 
ments from  boats  at  a  distance,  emploj^ed  thus 
early  in  pursuing  the  tish  of  these  waters,'  that 
allow  themselves  to  be  decoyed  into  the  nets  by 
music. 

Tiie  vessel  I  had  selected  for  our  voyage  was  one 
of  those  small  pleasure-boats  or  yachts" — so  much 
in  use  among  the  luxurious  navigators  of  the  Nile — 
in  the  centre  of  which  rises  a  pavilion  of  cedar  or 
cypress  wood,  adorned  riclily  on  the  outside,  with 
religious  emblems,  and  gayly  fitted  up,  within,  for 
feasting  and  repose.  To  tiic  door  of  this  pavilion  1 
noW  led  ray  companion,  and,  after  a  few  words  of 


iJElian.  lib.  vi.  3i. 

3  Called  'J'lKtliiiHeges,  from  the  pavilion  nn  Ihe  deck. — 
Vide  Strabo 


kindness — tempered  cautiously  with  as  much  re- 
serve as  the  deep  tenderness  of  my  feeling  towards 
her  would  admit — left  her  to  court  that  restoring 
rest,  wliich  the  agitation  of  her  spirits  so  much 
required. 

For  myself,  though  repose  was  hardly  less  neces- 
sary to  me,  the  state  of  ferment  in  which  I  had 
been  so  long  kept,  appeared  to  render  it  hopeless, 
Having  thrown  myself  on  the  deck  of  the  vessel, 
under  an  awning  which  the  sailors  had  raised  for 
me,  I  continued,  for  some  hours',  in  a  sort  of  vague 
day-dreain — sometimes  passing  hi  review  the  scenes 
of  that  subterranean  drama,  and  sometimes,  with 
my  eyes  fixed  in  drowsy  vacancy,  receiving  passive- 
ly the  impressions  of  tlie  hrigl.t  scenery  through 
which  we  passed. 

The  banks  of  the  canal  were  then  luxuriantly 
wooded.  Under  the  tufts  of  the  light  and  towering 
palm  were  seen  tlie  orange  ana  ho  citron,  inter- 
lacing their  boughs  ;  while,  here  and  tliere,  huge 
tamarisks  thickened  the  shade,  and,  at  the  very 
edge  of  tho  bank,  the  willow  of  Babylon  stood  bend- 
ing its  graceful  branches  into  the  water.  Oc- 
casionally, out  of  the  depth  of  these  groves,  there 
shone  a  small  temple  or  pleasure-house  ;  while,  now 
and  then,  an  opening  in  their  line  of  foliage  allowed 
the  eye  to  wander  over  extensive  fields,  all  covered 
with  beds  of  those  pale,  sweet  roses,'  for  which  this 
district  of  Egypt  is  so  celebrated. 

The  activity  of  tlio  morning  hour  was  visible  in 
every  direction.  Flights  of  doves  and  lapwings 
were  fluttering  among  the  leaves  ;  and  the  white 
heron,  which  had  been  roosting  all  night  in  some 
date-tree,  now  stood  sunning  its  wings  upon  the 
green  bank,  or  floated,  like  living  silver,  over  the 
flocd.  Tho  flowers,  too,  both  of  land  and  water, 
looked  all  just  freshly  awakened  ;— and,  most  of  all, 
the  superb  lotus,  which,  having  risen  along  with  the 
sun  from  the  wave,  was  now  holding  up  licr  chalico 
for  a  full  di'aught  of  his  light. 

Such  were  the  scenes  that  now  successively  pre- 
sented themselves,  and  mingled  with  tiie  vague  rev- 
erics  that  floated  tlirough  my  mind,  as  our  boat, 
with  its  high,  capacious  sail,  swept  along  the  flood. 
Though  the  occuirences  of  the  last  few  days  could 
not  but  appear  to  me  one  continued  series  of 
wonders,  yet  by  far  tho  greatest  marvel  of  all  was, 
that  she,  whoso  firel  look  had  sent  wildfire  into  my 
heart — whom  I  had  thought  of  ever  siuce  with  a 
restlessness  of  pa.ssion,  that  would  have  dared  all 
danger  and  wrong  to  obtain  its  object — she  was 
now  at  this  moment    resting  sacredly  ft  iliin   that 


3  As  April  Is  the  season  for  gniherinff  these  rules  'sec 
Maltc-Drun'd  F.conumicnt  Ca/enilur,)lhe  Epicurean  ;uuld  nut, 
of  course,  mean  to  .say  that  he  saw  them  actuiilly  in  flower 


I 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


693 


pavilion,  while  guarding  Iter,  even  from  myself,  I 
lay  inotiouless  at  its  threshold. 

Meanwhile,  tlie  sun  had  reached  his  meridian 
heiglit.  Tije  busy  himi  of  Iho  morning  had  died 
gradually  away,  and  all  around  was  sleeping  in  the 
hot  stillness  of  noon.  The  Nile-goose,  having  fold- 
ed up  her  splendid  wings,  was  lying  motionless  on 
111*  shadow  of  the  sycamores  in  tl;c  water.  Even 
th<  nimble  lizards  upon  tlie  bank^  appeared  to  move 
less  nimbly,  as  the  light  fell  on  t'lcir  gold  and  azure 
hues.  Overcome  as  I  was  with  watciiing,  and 
wear}'  with  thought,  it  was  not  long  before  I 
yielded  to  the  becalming  influence  of  the  hour. 
Looking  fixedly  at  the  pavilion — as  if  onco  more  to 
assure  myself  that  I  was  in  no  dream  or  trance,  hut 
that  the  young  Egyptian  was  really  there — I  fu!t 
ray  eyes  close  as  I  gazed,  and  in  a  fow  minutes 
euidi  into  a  profoutid  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

It  was  by  the  canal  through  which  we  now 
sailed,'  that,  in  the  more  prosperous  d.iys  of  Mem- 
phis, the  commerce  of  Upper  Egj'pt  and  Nubia  was 
transported  to  her  magnificent  Lake,  and  from  thence, 
having  paid  tribute  to  the  queen  of  cities,  was  poured 
forth  again,  through  the  Nile,  into  the  ocean.  The 
course  of  this  canal  to  the  river  was  not  direct,  but 
ascending  in  a  southeasterly  direction  towards  the 
Said ;  and  in  calms,  or  with  adverse  winds,  Ihb 
passage  was  tedious. '  But  as  the  breeze  was  now 
blowing  freshly  from  the  north,  there  was  every 
prospect  of  our  reaching  the  river  before  nightfall. 
Rapidly,  too,  as  our  galley  swept  along  the  flood, 
its  motion  was  so  smooth  as  to  be  hardly  felt ;  and 
the  quiet  gurgle  of  the  waters,  and  the  drowsy  song 
of  the  boatman  at  the  prow,  were  the  only  sounds 
that  disturbed  the  deep  silcnco  ^'hicli  prevailed. 

The  sun,  indeed,  had  nearly  sunk  beliind  the 
Libyan  hills,  before  the  sleep,  into  wliich  these 
t;ounds  had  contributed  to  lull  me,  was  broken  ;  and 
the  first  object  ou  which  my  eyes  rested,  in  wa- 
king, was  that  fair  young  Priestess — seated  within  a 
porch  which  shaded  the  door  of  the  pavilion,  and 


1  "L'or  cl  I'azar  brillent  en  bandcs  longitudiiiules  sur 
letir  corps  entier,etleucqueae  est  du  plus  beau  bleu  celeste." 
Sonnini 

2  "  Un  canal,"  says  Maillet,  "  tres-profond  et  trt";-Ia.rge  y 
voitnroit  les  eaux  du  Nil." 

3  "  Anciennement  on  portoit  Ics  caux  du  Nil  jusrju'ades 
contr.'es  fortOloignies.etsurtoutchez  les  princesses  du  sang 
des  Ptolomees,  marines  dans  des  families  etrangercs." — De 
PautB, 


bending  intently  over  a  small  volume  that  lay  un- 
lolled  on  her  lap. 

Her  face  \v'as  but  half-tunied  towards  me ;  and 
as  she,  once  or  twice,  raised  her  eyes  to  the  warm 
■icy,  whose  light  fell,  softened  through  the  trellis, 
over  her  check,  I  found  all  those  feelings  of  rever- 
ence, which  she  had  inspired  me  with  in  the  chapel, 
return.  There  was  even  a  purer  and  holier  charm 
around  her  countenance,  thus  seen  by  the  natural 
light  of  day,  than  in  those  dim  and  unhallowed  re- 
gions below.  She  was  njw  looking,  too,  direct  to 
the  glorious  »ky,  and  her  :  ure  eyes  and  that  heav- 
en, so  v.'orthy  of  each  otlier,  met. 

ASicx  contemplating  h*T  for  a  ^eyv  moments,  with 
little  less  than  adoration,  I  rose  gently  from  my 
resting-place,  and  approached  the  pavilion.  But  the 
mere  movement  had  staiLled  her  from  her  devotion, 
and,  blushing  and  confn-^ed,  slio  covered  the  volume 
with  the  folds  of  her  row. 

In  the  art  of  winning  upon  female  confidence,  I 
had  long,  of  course,  been  schooled  ;  and,  now  tiiat 
to  the  lessons  of  galUuitrr  tho  inspiration  of  love  was 
added,  my  ambition  to  pieaso  and  to  interest  could 
hardly  fail,  it  may  be  supposed,  of  success.  I  soon 
found,  however,  how  much  less  fluent  is  the  heart 
than  the  fancy,  and  how  very  different  may  be  tiie 
operations  of  making  love  and  feeling  it.  In  tho 
few  words  of  grcetin;^  now  exchanged  between  us, 
it  was  evident  tliat  tlie  gay,  the  enterprising  Epi- 
curean was  little  less  embarrassed  than  the  secluded 
Priestess  ; — and,  after  one  or  two  ineffectual  efforts 
to  converse,  the  eyes  of  both  turned  bashfully  away, 
and  we  relapsed  into  silence. 

From  this  situation — the  result  of  timidity  ou  one 
side,  and  of  a  feeling  altogether  new  on  tho  other — 
wo  were,  at  length,  relieved,  after  an  interval  of 
estrangement,  by  the  boatmen  announcing  that  the 
Nile  was  in  sight.  The  countenance  of  the  young 
Egj'ptian  brightened  at  this  intelligence  ;  and  the 
smile  with  which  I  congratulated  her  upon  the  speed 
of  our  voyage  was  re&^pouded  to  by  another  from  her, 
so  full  of  gratitude,  that  already  an  instinctive  sym- 
pathy seemed  established  between  us. 

We  were  now  on  the  point  of  entering  that  sacred 
river,  of  whose  sweet  waters  tho  exile  drinks  in  hie 
dreams — for  a  draught  of  whose  flood  the  royal 
daughters  of  tlie  Ptolemies,^  wJien  far  away,  on  for- 


Tlic  water  thus  conveyed  to  cither  lands  was,  as  we  may 
collect  from  Juvenal,  chietly  intended  for  the  use  of  the 
Temples  of  Isis,  established  in  those  countries. 
Si  Candida  jusserlt  lo, 
Ibit  ad  jEgypli  fincni,  calidtique  petitas 
A  Meroe  portabit  aijuas,  ut  spargat  in  xde 
Isidis,  antique  qua-  pruxima  surgil  ovili. 

Sat.  vi. 


694 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


eign  thronps,  have  been  known  to  sigh  in  the  midst 
of  tlieir  s))lcndor.  As  our  boat,  with  slackened  sail, 
was  gliding  into  the  current,  an  inquiry  from  tlie 
boatmen,  whether  they  should  anchor  for  the  night 
in  the  Nile,  first  reminded  me  of  the  ignorance  in 
which  I  still  remained,  with  respect  to  the  motive  or 
destination  oi  our  voyage.  Kmharrassed  by  their 
question,  I  directed  my  eyes  towards  the  Priestess, 
whom  I  saw  waiting  for  my  answer  with  a  look  of 
anxiety,  wliicli  this  silent  reference  to  her  wishes  at 
onco  dispelled  Unfolding  eagerly  the  volume  with 
which  I  had  seen  lier  so  much  occupied,  she  took 
from  between  its  folds  a  small  leaf  of  papyrus,  on 
which  there  appeared  to  be  some  faint  lines  of  draw- 
ing, and  after  looking  upon  it  thoughtfully  for  a 
few  moments,  placed  it,  with  an  agitated  hand,  in 
mine. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  boatmen  liad  taken  in  their 
sail,  and  the  yacht  drove  slowly  down  the  river  witli 
the  current ;  while,  by  a  light  which  had  been  kin- 
dled at  sunset  on  the  deck,  I  stood  examining  the 
leaf  that  the  Priestess  had  given  me — her  dark  eyes 
fixed  anxiously  on  my  countenance  all  the  while. 
The  lines  traced  upon  the  papyrus  were  so  faint  as  to 
be  almost  invisible,  and  I  was  for  some  time  wholly 
unable  to  form  a  conjecture  as  to  their  import.  At 
length,  h.owever,  I  succeeded  in  making  out  that 
they  were  a  sort  of  map,  or  outlines — traced  slightly 
and  unsteadily  with  a  Memphian  reed — of  a  part 
of  that  mountainous  ridge  by  which  Upper  Egypt  is 
bounded  to  the  east,  together  witli  the  names,  or 
rather  emblems,  of  the  chief  towns  in  its  immediate 
neighborhood. 

It  was  thither,  I  now  saw  clearly,  that  tlie  young 
Priestess  wisiied  to  pui^sue  lier  course.  Without 
further  delay,  therefore,  I  ordered  the  boatmen  to 
set  our  yacht  before  the  wind,  and  ascend  the  cur- 
rent. My  command  was  promptly  obeyed:  the 
white  sail  again  rose  into  the  region  of  tho  breeze, 
and  the  satisfaction  that  beamed  in  every  feature 
of  the  fair  Egyptian  showed  that  tho  quickness  with 
which  I  had  attended  to  I'.er  wishes  was  not  unfelt 
by  her.  The  moon  had  now  risen  ;  and  though  tiie 
current  was  against  us,  tho  Etesian  wind  of  tlie 
season  blew  strongly  up  the  river,  and  we  were  soon 
floating  before  it,  through  the  rich  plains  and  groves 
of  the  Said. 


1  "  Le  nnm  tin  maiire  y  Oloit  t'Crit,  pendant  la  nuit,  en 
letlres  do  hu.^'—.Maiflct. 

2  Called   Alassontes.    For  their  brillleness  J\fartial  is  an 
authority; — 

Tnllc.  pxier,  calices,  tepiiiiqac  toreamata  Nili, 
Et  niihi  secura  pocnlit  trade  inanu. 
"  Pans  piirler  ici  dcs  rimiics  d'un  verrc  porti-  jnsqu'a  la 
piirett;  da  crystal,  ni  de  celles  qu'on  appcloit  Alassontes,  el 


The  love  with  which  this  simple  girl  had  inspired 
me,  was  partly,  perhaps,  from  the  mystic  scenes 
and  situations  in  wh'ch  I  had  seen  her,  not  uninin- 
gled  witha  tinge  of  superstitious  awe,  under  tho  in- 
fluence of  which  I  felt  the  natural  buoyancy  of  my 
spirit  repressed.  The  few  words  that  had  p3.ssed 
between  us  on  tlie  subject  of  our  route  had  some- 
what loosened  this  spell  ;  and  what  I  wanted  of  vi- 
vacity and  confidence  was  more  th.aii  cempensaled 
by  the  tone  of  deep  sensibility  whicli  love  had  awa- 
kened in  their  place. 

We  had  not  proceeded  far,  before  the  glittering 
of  lights  at  a  distance,  and  the  shooting  up  of  fire- 
works, at  intervals,  into  the  air,  apprized  us  that  wo 
were  then  ap[)roaching  one  of  those  night-fairs,  or 
marls,  which  it  is  the  custom,  at  this  season,  to  hold 
upon  the  Nile.  To  me  the  scene  was  familiar ;  but 
to  my  young  companion  it  was  evidently  a  new 
world ;  and  the  mixture  of  alarm  and  delight  with 
which  she  gazed,  from  under  her  veil,  upon  the 
busy  scene  into  which  w'o  now  sailed,  gave  an  air 
of  innocence  to  her  beauty,  which  still  more  height- 
ened its  every  charm. 

It  was  one  of  the  widest  parts  of  the  river ;  and 
the  whole  surface,  from  one  bank  to  the  other,  was 
covered  with  boats.  Along  the  banks  of  a  green 
island,  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  lay  anchored  the 
galleys  of  the  principal  traders — large  floating  ba- 
zaars, bearing  each  the  name  of  its  owner,'  embla- 
zoned in  letters  of  flame,  upon  the  stern.  Over 
their  decks  were  spread  out,  in  gay  confusion,  the 
products  of  the  loom  and  needle  of  Egypt — rich  car- 
pets of  Memphis,  and  likewise  those  variegated  veils, 
for  which  the  female  embroiderers  of  the  Nile  are  so 
celebrated,  and  to  which  the  name  of  Cleopatra  lends 
a  traditional  charm.  In  each  of  the  other  galleys  was 
exliibited  some  branch  of  Eg)-ptiaii  workmanship — 
vases  of  the  fragrant  porcelain  of  On — cups  of  that 
frail  crystal,^  whose  hues  change  like  those  of  the 
pigeon's  plumage — enamelled  amulets  graven  with 
the  head  of  Anubis,  and  necklaces  and  bracelets  of 
the  black  beans  of  Abyssinia.^ 

While  Commerce  was  tints  displaying  her  various 
luxuries  in  one  quarter,  in  ever)^  other,  th.e  spirit  of 
Pleasure,  in  all  its  countless  shapes,  swarmed  over 
the  waters.  Nor  was  the  festivity  confined  to  the 
river  alone  ;  as  along  the  banks  of  the  island,  and  on 


qn'on  suppose  avoir  rcprt'senti^  dcs  ligurcs  dunt  Ics  cnulcnrs 
changeoient  suivant  I'aspect  sons  leqnel  on  les  regardoit,  a 
pen  pros  coninie  c.e  qu'on  nomine  vulgairtnienl  gargt-di:- 
pifreoii"  &c. — f)c  FniiiD, 

a  Tho  liean  of  the  Glycine,  which  is  so  bcaatilul  as  to  be 
strung  into  necklaces  and  bracelet*,  is  generally  known  by 
the  name  of  the  black  bean  of  .-Vbyssinia. — J^icbtiJtr 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


G95 


the  shores,  iliiiminated  mansions  were  seen  gliltoring 
tlirough  the  trees,  from  whence  sounds  of  music  and 
miMTiinent  came.  In  some  of  the  boats  were  bands 
of  niinstrcle,  who,  from  time  to  lime,  answered  each 
other,  like  eciioes,  across  the  wave ;  and  the  notes 
of  the  lyre,  tlio  flageolet,  and  the  sweet  lotus-wood 
flu'e,'  were  lieard,  in  the  pauses  of  revelry,  dying 
along  tlie  waters. 

Meanwhile,  from  other  boats  stationed  in  the  least 
lighted  places,  the  workers  of  fire  sent  forth  their 
wonders  into  the  air.  Burstingr  out  suddenly  from 
time  to  time,  as  if  in  the  very  exuberance  of  joy, 
these  salhes  of  flame  appeared  to  reach  the  sky,  and 
there,  breaking  into  a  shower  of  sparkles,  shed  such 
a  splendor  around,  as  brightened  even  the  white 
Arabian  hills — makiug  thcui  shine  as  dotli  the  brow 
of  Mount  Atlms  at  night,-  when  the  fire  from  his  own 
bosom  is  playing  around  its  snows. 

Tiie  opportunity  tiiis  mart  afTordcd  us,  of  provid- 
ing ourselves  with  some  less  remarkable  habili- 
ments than  those  in  which  we  had  escaped  from 
that  nether  world,  was  too  seasonable  not  to  be 
gladly  taken  advantage  of  by  both.  For  myself, 
the  strange  mystic  garb  which  I  wore  was  suffi- 
ciently concealed  by  my  Grecian  mantle,  which  I 
liad  fortunately  thrown  round  me  on  the  night  of 
ray  watch.  But  fae  thin  veil  of  my  companion 
was  a  far  less  efficient  disguise.  She  had,  indeed, 
flung  away  the  golden  beetles  from  her  hair ;  but 
the  sacred  robe  of  her  order  was  still  too  visible,  and 
the  stars  of  the  bandelet  shone  brightly  through  her 
veil. 

Most  gladly,  therefore,  did  she  avail  herself  of 
this  opportunity  of  a  change  ;  and,  as  she  took  from 
out  a  casket— which,  with  the  volume  I  had  seen 
her  reading,  appeared  to  be  her  only  treasure — a 
small  jewel,  to  give  in  exchange  for  the  simple  gar- 
ments she  had  cliosen,  there  feU  out,  at  the  same 
time,  tiie  very  cross  of  silver  which  I  had  seen  her 
kiss,  as  may  be  remembered,  in  the  monumental 
chapel,  and  whicli  was  afterwards  pressed  to  my 
own  lips.  This  link  between  us,  (for  such  it  now 
appeared  to  my  imagination,)  called  up  again  in  my 
heart  all  the  burning  feelings  of  that  moment ; — 
and,  had  I  not  abruptly  turned  away,  my  agitation 
would  have  but  too  plainly  betrayed  itself. 

The  object,  for  whicli  we  had  delayed  in  this  gay 
scene,  iiaving  been  accomplished,  tho  sail  was  again 


1  See  J\I.  VilloUau  on  the  musical  instrumc7its  of  the 
Effvpiiaps. 

2  Solinus  speaks  of  Ihe  snowy  summit  of  Rlof.nt  All'ts 
glitleriiig  with  flumes  at  night.  In  the  account  of  the  Perl- 
plus  of  Hiinno,  as  well  as  in  that  of  Eado-vus,  we  read,  Ihat 
as  those  navigniors  were  coasting  this  jwrt  of  Africa,  tor- 
Tents  of  light  were  seen  to  fall  on  the  sea. 

I  "Per  lacryinus,  vero,  Uidis  intelligo  effluvia  qna;dam 


spread,  and  wo  proceeded  on  our  course  up  the 
river.  The  sounds  and  the  lights  wo  had  left  bo- 
hind  died  gradually  away,  and  wo  now  floated 
along  in  moonlight  and  silence  onco  more.  Sweet 
dews,  worthy  of  being  called  "  the  tears  of  Isis,"* 
fell  nfresliingly  through  the  air,  and  every  plant 
and  flower  seat  its  fragrance  to  meet  them.  The 
wind,  just  strong  enough  to  bear  us  smoothly 
against  tlie  current,  scarce  stirred  the  shadow  of 
tlio  tamaiiMCs  on  the  water.  As  the  inhabitants 
from  all  quarters  were  collected  at  the  night-fair, 
tlie  Nile  was  more  than  usually  still  and  solitary 
Such  a  silence,  indeed,  prevailed,  that,  as  we  glided 
near  the  sliore,  wo  could  hear  the  rustling  of  the 
acacias,'*  as  the  uJiameleous  ran  up  their  stems.  It 
was,  altogetlier,  such  a  night  as  only  the  climate  of 
Egypt  can  boast,  wlien  the  whole  scene  ai^  uud  lies 
lulled  in  that  sort  of  bright  tranquillity,  which  may 
be  imagined  to  light  the  slumbers  of  those  happy 
spirits,  who  are  said  to  rest  ia  the  Valley  of  the 
Moou,^  on  tlieir  way  to  heaven. 

By  such  a  light,  and  at  sucli  an  hour,  seated,  side 
by  side,  on  the  deck  of  that  bark,  did  we  pursue 
our  course  up  the  lonely  Nile — each  a  mystery  to 
the  other — our  thoughts,  our  objects,  our  very  names 
a  secret; — separated,  too,  till  now,  by  destinies  so 
different ;  the  one,  a  gay  voluptuary  of  tlie  Gar- 
den of  Athens ;  the  other,  a  secluded  Priestess 
of  the  Temples  of  Memphis ; — and  the  only 
relation  yet  established  between  us  beiag  that 
dangerous  one  of  love,  passionate  love,  on  one  side, 
and  the  most  feminine  aud  confiding  dependence  on 
the  otlicr. 

The  passing  adventure  of  the  night-fair  had  not 
only  dispelled  a  little  our  mutual  reserve,  but  had 
luckily  furnished  us  with  a  subject  on  which  we 
could  converse  without  embarrassment.  From  this 
topic  I  took  caro  to  lead  her,  without  any  mter- 
ruplion,  to  others — being  fearful  lest  our  former 
silence  sliould  return,  and  the  music  of  her  voice 
again  be  lost  to  me.  It  was  only,  indeed,  by  thus 
indirectly  unburdening  my  heart  that  I  was  enabled 
to  avoid  the  disclosure  of  all  I  thought  and  felt ; 
and  the  restless  rapidity  with  which  I  flew  fiom 
subject  to  subject  was  but  an  effort  to  escape  from 
the  only  one  in  which  my  heart  was  really  inter- 
ested. 

"  How  bright  and   happy,"  said   I — pointing  up 

Luriffi,  quibus  Ijint^ni  vim  vidcntur  tribuis?e  >Eg>pti."  M- 
bionaki. — He  is  of  opinion  that  the  suptrstition  of  the  JVuc- 
ta,  or  miraculous  drop,  is  a  relic  of  the  veneration  paid  to 
the  dews,  as  the  lenrs  of  Isis. 

4  Travels  of  Captain  Mangles. 

^  Plutarch.  IJupnis,  loni.  x.  The  Manicbeans  held  Ihe 
same  belief — Sec  Bcausubre,  p.  5G5. 


696 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


to  Sothis,  the  fair  Star  of  the  Waters,'  which  was 
just  tlicn  sliining  brilliantly  over  our  heads — "  How 
bright  and  happy  this  world  ouglit  to  be,  if,  as  your 
Egyptian  sages  assert,  yon  pure  and  beautiful  lu- 
minary was  its  birth-star  !"^  Then,  still  leaning 
back,  and  letting  my  eyes  wander  over  the  firma- 
ment, as  if  seeking  to  disengage  them  from  the  fas- 
cination which  they  dreaded — "  To*  the  study,"  I 
exclaimed,  "  for  ages,  of  skies  like  this,  may  the 
pensive  and  mystic  character  of  your  nation  be 
traced.  That  mixture  of  pride  and  melancholy 
which  naturally  arises  at  the  sight  of  those  eternal 
lights  shining  out  of  darkness  ; — tiiat  sublime,  but 
saddened,  anticipation  of  a  Future,  which  steals 
sometimes  over  the  soul  in  the  silence  of  such  an 
hour,  when,  though  Death  appears  to  reign  in  the 
deep  stillness  of  earth,  there  are  yet  those  beacons 
of  Immortality  burning  in  the  sky." 

Pausing,  as  I  uttered  the  word  "  immortality," 
with  a  sigh  to  lliink  how  little  my  heart  echoed  to 
my  lips,  I  looked  in  the  face  of  my  companion, 
and  saw  that  it  had  lighted  up,  as  I  spoke,  into  a 
glow  of  holy  animation,  such  as  Faith  alone  gives  ; 
— such  as  Hope  lierself  wears,  when  she  is  dream- 
ing of  heaven.  Touched  by  the  contrast,  and  gaz- 
ing upon  her  with  mournful  tenderness,  I  found  my 
arms  half  opened,  to  clasp  her  to  my  heart,  while 
the  words  died  away  inaudibly  upon  my  lips, — 
"  Thou,  too,  beautiful  maiden !  must  thou,  too,  die 
forever  ?" 

My  Bclf-command,  I  felt,  Iiad  nearly  deserted 
mo.  Rising  abruptly  from  my  seat,  I  walked  to 
the  middle  of  the  deck,  and  stood,  for  some  mo- 
ments, unconsciously  gazing  upon  one  of  those  tires, 
which — according  to  the  custom  of  all  who  travel 
by  night  on  tlie  Nile — our  boalmcn  had  kindled, 
to  scare  away  the  crocodiles  from  the  vessel.  But 
it  was  in  vain  that  I  endeavored  to  compose  my 
spirit.  Every  effort  I  made  but  more  deeply  con- 
vinced me,  that,  till  the  mystery  wliich  hung  round 
that  maiden  sliould  bo  solved — till  the  secret,  with 
which  my  own  bosom  labored,  should  be  disclosed — 
it  was  fruitless  to  attempt  even  a  semblance  of  tran- 
quillity. 

My  resolution  was  therefore  taken ; — to  lay  open, 
at  once,  the  feelings  of  my  own  heart,  as  far  as 
such  revealment  might  be  hazarded,  without  start- 
ling tlie  timid  innocence  of  my  companion.  Thus 
resolved,  I  resumed  my  seat,  with  more  com- 
posure, by  her  side  ;  aud  taking  from  my  bosom 
the  small  mirror  which  she  had  dropped  iu  the 
Temple,  and  which  I  had  ever  since  worn  sus- 
pended round  my  neck,  presented  it  with  a  trem- 


'  'V^paywyov  is  Ibe  opUhe    applied  to  this  st;ir  by  Plu- 
tarch, de  Isiil. 


bling  hand  to  her  view.  The  boatmen  had  just 
kindled  one  oi  their  night-fires  near  us,  and  its  light, 
as  she  leaned  forward  to  look  at  the  mirror,  fell  up- 
on lier  face. 

The  quick  blush  of  surprise  with  which  she  re- 
cognised it  to  bo  hers,  and  her  look  of  bashful  yet 
eager  inquiry,  in  raising  her  eyes  to  mine,  were  ap- 
peals to  which  I  was  not,  of  couree,  tardy  in  an- 
swering. Beginning  with  the  first  moment  when  I 
saw  her  in  the  Temple,  and  passing  hastily,  but 
with  words  that  burned  as  they  went,  over  the  im- 
preB.sion  which  she  had  then  left  upon  my  heart 
and  fancy,  I  proceeded  to  describe  the  particulars 
of  my  descent  into  tlie  pyramid — my  surprise  aud 
adoration  at  the  door  of  the  chapel — my  encounter 
with  the  Trials  of  Initiation,  so  mysteriously  pre- 
pared for  me,  and  all  the  various  visionary  wonders 
I  had  witnessed  in  that  region,  till  the  moment  when 
I  had  seen  her  stealing  from  under  the  Veils  to  ap- 
proach me. 

Though,  in  detailing  these  events,  I  had  said  but 
little  of  Iho  feelings  they  had  awakened  in  me — 
though  my  lips  had  sent  back  many  a  sentence,  un- 
uttered,  there  was  still  enough  that.could  neither  be 
subdued  nor  disguised,  and  which,  like  that  light 
from  inider  tlie  veils  of  her  own  Isis.  glowed  tlirough 
eveiy  word  that  I  spoke.  When  I  told  of  the 
scene  iu  the  chapel — of  the  silent  interview  which 
I  had  witnessed  between  the  dead  and  the  living— 
the  maiden  leaned  down  her  head  and  wept,  as 
from  a  heart  full  of  teara.  It  seemed  a  pleasure  to 
her,  however,  to  listen ;  and,  when  she  looked  at 
me  again,  there  was  an  earnest  aud  affectionate 
cordiality  in  her  eyes,  as  if  the  knowledge  of  my 
having  been  present  at  that  mournful  scene  had 
opened  a  new  source  of  sympathy  and  intelligence 
between  us.  ,So  neighboring  are  the  fountains  of 
Love  and  of  Sorrow,  and  so  imperceptibly  do  they 
often  mingle  their  streams. 

Little,  indeed,  as  I  was  guided  by  art  or  design,  in 
my  manner  and  conduct  towards  this  innocent  girl, 
not  ajl  the  most  experienced  gallantry  of  the  Gar- 
den could  I'.ave  dictated  a  policy  half  so  seductive 
as  that  which  my  new  master,  Love,  now  taught 
me.  The  same  ardor  winch,  if  sliown  at  once,  aud 
without  reserve,  might  probably  have  startled  a 
heart  so  little  prepared  for  it,  being  now  checked 
and  softened  by  the  timidity  of  real  love,  won  its 
way  without  alami,  and,  when  most  diffident  of 
success,  was  then  most  surely  on  its  way  to  triumph. 
Like  one  whose  slumbers  are  gradually  broken  by 
sweet  music,  the  maiden's  heart  was  awakened 
without  being  disturbed.     She   followed   the  course 


-  'H  "Etiidcuis  avitroXTi  ycvctrniiis  Karapj^ovaa  Tijf  eij  foi 
Kotrfiov. — Porphyr.  dc  ^^ntro  J^yj/iph. 


'  ' 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


697 


of  the  charm,  unconscious  wliithcr  it  led,  nor  was 
even  awaic  of  the  flanio  s!io  had  lighted  in  another's 
bosom,  till  startled  bj'  the  reflection  of  it  glimmering 
in  her  own. 

Impatient  as  I  was  to  appeal  to  her  generosity 
and  sympathy,  for  a  similar  proof  of  confidence  to 
that  wliich  I  liad  just  given,  the  niglit  was  now  too 
far  advanced  for  mo  to  impose  upon  her  such  a  task. 
After  exchanging  a  few  words,  in  which,  though 
little  mot  the  eai,  'here  was,  on  both  sides,  a  ti,no 
and  manner  that  spoko  far  more  tlian  language,  we 
took  a  lingering  leave  of  each  other  for  the  niglit, 
with  every  prospect,  I  fondly  hoped,  of  being  still 
together  in  our  dreams. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

It  was  so  near  the  dawn  of  day  whcf^  we  parted 
that  we  found  tlie  sun  sinking  westward  when  we 
rejoined  each  other.  The  smile,  so  frankly  cordial, 
with  wliich  she  met  me,  might  have  been  taken  for 
the  greeting  of  a  long-mellowed  friendship,  did  not 
the  blusii  and  the  cast-down  eyelid  that  followed 
betray  symptoms  of  a  feeling  newer  and  less  calm. 
For  myself,  lightened  as  I  was,  in  some  degree,  by 
the  avowal  which  I  had  made,  I  was  yet  too  con- 
scious of  the  new  aspect  thus  given  to  oar  intercourse, 
not  to  feel  some  little  alarm  at  the  prospect  of  rc- 
tuniing  to  the  theme.  We  were  both,  tlierefore, 
alike  willing  to  allow  our  attention  to  be  diverted, 
by  the  variety  of  strange  objects  that  presented 
themselves  on  the  way,  from  a  subject  that  evidently 
both  were  alike  unwilling  to  approach. 

The  river  was  now  all  stirring  with  commerce 
and  life.  Every  instant  we  met  with  boats  descend- 
ing the  current,  so  wholly  independent  of  aid  from 
sail  or  oar,  that  tlie  mariners  sat  idly  on  the  deck  as 
they  shot  along,  either  singing  or  playing  upon  their 
double-reeded  pipes.  The  greater  number  of  these 
boats  came  laden  with  those  large  emeralds,  from 
the  mine  in  the  desert,  whose  colors,  it  is  said,  are 
brightest  at  the  full  of  the  moon  ;  while  some  brought 
cargoes  of  frankincense  from  the  acacia  groves  near 
the  Red  Sea.  On  the  decks  of  others,  that  had  been, 
as  we   learned,  to  the   Golden  Mountains'  beyond 


1  Vide  Jl'ilford  on  Egypt  and  Ihe  J^ile,  A^\nt\cl\C^c:iJchcs. 

^  "  A  I'cpuqne  de  la  i-rue  le  Nil  Vert  charrie  les  plnnchcs 
d'un  bnis  ((iti  a  uiie  odeur  sciiibl^iblc  a  celle  de  I'encens.* 
^uarrrmi:re. 

>  .VailUt. 


Syene,  were  heaped  blocks  and  fragments  of  that 
sweet-smelling  wood,^  which  is  yearly  washed  down, 
by  the  Green  Nile  of  Nubia,  at  the  season  of  the 
floods. 

Our  companions  up  tho  stream  were  far  less  nu- 
merous. Occasionally  a  boat,  returning  liglitene<l 
from  the  fair  of  last  night,  shot  rapidly  past  us,  with 
tiiose  high  sails  that  catch  every  breeze  from  over 
the  hills ; — wliiJe,  now  and  then,  we  overtook  one 
of  those  barges  full  of  bees,'  that  are  sent  at  this 
season  to  colonize  the  gardens  of  the  «outh,  and 
take  advantage  of  the  first  flowei-s  after  the  inunda- 
tion has  passed  away. 

For  a  short  time,  this  constant  variety  of  objects 
enabled  us  to  divert  so  far  our  conversation  as  to 
keep  it  from  lighting  upon  the  one,  sole  subject, 
round  which  it  constantly  hovered.  But  the  effort, 
as  might  bo  expecled,  was  not  long  successful.  As 
evening  advanced,  the  whole  scene  became  more 
solitary.  We  less  frequently  ventured  to  look  upon 
each  other,  and  our  inter^'als  of  silence  grew  more 
long. 

It  was  near  sunset,  when,  in  passing  a  small 
temple  on  the  shore,  whose  porticoes  were  now  .full 
of  the  evening  light,  we  saw  issuing  from  a  thicket 
of  acanthus  near  it,  a  train  of  young  maidens  grace- 
fully linked  together  in  the  dance  by  stems  of  the 
lotus  lield  at  arms'  length  jetweeu  them.  Tiieir 
tresses  were  also  wicatlied  with  this  gay  emblem 
of  tlie  seat'on,  and  in  such  profusion  were  its  white 
flowere  twisted  around  their  waists  and  arms,*  that 
they  might  have  been  takeu,  as  they  lightly  bounded 
along  tho  bank,  for  Nymphs  of  the  Nile,  then  freshly 
risen  from  their  bright  gardens  under  the  wave. 

After  looking  for  a  few  minutes  at  this  sacred 
dance,  tho  maiden  tunicd  away  her  eyes,  with  a 
look  of  pain,  as  if  the  remembrances  it  recalled 
were  of  no  welcome  nature.  This  momentary  re- 
trospect, this  glimpse  into  the  past,  appeared  to  offer 
a  sort  of  clue  to  tlie  secret  for  which  1  panted  ;— 
and  accordingly  I  proceeded,  as  gradually  and  deli- 
cately as  my  impatience  would  allow,  to  avail  my- 
self of  the  opening.  Her  own  frankness,  however, 
relieved  me  from  the  embarrassment  of  much  ques- 
tioning. She  appeared  even  to  feel  that  the  confi- 
dence I  sought  was  due  to  me  ;  and  beyond  the 
natural  hesitation  of  maiilenly  modesty,  not  a  sliade 
of  reserve  or  evasion  appeared. 

To  attempt  to  repeat,  in  her  own  touching  words, 
the  simple  story  which  she  now  related  to  me,  would 


4  *'On!esvoit  comme  jadis  cueillir  dans  les  champs  des 
liges  du  lolus.  sigiies  du  dt-bordeinenl  el  presa^^es  de  I'abon- 
dance  ;  ils  s'enveloppent  les  bras  ctlc  corps  jivec  les  loniiues 
ti;;es  fleuries,  el  parcnurenl  les  rues,"  &c. — Descriptiitii  dta 
Tombcaux  tics  Rvis,  par  .M.  Costaz. 


G93 


MOORE'S    WORKS. 


be  like  endeavoving  to  note  down  some  unpremedita- 
ted strain  of  music,  with  all  tlioso  fugitive  graces, 
tliose  felicities  of  the  moment,  whicli  no  art  ran  re- 
store, as  they  first  met  the  ear.  From  a  feeling,  too, 
of  humility,  she  had  omitted  in  her  sliort  narrative 
several  particulars  rclatuig  to  herself,  whicli  I  after- 
wards learned  ; — while  others,  not  less  important, 
she  but  slightly  passed  over,  from  a  fear  of  ofTending 
the  prejndiccs  of  her  hcatlien  hearer. 

I  shall,  therefore,  givo  her  story,  not  as  she,  her- 
self, sketched  it,  but  as  it  was  afterwards  filled  up  by 
a  pious  and  venerable  hand — far,  far  more  worthy 
than  mine  of  being  associated  with  tlio  memory  of 
such  piu"ity.  , 


STORY  OF  ALETIIE. 

"  TuE  mother  of  this  maiden  was  the  beautiful 
Theora  of  Alexandria,  who,  thongli  a  native  of  that 
city,  was  descended  from  Grecian  parents.  When 
very  young,  Theora  was  one  of  the  seven  maidens 
selected  to  note  down  the  discourses  of  the  eloquent 
Origen,  who,  at  that  period,  presided  over  the  School 
nf  Ak'.\andria,  and  was  in  all  the  fulness  of  his  fame 
both  among  Pagans  and  Christians.  Endowed  richly 
with  the  learning  of  both  creeds,  he  brouglit  the 
natural  light  of  philosophy  to  illustrate  the  mysteries 
of  faitli,  and  was  then  only  proud  of  his  knowledge 
of  the  wisdom  of  this  world,  when  he  foimd  it  min- 
ister usefully  to  the  triumph  of  divine  truth. 

"  Althongli  lie  had  courted  ui  vain  the  crown  of 
martyrdom,  it  was  held,  through  his  whole  life,  sus- 
pended over  his  head  ;  and,  in  more  than  one  per- 
secution, he  had  shown  himself  cheerfully  ready  to 
die  for  that  holy  faith  which  he  lived  but  to  testify 
and  uphold.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  liis  tor- 
mentoi-s,  having  habited  him  like  an  Egyptian  priest, 
placed  him  upon  the  st  >ps  of  the  Temple  of  Serapis, 
and  commanded  that  le  should,  in  the  manner  of 
the  Pagan  ministers,  present  palm-branches  to  the 
multitude  who  went  up  into  the  shrine.  But  the 
courageous  Christian  disappointed  their  views.  Hold- 
ing forth  the  branches  with  an  unshrinking  liand,  he 
cried  aloud,  '  Come  hither,  and  take  tiie  branch, — 
not  of  an  Idol  Temple,  but  of  Christ' 

"  So  indefatigable  w;is  this  learned  Father  in  his 
studies,  that,  while  composing  his  Commentary  on 
the  Scriptures,'  he  was  attended  by  seven  scribes  or 
notaries,  who  relieved  each  otiier  in  recording  the 
dictates  of  his  eloquent  tongue ;  while  the  same 
number  of  young  females,  selected  for  the  beauty  of 


'  It  was  diirinc  the  composition  nf  his  great  critical  worlt, 
the  Hexiipla,  that  Origen  employed  these  female  scribes. 


tl'.cir  penmausliip,  were  employed  in  arranging  and 
tratiscribiug  the  precious  leaves. 

"  Among  the  scribes  so  selected,  was  the  fair 
yoiuig  Theora,  whose  parents,  though  nttachcd  to 
the  Pagan  worship,  were  not  unwilling  to  profit  by 
the  accomplishments  of  their  daughter,  thus  occupied 
in  a  task,  which  they  looked  on  as  purely  mechani- 
cal. To  the  maid  herself,  however,  her  cmploj  ment 
brought  far  other  feelings  and  consequences.  She 
read  an.xiously  as  she  wrote,  and  tile  divine  truths, 
so  eloquently  illustrated,  found  thei.-  ^vay,  by  de- 
grees, from  the  page  to  her  heart.  Deeply,  too,  as 
the  written  words  affected  her,  the  discourses  from 
the  lips  of  the  great  teacher  himself,  which  she  had 
frequent  opportunities  of  hearing,  sunk  still  more 
deeply  into  her  mind.  There  was,  at  once,  a  sub- 
limity and  gentleness  in  his  viev^'s  of  religion,  which, 
to  the  tender  hearts  and  lively  imaginations  of  wo- 
men, never  failed  to  appeal  with  convincing  power. 
Accordingly,  the  list  of  his  female  pupils  was  nu- 
merous ;  ciiii  tlio  names  of  Barbara,  Juliana,  Herais, 
and  others,  bear  honorable  testimony  to  his  influence 
over  that  sex. 

"  To  Theora  the  feeling,  with  v/hich  his  discourses 
inspired  her,  was  like  a  new  soul — a  consciousness 
of  spiritual  existence,  never  before  felt.  By  the 
eloquence  of  the  comment  she  was  awakened  into 
admiration  of  the  text ;  and  when,  by  the  kindness 
of  a  Catechumen  of  the  school,  who  had  been  struck 
by  her  innocent  zeal,  she,  for  the  firet  time,  became 
possessor  of  a  copy  of  the  Scriptures,  she  could  not 
sleep  for  thinking  of  her  sacred  treasure.  With  a 
mixture  of  pleasure  and  fear  she  hid  it  from  all  eyes, 
and  was  like  one  who  had  received  a  divine  guest 
under  her  roof,  and  felt  fearful  of  betraying  its  di- 
vinity to  the  world. 

"  A  heart  so  awake  would  have  been  with  ease 
secured  to  the  faith,  had  her  opportunities  of  hearing 
the  sacred  word  continued.  But  circumstances 
arose  to  deprive  her  of  this  advantage.  The  mild 
Origen,  long  harassed  and  thwarted  in  his  labors  by 
the  tyraniry  of  Demetrius,  Bishop  of  Alexandria, 
was  obliged  to  relinquish  his  sch.ool  and  fly  from 
Egypt.  The  occupation  of  the  fair  scribe  was, 
therefore,  at  an  end:  her  intercourse  with  the  fol- 
lowers of  the  new  faith  ceased  ;  and  the  growing  en- 
thusiasm of  her  heart  gave  way  to  more  worldly 
impressions. 

"  Among  other  earthly  feelings,  love  conduced 
not  a.  little  to  wean  her  thoughts  from  tho  true 
religion.  AVhile  still  very  young,  she  becatue  the 
wife  of  a  Greek  adventurer,  who  had  come  to 
Eg)'pt   as  a  piu'chaser  of  that    rich    tapestrj,'   in 


Non  ego  pra?tuierim  Babylonica  picla  superhe 
Texta,  Semiramia  quK  variantur  acii.         Jilarii^. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


099 


which  the  needles  of  Persia  are  rivalled  by  the 
looms  of  the  Nile.  Haviu*  takcu  his  young  bride 
to  Mcmpliis,  whicii  was  still  tlio  great  marl  of  this 
mercliaiidiso,  ho  there,  in  the  midst  of  his  specu- 
lations, died — leaving  liis  widow  on  tlio  point  of 
becoming  a  motlier,  while,  as  yet,  but  in  her  nine- 
teenth year. 

"  For  single  and  unprotected  females,  it  has 
been,  at  all  times,  a  favorite  resource,  to  seek  for 
employment  in  tho  service  of  some  of  those  great 
temples  by  which  so  large  a  portion  of  tlie  wealth 
and  power  of  Egypt  is  absorbed.  In  most  of 
these  institutions  tliero  e.\ists  an  order  of  Priest- 
esses, v^liich,  though  not  hereditary,  like  that  of  tlie 
Priests,  is  provided  for  by  ample  endowments,  and 
confers  that  dignity  and  station,  witli  which,  in  a 
government  so  tlieocratic,  Religion  is  sure  to  invest 
even  her  humblest  liaudmaids.  I'rom  the  general 
policy  of  the  Sacred  College  of  Memphis,  we  may 
take  for  granted,  that  an  accomplislied  female,  like 
Theora,  found  but  little  difficulty  in  being  elected 
one  of  the  Priestesses  of  Isis ;  and  it  was  in  the 
service  of  the  subterranean  shrines  that  her  ministry 
chiefly  lay. 

"  Here,  a  month  or  two  after  her  admission,  she 
gave  birth  to  Alethe,  who  first  opened  her  eyes 
among  the  unholy  pomps  and  specious  miracles  of 
this  mysterious  region.  Tliough  Theora,  as  we  have 
seen,  had  been  diverted  by  other  feehngs  from  her 
first  enthusiasm  for  the  Christian  faith,  she  had 
never  wliolly  forgot  the  impression  then  made  upon 
her.  The  sacred  volume,  whicli  the  pious  Cate- 
chumen had  given  her,  was  still  treasured  with 
care ;  and,  though  she  seldom  opened  its  pages, 
there  was  always  an  idea  of  sanctity  associated 
with  it  in  her  memory,  and  often  would  she  sit  to 
look  upon  it  with  reverential  pleasure,  recalling 
the  happiness  she  had  felt  wiien  it  was  fii"st  made 
her  own. 

*'  TiiG  leisure  of  lier  new  retreat,  and  tho  lone 
melancholy  of  widowhood,  led  her  still  more  fre- 
quently to  indulge  in  such  thoughts,  and  to  recur 
to  those  consoling  truths  wliich  she  had  heard  in 
the  school  of  .\lexandria.  She  now  began  to  peruse 
eagerly  the  sacred  volume,  drinking  deep  of  the 
fountain  of  whicli  she  before  but  lasted,  and  feel- 
ing— what  thousands  of  mourners,  since  her,  have 
felt — that  Christianity  is  the  true  and  only  religiou 
of  the  sorrowful. 

•'  Tliis  study  of  her  secret  hours  became  still  more 
dear  to  her,  as  well  from  the  peril  with  which,  at 
that  period,  it  was  attended,  as  from  the  necessity 

1  De  I'huvv,  who  ditfers  in  opinion  from  those  who  eup- 
posed  wnnien  to  be  eligible  to  the  liigher  siicerdotal  otSces  in 
Egypt,  Ihns  enunier:ites  the  t;isks  to  whicli  their  superin- 
tendence was,  as  he  thinks,  confined: — '■  Les  fenunes  a'ont 


she  felt  herself  under  of  concealing  from  those 
aiound  her  tho  precious  light  that  had  heen  thus 
kindled  in  her  own  heart.  Too  timid  to  encounter 
the  fierce  persecution  which  awaited  all  who  were 
suspected  of  a  leaning  to  Cliristianity,  si^e  continued 
to  ofticiate  in  the  pomps  and  ceremonies  of  tlie 
Temple  ; — though,  oflen,  with  svicli  remorse  of  soul, 
tliat  she  would  pause,  in  the  midst  of  the  rites,  and 
pray  inwardly  to  God,  that  he  would  iorgive  tl.is 
profanation  of  his  Spirit. 

"  In  tho  mean  time  her  daughter,  the  young 
Alethe,  grew  up  still  loveher  than  heivelf,  and  added, 
every  l.our,  both  to  her  happiness  and  her  fears. 
When  arrived  at  a  sufficient  age,  she  was  taught, 
like  the  oilier  children  of  the  Priestesses,  to  take  a 
share  in  the  service  and  ceretnonles  of  ll.c  shrines. 
The  duty  of  some  of  these  young  servitors'  was  to 
look  alter  the  flowere  for  the  altar  ; — of  others,  to 
lake  care  tliat  the  sacred  vases  were  filled  every 
day  with  fresh  water  from  the  Nile.  The  task  of 
some  was  to  preserve,  in  perfect  polish,  those  silver 
images  of  the  Muon  which  the  priests  carried  in 
processions  ;  while  others  were,  as  we  have  seen, 
employed  in  feeding  tho  consecrated  animals,  and 
in  keeping  their  plumes  and  scales  bright  for  the 
admiring  eyes  of  their  worshippers. 

"  The  office  allotted  to  Alethe — tho  most  honor- 
able of  these  minor  ministries— was  to  W'ait  upon 
tho  sacred  birds  of  tlie  Moon,  to  feed  them  daily 
with  those  eggs  from  ll'.e  Nile  which  they  loved, 
and  provide  for  their  use  that  purest  water,  which 
alone  these  delicate  birds  will  touch.  This  em- 
ployment was  the  delight  of  her  child'sh  hoiira ; 
and  that  ibis,  wliich  Alciphron  (tho  Epicurean) 
saw  her  dance  round  in  the  Temple,  was,  of  all 
tho  sacred  flock,  her  especial  favorite,  and  had  been 
daily  fondled  and  fed  by  h.er  from  infancy. 

"  ftlusic,  as  being  one  of  the  chief  spells  of  tliis 
enchanted  region,  was  an  accomplishment  required 
of  all  its  ministrants  ;  and  the  harp,  the  lyre,  and 
the  sacred  flute,  sounded  nowhere  so  sweetiv  as 
through  these  subterranean  gardens.  The  chief 
object,  indeed,  in  the  education  of  the  youtii  of 
the  Temple,  was  to  fit  them,  by  every  grace  of  art 
and  nature,  to  give  effect  to  the  illusion  of  those 
shows  and  phantasms,  in  wliich  the  entire  cliarm 
and  secret  of  Initiation  lay. 

"  Among  the  means  employed  to  support  the  old 
system  of  superstition,  against  the  infidehty  and, 
still  more,  the  new  Fai'.h  that  menaced  it,  was  an 
increased  display  of  splendor  and  marvels  in  those 
mysteries  for  which   Egypt  has  so  II  iig  been  cele- 

pu  (out  au  plus  d.ins  I'nrdre  scco.ndiiire  s'licquiuer  que  de 
quelqucs  eniplois  sans  consequence  ,  comnie  tie  nimrrir  dcs 
scarabees,  des  miisar  lignes  ct  d'autres  petits  euiiiiaux 
sacr6s." — Tom.  i.  sect.  2. 


roo 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


bralcd.  Of  these  ceremonies  so  many  imitations 
had,  un  Icr  various  names,  multiplied  tliroujhont 
Europe,  that  at  leiij'tli  the  parent  superstition  ran 
a  risk  of  being  eclipsed  by  its  progeny ;  and,  in 
order  still  to  rank  as  the  first  Priesthood  in  the 
world,  it  became  necessary  for  those  of  Egypt  to 
remain  still  the  best  iniposlors. 

■'  Accordingly,  every  contrivance  that  art  could 
devise,  or  labor  execute — every  resource  that  the 
(vonderful  knowledge  of  the  Priests,  in  pyrotechny, 
mechanics,  and  dioptrics,  could  command — was 
hrouglit  into  action  to  licightcn  tlie  efl'cct  of  their 
Mysteries,  and  give  an  air  of  enchantment  to  every 
Ihing  connected  witii  them. 

"  The  final  scene  of  beatification — the  Elysium, 
into  which  the  Initiate  was  rcceivcd^formed,  of 
course,  the  leading  attraction  of  these  ceremojiics  ; 
and  to  render  it  captivating  alike  to  the  senses  of 
the  man  of  pleasure,  and  the  imagination  of  the 
spiritualist,  was  the  great  object  to  which  the  at- 
tention of  the  Sacred  College  was  devoted.  By  the 
influence  of  the  Priests  of  Memphis  over  those  of 
tlio  otiicr  Temples  they  had  succeeded  in  extending 
their  subterranean  frontier,  both  to  the  north  and 
south,  so  as  to  include,  within  their  ever-lighted 
Paradise,  some  of  the  gardens  excavated  for  the  use 
of  the  other  Twelve  Shrines. 

"  The  beauty  of  the  young  Alethe,  the  touching 
sweetness  of  her  voice,  and  the  sensibility  that 
breathed  throughout  h.er  every  look  and  movement, 
rendered  her  a  powerful  auxiliary  in  sue!)  appeals  to 
the  imagination.  She  bad  been,  accordingly,  in 
her  very  childhood,  selected  from  among  her  fair 
companions,  as  the  most  worthy  representative  of 
spiritual  loveliness,  in  those  pictures  of  Elysium — 
those  scenes  of  another  world — by  which  not  only 
the  fancy,  but  the  reason,  of  the  excited  .'Vspirauts 
was  dazzled. 

"  To  the  innocent  child  herself  these  shows 
were  pastime.  But  to  Theora,  wlio  knew  too  well 
the  imposition  to  which  they  were  subservient,  this 
profanation  of  all  that  she  loved  was  a  perpetual 
source  of  horror  and  remorse.  Often  would  she — 
wOien  Alethe  stood  smiling  before  her,  arrayed,  per- 
haps, as  a  spirit  of  the  Elysian  world — turn  away, 
with  a  shudder,  from  the  happy  child,  almost 
fancying  she  saw  already  the  shadows  of  sin  de- 
scending over  that  innocent  brow,  as  she  gazed 
upon  it. 

"  As  the  intellect  of  tho  young  maid  became 
more  active  and  inquiring,  tho  apprehensions  and 
difiiciilties  of  the  mother  increased.  Afraid  to 
communicate  her  own  precious  secret,  lest  she 
should  involve  her  child  in  the  dangers  that  en- 
compassed it,  she  yet  felt  it  to  be  no  less  a  cruelty 
than  a  crime  to  leave  her  wholly  inmiersed  iu  the 


darkness  of  Paganism.  In  this  dilemma,  the  only 
resource  that  remained  to  her  was  to  select,  and 
disengage  from  the  dross  that  surrounded  them, 
those  pure  particles  of  truth  which  lie  at  the 
bottom  of  all  religions ; — those  feelings,  rather 
than  doctrines,  of  which  God  has  never  left  his 
creatures  destitute,  and  which,  in  all  ages,  have 
furnislied,  to  those  who  sought  after  it,  some  clue  to 
his  glory. 

"  The  unity  and  perfect  goodness  of  the  Creator ; 
tho  fall  of  the  human  soul  into  corruption,  ils  strug- 
gles with  tlio  darkness  of  this  world,  and  its  final 
redemption  and  reascent  to  the  source  of  all  spirit ; 
— these  natural  solutions  of  the  problem  of  our 
existence,  these  elementary  grounds  of  all  religion 
and  virtue,  which  Theora  had  heard  illustrated  by 
her  Christian  teacher,  lay  also,  she  knew)  /eKed 
under  the  theology  of  Eg}-pt  ;  and  to  impress  them, 
in  their  abstract  purity,  upon  the  mind  of  lier 
susceptible  pupil,  was,  in  default  of  more  heaveiiiy 
ligiits,  her  sole  ambition  aud  care. 

"  It  was  generally  their  habit,  after  devoting  thei: 
mornings  to  the  sen'ice  of  the  Temple,  to  pass  their 
evenings  and  nights  iu  one  of  tijose  small  manr'ions 
above  ground,  allotted,  within  the  precincts  of  the 
Sacred  College,  to  some  of  the  most  favored 
Priestesses.  Here,  unl  of  tlie  reach  of  those  gross 
superstitions,  which  pui-sued  them,  at  eveiy  step, 
below,  she  endeavored  to  inform,  as  far  as  she  could 
venture,  the  mind  of  her  beloved  girl ;  and  found 
it  lean  as  naturally  and  instinctively  to  truth, 
as  plants  long  shut  up  in  darkness  will,  when 
light  is  let  in  upon  them,  incline  themselves  to 
its  rays. 

"  Frequently,  as  they  sal  togetlicr  on  the  terrace 
at  night,  admiring  that  glorious  assembly  of  stars, 
whose  beauty  first  misled  mankind  into  idolatry, 
she  would  explain  to  the  young  listener  by  what 
gradations  of  error  it  was  that  tho  worship,  thus 
transferred  from  the  Creator  to  the  creature,  sunk 
still  lower  and  lower  in  the  scale  of  being,  till  man, 
at  length,  presumed  to  deify  man,  and  by  the  most 
monstrous  of  inversions,  heaven  w'as  made  the  mere 
mirror  of  earth,  reflecting  back  all  its  most  earthly 
features. 

"  Even  in  tlie  Temple  itself,  tlie  anxious  moth- 
er would  endeavor  to  inter|Xise  her  purer  lessons 
among  the  idolatrous  ceremonies  in  which  they 
were  engaged.  When  the  favorite  ibis  of  Alethe 
took  its  station  upon  the  shrine,  and  tho  young 
maiden  was  seen  approaching,  with  all  the  gi'avity 
cf  worship,  the  very  bird  which  she  had  played 
with  but  an  liour  before — when  the  acacia-bough, 
which  she  herself  had  piucke<l,  seemed  to  acquire 
a  sudden  sacredncss  in  her  eyes,  as  soon  as  tho 
priest  had  breathed  upon  it — on  all  such  occasions 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


701 


Tlieora,  thoii(;h  with  fear  and  tremblini^.  would  ven- 
ture to  snjrjest  to  the  youthful  woi'sliip[)cr  the  dis- 
tinction tliat  sliould  1)0  drawn  between  the  sensible 
object  of  adoration,  and  that  spiritual,  nnsecu 
Deity,  of  which  it  was  but  the  remembrancer  or 
type. 

*'  With  sorrow,  however,  she  soon  discovered  that, 
in  tlius  but  partially  letting  In  light  upon  a  nihid 
far  too  ardent  to  rest  satisfied  witli  such  glimmer- 
ings, she  but  bewildered  th.e  heart  which  slic  meant 
to  guide,  and  cut  down  tho  feeble  hope  around 
which  its  faith  twined,  witliout  substituting  any 
otiier  snpport  in  its  place.  As  t!:e  beauty,  too,  of 
Alcthe  began  to  attract  all  eyes,  new  fears  crowded 
upon  the  mother's  heart ; — fears,  in  whicli  she  was 
but  too  much  jnstified  by  the  characters  of  some  of 
those  around  her. 

**  In  this  sacred  abode,  as  may  easily  bo  conpeived, 
morality  did  not  always  go  hand  in  hand  with  reli- 
gion. Tlie  hypocritical  and  ambitions  Orcus,  wlio 
was,  at  this  period,  High  Priest  of  jMcinj>his,  was 
a  man,  in  every  respect,  qualified  to  preside  over 
a  system  of  such  splendid  fraud.  He  liad  reached 
that  etTective  time  of  life,  when  enough  of  tho 
warmtli  and  vigor  of  youth  remains  to  give  anima- 
tion to  the  counsels  of  age.  But,  in  his  instance, 
youth  had  left  only  the  baser  passions  behind,  while 
age  but  brouglit  with  it  a  more  refined  maturity  of 
miscliief.  Tho  advantages  of  a  faith  appealing 
almost  wholly  to  the  senses,  v.'cre  well  understood 
by  him ;  nor  had  he  failed  either  to  discover  that,  iu 
order  to  render  rehgion  subservient  to  liis  own  inter- 
ests, ho  must  shape  it  adroitly  to  the  interests  and 
passions  of  others. 

*'  The  state  of  anxiety  and  remorse  in  which  the 
mind  of  the  hapless  Tlieora  was  kept  by  tho  scenes, 
however  artfully  veiled,  which  she  daily  witnessed 
around  her,  became  at  length  intolerable.  No  perils 
that  the  cause  of  truth  could  bring  with  it  would  be 
half  so  dreadful  as  this  endurance  of  sinfulness  and 
deceit.  Her  cliild  was,  as  yet,  pare  and  innocent ; 
but,  without  that  sentinel  of  the  soul,  Religion,  how 
long  might  she  continue  so  ? 

"  Tins  thought  at  once  decided  her :  all  other 
fears  vanished  before  it.  She  resolved  instantly  to 
lay  open  to  Aletlie  the  whole  secret  of  her  soul ;  to 
make  this  child,  who  was  her  only  hope  on  earth, 
the  sharer  of  all  her  hopes  iu  heaven,  and  then  fly 
with  her,  as  soon  as  possible,  from  tliis  unhallowed 
spot,  to  the  far  desert — to  tho  mountains — to  any 
place,  however  desolate,  where  God  and  the  con- 
Bciousness  of  innocence  might  be  with  them. 

"  The  promptitude  witli  which  her  young  pupil 
caught  from  her  the  divine  truths  was  even  beyond 
what  she  expected.  It  was  like  the  lighting  of  ono 
torch  at  another,  so  prepared  was  Alethe's  miud  for 


the  illuniiuatiou.  Ampl3%  indeed,  was  the  anxious 
mother  now  repaid  for  all  her  misery,  by  this  per- 
fect comm\uuon  of  love  and  faitli,  and  by  the  deligiit 
with  which  she  saw  her  beloved  child — like  the 
young  antelope,  when  (iret  led  by  her  dam  to  th.e 
well — drink  thirstily  by  her  side,  at  the  source  of  all 
life  and  truth. 

"  But  such  happiness  was  not  long  to  last.  Tho 
anxieties  that  Theora  had  suiTered  began  to  prey 
upon  lier  health.  She  felt  her  strength  daily  de- 
cline ;  and  the  thoughts  of  leaving,  alone  and  un- 
guarded in  the  world,  that  treasure  which  she  had 
just  devoted  to  Heaven,  gave  her  a  feeling  of  despair 
which  but  liastened  the  ebb  of  life.  Had  she  put  in 
practice  her  resolution  of  flying  from  this  place,  her 
cliild  might  hav(  been  now  beyond  tlic  reach  of  all 
she  dreaded,  and  in  the  solitude  of  tlie  desert  would 
have  found  at  least  safety  from  wrong.  But  the 
very  happiness  she  had  felt  in  her  nev/  task  diverted 
her  from  this  project; — and  it  was  now  too  late,  for 
she  was  already  dying. 

"She  still  continued,  however,  to  conceal  tho 
state  of  her  health  from  the  tender  and  sanguine 
girl,  who,  though  observing  the  traces  of  disease  on 
her  motlier"s  cheek,  little  knew  tliat  they  were  the 
hastening  footsteps  of  death,  nor  even  thouglit  of 
the  possibility  of  ever  losing  what  was  so  dear  to 
her.  Too  soon,  however,  the  moment  of  separa- 
tion arrived;  and  while  the  anguish  and  dismay 
of  Aletho  were  in  proportion  to  the  security  in 
wliich  she  had  indulged,  Theora,  tor  "^It,  with 
bitter  regret,  that  she  had  sacrificed  to  her  toud  con- 
sideration much  precious  time,  and  that  tliere  now 
remained  but  a  few  brief  and  painful  moments,  for 
tho  communication  of  all  those  wishes  and  instruc- 
tions on  which  the  future  destiny  of  the  j'oung 
orphan  depended. 

"  She  had,  indeed,  time  for  little  more  than  to 
place  the  sacred  volume  solemnly  in  ,lier  hands  ;  to 
implore  that  she  would,  at  all  rislcs,  fly  from  this 
unholy  place ;  and,  pointing  in  the  threction  of 
the  mountains  of  the  Said,  to  name,  v.'ith  her  last 
breath,  the  venerable  man,  to  whom,  under  Heaven, 
she  looked  for  the  protection  and  salvation  of  her 
child. 

"  The  first  violence  of  feeling  to  which  Aletho 
gave  way  v/as  succeeded  by  a  fixed  and  tearless 
grief,  which  rendered  her  insensible,  for  some  time, 
to  the  dangers  of  her  situation.  Her  sole  comfort 
consisted  in  visiting  that  monumental  chapel  where 
the  beautiful  remains  of  Theora  lay.  There, 
night  after  night,  in  contemplation  of  those  placid 
features,  and  in  prayers  for  the  peace  of  tho  de- 
parted spirit,  did  she  pass  her  lonely  and — however 
sad  they  were — happiest  hours.  Though  the  mystic 
emblems  that  decorated  that  cbapel  were  but  ill- 


702 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


suited  to  the  slumber  of  a  Christian,  there  was  one 
amonsT  tliem,  tlie  Cross,  wliicli,  by  a  remarliable 
coinciilcnce,  is  an  emblem  alike  common  to  tlie 
Gentile  and  the  Christian — bcin;r,  to  the  former,  a 
shadowy  type  of  that  immortality,  of  which,  to  the 
latter,  it  is  a  substantial  and  assuring  pledge. 

"  Nightly,  upon  this  cross,  whicli  she  had  often 
seen  her  lost  mother  kiss,  did  she  breathe  forth  a  so- 
lemn and  heartfelt  vow,  never  to  abandon  the  faith 
which  lliat  departed  spirit  had  beqneathcd  to  her. 
To  such  enthusiasm,  indeed,  did  her  heart  at  such 
nionicnls  rise,  that,  but  fnr  the  last  injunctions  from 
those  pallid  lips,  she  would,  at  once,  have  avowed 
her  perilous  secret,  and  boldly  pronounced  the 
words,  '  I  am  a  Ciiristian,'  among  those  benighted 
shrines  ! 

**  But  the  will  of  her,  to  whom  she  owed  more 
than  life,  was  to  be  obeyed.  To  escape  from  this 
haunt  of  superstition  must  now,  she  felt,  be  her  first 
object  ;  and,  iu  planning  the  ureans  of  effecting  it, 
her  mind,  day  and  night,  was  employed.  It  was 
with  a  loathing  not  to  be  concealed,  that  she  now 
found  I'.erself  compelled  to  resume  her  idolatrous 
services  at  th.e  shrine.  To  some  of  the  offices  of 
Theora  she  succeeded,  as  is  tlie  custom,  by  in- 
heritance ;  and  in  tl.c  performance  of  these  ta»ks — 
sanctified  as  they  were  iu  her  eyes  by  the  pure 
spirit  she  had  seeu  engaged  in  them— there  was  a 
sort  of  melancholy  pleasure  in  which  her  sorrow 
found  relief  But  tlie  part  she  was  again  forced  to 
take,  in  the  scenic  shows  of  the  Mysteries,  brought 
with  it  a  sense  of  degradation  and  wrong  which  she 
could  no  longer  endure. 

"  Already  had  she  formed,  in  her  own  mind,  a 
plan  of  escape,  in  which  her  acquaintance  with  all 
the  windings  of  tliis  mystic  realm  gave  her  confi- 
dence, when  the  solemn  reception  of  Alcipliron,  as 
an  Initiate,  took  place. 

"  From  the"first  moment  of  tho  landing  of  that 
philosopher  at  Alexandria,  he  had  become  an  object 
of  suspicion  and  watchfulness  to  the  inquisitorial 
Oruus,  whom  phi.o^phy,  in  any  shape,  naturally 
alarmed,  but  to  whom  the  sect  over  which  tlie 
young  Athenian  presided  was  particularly  obnoxious. 
Tiie  accomplishments  of  Alcipliron.  his  popularity, 
wluTever  he  went,  and  the  bold  freedom  with  which 
lie  indulged  his  wit  at  the  expense  of  religion,  were 
all  faitlifully  reported  to  the  High  Priest  by  his 
spies,  and  awakened  in  his  mind  no  kindly  feelings 
towards  the  stranger.  In  dealing  with  an  infidel, 
such  a  pei-sonage  as  Orcus  could  know  no  other 
alternative  but  that  of  either  coiiverliug  or  destroy- 
ing him  ;  and  though  his  spite,  as  a  man,  would 
have  beoji  more  gratified  by  the  latter  proceeding, 
his  pride,  as  a  priest,  led  him  to  prefer  the  triumph 
ol  the  former. 


"  The  first  descent  of  the  Epicurean  into  the 
pyramid  became  speedily  known,  and  the  alarm  was 
immediately  given  to  tho  priests  below.  As  soon  as 
they  had  discovered  that  the  young  philosopher  of 
Athens  was  tho  intruder,  and  that  he  not  only  still 
continued  to  linger  round  the  pyramid,  but  was  ob- 
served to  look  often  and  wistfully  towards  the  jiorlal, 
it  was  concluded  that  his  curiosity  would  impel  him 
to  try  a  second  descent ;  and  Orcus,  blessing  the 
good  chance  which  had  thus  brought  the  wild  bird 
into  his  net,  resolved  not  to  suffer  an  opportunity  so 
precious  to  be  wasted. 

"  Instantly,  the  whole  of  that  wonderful  ma- 
chinery, by  which  the  phantasms  and  illusions  of  * 
Initiation  are  produced,  were  put  in  active  prepara- 
tion throughout  that  subterranean  realm  ;  and  the 
increased  stir  and  vigiA.nce  awakened  among  its  in- 
mates, by  this  more  than  oidinarj'  di.splay  of  the  re- 
sources of  priestcraft,  rendered  the  accomplishment 
of  Alethe's  purpose,  at  such  a  moment,  peculiarly 
difficult.  Wholly  ignorant  of  the  important  i.liare 
which  it  had  been  her  own  fortune  to  take  in  at- 
tracting the  yoimg  philosopher  down  to  this  region, 
she  but  heard  of  him  vaguely,  as  the  Chief  of  a  f  reat 
Grecian  sect,  who  had  been  led,  by  either  curiosity. 
or  accident,  to  expose  himself  to  the  first  trials  of 
Initiation  ;  and  whom  the  priests,  she  could  see, 
were  endeavoring  to  ensnare  in  their  toils,  by  every 
art  and  lure  witli  which  their  dark  science  had 
gifted  them. 

'•  To  her  mind,  the  image  of  a  philosopher,  such 
as  .\lciphron  had  been  represented  to  her,  came  as- 
sociated with  ideas  of  ago  and  reverence  ;  and,  more 
than  once,  tlie  possibility  of  his  being  made  instru- 
mental to  her  deliveranco  flashed  a  hope  across  her 
heart  in  which  she  could  not  refrain  from  indulging. 
Ol'tnn  had  she  been  told  by  Theora  of  the  many 
Gentile  sages,  who  had  laid  their  wisdom  down 
h.umbly  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross;  and  though  this 
Initiate,  she  feared,  could  hardly  bo  among  tho 
nnmbcr,  yet  the  rumors  which  she  had  g-ithered 
from  the  servants  of  the  Temple,  of  his  undisguised 
contempt  for  the  errors  of  Heathenism,  led  her  to 
hope  she  might  find  tolerance,  if  not  symjiathy,  in 
her  appi-al  to  hira. 

"  Nor  was  it  solely  with  a  view  to  her  own 
chance  of  deliveranco  that  she  thus  connected  him 
in  her  thoughts  with  the  plan  which  she  meditated. 
Tho  look  of  proud  and  sdf-gratulating  mahce,  with 
which  the  High  Priest  had  mentioned  this  '  Infidel,' 
as  he  styled  him,  when  giving  her  instructions  In  the 
scene  she  was  to  act  before  the  philosopher  in  the 
valley,  too  plainly  infojni"d  l'"r  nf  the  dark  dLstiuy 
that  hung  over  him.  She  Knevr  liov*^  many  were 
the  hapless  candidates  for  luitiaticn  wlio  had  been 
doomed  to  a  durance  worse  than  t:iat  of  the  grave, 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


703 


for  but  a  word,  a  whisper,  breathed  against  the 
sacred  absurdities  that  tliey  witnessed  ;  and  it  was 
evident  to  her  that  the  venerable  Greek  (for  such 
her  fancy  represented  Alcipliron)  was  no  less  in- 
terested In  escaping  from  tho  snares  and  perils  of 
this  regiov.  than  herself. 

"H:.'  ;:vn  resolution  was,  at  all  events,  fixed. 
That  visionary  scene,  in  which  she  had  appeared 
before  Alciphron — little  knowing  how  ardent  were 
the  heart  and  imagination  over  which  lier  beauty,  at 
that  moment,  exercised  its  influence — was,  she  sol- 
emnly resolved,  the  very  last  unholy  service,  that 
supei-stition  or  imposture  should  ever  command  of 
her. 

"  On  t!ie  following  night  tho  Aspirant  was  to 
watcli  in  tlie  Great  Tenipio  of  Isis.  Such  an  op- 
portunity of  approaching  and  addn;ssing  him  might 
never  come  again.  Should  he,  from  compassion  for 
her  situation,  or  a  sense  of  the  danger  of  his  own, 
consent  to  lend  his  aid  to  her  flight,  most  gladly 
would  she  accept  it — well  assured  that  no  danger 
or  treachery  she  might  risk  could  be  half  so  odious 
and  fearful  as  those  which  she  left  behind.  Sliould 
he,  on  tiiC  contrary,  reject  tho  proposal,  her  deter- 
mination was  equally  fixed — -to  trust  to  that  God 
whose  eye  watclies  over  the  innocent,  and  go  forth 
alone. 

"  To  reach  the  island  in  Lake  Mceris  was  her 
fi.rst  great  object ;  and  there  occm-red  fortunately,  at 
this  time,  a  mode  of  effecting  her  purpose,  by  wnich 
both  t!ie  diHculty  aud  dangers  of  tiie  attempt  would 
be  much  diminished.  The  day  of  the  annual  visita- 
tion of  the  High  Priest  to  the  Place  of  Weeping' — ■ 
as  that  island  in  the  centre  of  the  Lake  is  Cdlled — 
was  now  fast  approaching ;  and  Alethe  knew  that 
the  self-moving  car,  by  which  tho  High  Priest  and 
one  of  the  Hierophants  are  conveyed  down  to  the 
chambers  under  the  Lake,  stood  then  waiting  in 
readiness.  By  availing  herself  of  this  expedient,  she 
wonld  gain  the  double  advantage  both  of  facilitating 
her  own  flight,  and  retarding  the  speed  of  her  pur- 
suers. 

"  Having  paid  a  last  visit  to  the  tomb  of  her  be- 
loved mother,  and  wept  there,  long  and  passionately, 
till  her  heart  almost  failed  in  the  struggle — having 
paused,  too,  to  give  a  kiss  to  her  favorite  ibis,  which, 
althougli  too  much  a  Christian  to  worship,  she  was 
still  c!.ild  enough  to  love — she  went  early,  with  a 
trembling  step,  to  the  Sanctuary,  and  there  hid  her- 
self in  one  of  the  recesses  of  the  Shrine.  Her  in- 
tention was  to  steal  out  from  thence  to  Alciphron, 
while  it  was  yet  dark,  and  before  tho  illumination 
of  the  great  Statue  behind  the  Veils  had  begim. 
But  her  fears  delayed  her  till  it  was  almost  too  late ; 

1  Vide  Ir'Uford,  JJsiatic  Researches^  vol,  iii.  p.  340. 


— already  was  the  image  lighted  up,  and  still  she 
remained  trembling  in  her  hiding-place. 

"  In  a  few  ni;n\ites  more  the  mighty  Veils  would 
have  been  withdrawn,  and  the  glories  of  that  scene 
of  enchantment  laid  open — when,  at  length,  sum- 
moning all  her  coiu:age,  and  taking  advantage  of  a 
momentary  absence  of  those  employed  in  preparing 
this  splendid  mockery,  she  stole  from  under  the  Veil, 
aud  found  her  way,  through  the  gloom,  to  tho  Epi- 
curean. Tliere  was  then  no  time  for  explanation  ; 
— she  had  but  to  trust  to  the  simple  words,  '  Follow, 
and  be  silent ;'  and  the  implicit  readiness  with  which 
she  found  them  obeyed  filled  her  with  no  less  sur- 
prise than  the  philosopher  himself  had  felt  in  hearmg 
them. 

"  In  a  second  or  two  they  were  on  their  way 
tninugh  the  subterranean  windings,  leaving  the 
ministers  of  Isis  to  waste  their  splendo]*s  on  vacancy, 
through  a  long  series  of  muacles  and  visions  which 
they  now  exhibited — unconscious  that  he,  whom 
tlie)  were  taking  such  pains  to  dazzle,  was  already, 
under  tlie  guidance  of  the  young  Christian,  far  re- 
moved beyond  tho  reach  of  their  deceiving  spells." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Such  was  the  singular  slorj'',  of  which  this  inno- 
cent girl  now  gave  me,  in  her  own  touching  lan- 
guage, th.e  outline. 

The  sun  was  just  rising  as  she  finished  her  nar- 
rative. Fearful  of  encountering  the  expression  of 
those  feelings  with  which,  she  could  not  but  observe, 
I  was  affected  by  her  recital,  scarcely  had  she  con- 
cluded the  last  sentence,  when,  rising  abruptly  from 
her  seat,  she  hurried  into  the  pavilion,  leaving  mo 
with  the  words  fast  crowding  for  utterance  to  my 
lips. 

Oppressed  by  the  various  emotions  thus  sent  back 
upon  my  heart,  I  lay  down  on  the  deck  in  a  state 
of  agitation,  that  defied  even  the  most  distant  ap- 
proaclies  of  sleep.  While  every  word  she  had  ut- 
tered, every  feeling  she  e.xpressed,  but  ministered 
new  fuel  to  that  flame  which  consumed  me,  and  to 
describe  which,  passion  Is  far  too  weak  a  word, 
there  was  also  much  of  her  recital  that  disheartened 
and  alarmed  me.  To  find  a  Christian  thus  under 
the  garb  of  a  Mempliian  Priestess,  was  a  discoveiy 
that,  had  my  heart  been  less  deeply  interested, 
would  but  have  more  powerfully  stimulated  my  im- 
agination and  pride.     But,  when  I  recollected  the 


704 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


austerity  of  tlio  faith  she  had  embraced — the  tender 
and  sacred  tie  associated  with  it  in  her  inemoiy, 
and  tlic  devotion  of  woman's  lieart  to  objects  thus 
consecrated — her  veiy  perfections  but  widened  the 
distance  between  ns,  and  all  that  most  kindled  my 
passion  at  the  same  time  chilled  my  hopes. 

Were  we  to  be  left  to  each  other,  as  on  this  silent 
river,  in  such  undisturbed  communion  of  thoughts 
and  feelinjs,  I  knew  too  well,  I  tliouglit,  both  her 
sex's  nature  and  my  own,  to  feel  a  doubt  that  love 
would  ultimately  triumph.  But  the  severity  of  tlie 
guardianship  to  which  I  must  resign  her — that  of 
some  monk  of  the  desert,  some  stern  Solitary — tlio 
influence  such  a  monitor  would  gain  over  lier  mind 
— and  the  honor  with  which,  ere  long,  he  might 
teach  her  to  regard  tlio  reprobate  infidel  upon  whom 
she  now  smiled — in  all  this  prospect  I  saw  nothing 
but  despair.  After  a  few  short  houre,  my  dream 
of  happiness  would  be  at  an  end,  and  such  a 
dark  chasm  must  then  open  between  our  fates,  as 
would  dissever  them,  wide  as  earth  from  heaven, 
asunder. 

It  was  true,  slie  was  now  wholly  in  my  power. 
I  feared  no  witnesses  but  those  of  earth,  and  the 
solitude  of  tlie  desert  was  at  hand.  But  tliougli  I 
acknowledged  not  a  heaven,  I  worshipped  her  who 
was,  to  me,  its  typo  and  substitute.  If,  at  any  mo- 
ment, a  single  thought  of  wrong  or  deceit,  towards 
one  so  sacred  arose  in  my  mind,  one  look  from  her 
innocent  eyes  averted  the  sacrilege.  Even  pas- 
sion itself  felt  a  holy  fear  in  her  presence — like  the 
flame  trembling  in  the  breeze  of  the  sanctu- 
ary—and Love,  pure  Love,  stood  in  place  of  Reli- 
gion. 

As  long  as  I  knew  not  her  story,  I  could  indulge, 
at  least,  in  dreams  of  the  future.  But,  now — what 
expectation,  what  prospect  remained?  My  single 
chance  of  happiness  lay  in  tlie  hope,  however  de- 
lusive, of  being  able  to  divert  her  thoughts  from  the 
fatal  project  she  meditated ;  of  weaning  her,  by 
persuasion  and  argument,  from  that  austere  faith, 
which  I  liad  before  hated  and  now  feared ;  and  of 
attaching  her,  perhaps,  alone  and  unlinked  as  she 
was  in  tlie  world,  to  my  own  fortunes  forever ! 

In  the  agitation  of  these  thonglits,  I  had  started 
from  my  resting  place,  and  continued  to  pace  up 
and  down,  under  a  burning  sun,  till,  exhausted  both 
by  thought  and  feeling,  I  sunk  down,  amid  tliat 
blaze  of  light,  into  a  sleep,  which  to  my  fevered 
brain  seemed  a  sleep  of  fire. 

On  awaking,  I  found  the  veil  of  Alethe  laid  care- 
fully over  my  brow  ;  wliile  she,  lierself,  sat  near 
me,  under  the  shadow  of  the  sail,  looking  anxiously 
upon  that  leaf,  wliich  her  mother  had  given  her, 
and  employed  apparently  in  comparing  its  outlines 
with  the  course  of  the  river,  as  well  as  with  the 


forms  of  the  rocky  hill.'i  by  which  we  were  passing 
She  looked  pale  and  troubled,  and  rose  eagerly  to 
meet  me,  as  if  she  had  long  aud  impatiently  waited 
for  my  waking. 

Her  lieart,  it  was  plain,  had  been  disturbed  from 
its  security,  and  was  beginning  to  take  alarm  at  its 
own  feelings.  But,  though  vaguely  conscious  of  the 
peril  to  which  she  was  exposed,  her  reliance,  as  is 
usual  in  such  cases,  increased  with  her  danger,  and 
upon  me,  far  more  than  on  herself,  did  she  seem  to 
depend  for  saving  her.  To  reach,  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, her  asylum  in  the  desert,  was  now  the  urgent 
object  of  her  entreaties  aud  wishes  ;  and  the  self- 
reproach  which  sho  expressed  at  having,  for  a  single 
moment,  suffered  her  thouglils  to  be  diverted  from 
this  sacred  purpose,  not  only  revealed  the  truth,  that 
she  had  forgotten  it,  but  betrayed  even  a  glimmer- 
ing consciousness  of  the  cause. 

Her  sleep,  she  said,  had  been  broken  by  ill-omened 
dreams.  Every  moment  the  shade  of  her  mother 
had  stood  before  her,  rebuking,  with  mournful  looks, 
her  delay,  and  pointing,  as  siio  had  dono  ui  death, 
to  the  eastern  hills.  Bursting  into  tears  at  this  ac- 
cusing recollection,  she  hastily  placed  the  leaf, 
which  she  had  been  examining,  in  my  hands,  and 
implored  that  I  would  ascertain,  witliout  a  moment's 
delay,  what  portion  of  our  voyage  wa-s  still  unper- 
formed, and  in  what  space  of  time  we  might  hope 
to  accomplish  it. 

I  had,  still  less  than  herself,  taken  note  of  either 
place  or  distance ;  and  could  we  have  been  left  to 
glide  on  in  this  dream  of  happiness,  should  never 
have  thought  of  pausing  to  ask  where  it  would  end. 
But  such  confidence  was  far  soo  sacred  to  be  de- 
ceived;  and,  reluctant  as  I  natur.ally  felt,  to  enter 
on  an  inquiry  which  might  soon  dissipate  even  my 
last  hope,  her  wish  was  sufficient  to  supersede  even 
the  selfishness  of  love,  and  on  the  instant  I  pro- 
ceeded to  obey  her  will. 

There  stands  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Nile,  to 
the  nortii  of  Antinoe,  a  high  and  steep  rock,  im- 
pending over  the  flood,  which  h;is  borne,  for  ages, 
from  a  prodigy  connected  with  it,  the  name  of  the 
Mountain  of  the  Birds.  Yearly,  it  i3  said,  at  a 
certain  season  and  hour,  largo  flocks  of  birds  as- 
semble in  the  ravine,  of  which  this  rocky  mountain 
forms  one  of  the  sides,  and  are  there  obser\'cd  to  go 
through  the  mysterious  ceremony  of  inserting  each 
its  beak  into  a  particular  cleft  of  the  rock,  till  tlio  ■ 
cleft  closes  upon  one  of  their  number,  when  all  tiio  ■ 
rest  of  the  birds  take  wing,  and  leave  the  selecteil 
victim  to  die. 

Through  tho  raviue,  rendered  famous  by  this 
charm — for  such  the  multitude  consider  it — there 
ran,  in  ancient  times,  a  canal  from  tho  Nile,  to 
some  great  and  forgotten  city,  now  buried  in  the 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


705 


desert  To  a  short  distance  from  the  river  this 
canal  still  exists,  b;il,  after  having  passed  throii£;h 
the  defile,  its  scanty  waters  disappear,  and  are 
wK".  lly  lost  under  the  sands. 

It  was  in  the  ueigUborhood  of  this  place,  as  I 
coidd  collect  from  the  delineations  ou  the  leaf — 
where  a  flight  of  birds  represented  th.e  name  of  the 
mountain — that  the  abode  of  the  Solitary,  to  whom 
Aletlio  wa.s  about  to  consign  herself,  was  situated. 
Little  as  I  knew  of  the  geography  of  Egypt,  it  at 
once  struck  me,  that  we  had  long  since  left  this 
monntain  behind ;'  and,  on  inquiring  of  our  boat- 
men, I  found  my  conjecture  confirmed.  We  had, 
indeed,  passed  it  on  the  preceding  night ;  and,  as 
the  wind  had  been,  ever  since,  blowing  strongly 
from  the  north,  and  the  sun  was  already  sinking  to- 
wards the  I'.orizon,  we  must  be  now,  at  least,  a 
day's  sail  to  the  soutluvard  of  the  spot. 

This  discovery,  I  confess,  fdlcd  my  heart  with  a 
feeling  of  joy  whicli  I  found  it  difficult  to  conceal. 
It  seemed  as  if  fortune  was  conspiring  with  love  in 
my  behalf,  and,  by  thus  delaying  the  moment  of 
our  separation,  afforded  mo  a  chance  at  least  of 
happiness.  Her  look  and  manner,  too,  when  in- 
formed of  our  mistake,  rather  encouraged  than 
chilled  tliis  secret  hope.  In  the  first  moment  of 
astonishment,  her  eyes  opened  upon  me  with  a 
suddenness  of  splendor,  under  which  I  felt  my  own 
wink  as  tliough  lightning  had  crossed  them.  But 
she  again,  as  suddenly,  let  their  hds  fall,  and,  after  a 
quiver  of  her  lip,  which  showed  the  conflict  of  feel- 
ing then  going  on  within,  crossed  her  arms  upon 
her  bosom,  and  looked  down  silently  upon  the  deck ; 
her  wiiole  countenance  sinking  into  an  expression, 
sad,  but  resigned,  as  if  she  now  felt  thct  fate  was  on 
the  side  of  wrong,  and  saw  Love  already  stealing 
between  her  soul  and  heaven. 

I  was  not  slow,  of  course,  in  availing  myself  of 
what  I  fancied  to  be  the  irresolution  of  her  mind. 
But,  still,  fearful  of  exciting  alarm  by  any  appeal  to 
feelings  of  regard  or  tenderness,  I  but  addressed 
myself  to  her  imagination,  and  to  that  love  of 
novelty  and  wonders,  which  is  ever  ready  to  be 
awakened  within  tlie  youthful  breast.  We  were 
now  approaching  that  region-  of  miracles,  Thebes. 
*'  In  a  day  or  two,"  said  I,  "  we  shall  sec,  towering 
above  the  waters,  the  colossal  Avenue  of  Sphinxes, 
and  the  bright  Obelisks  of  the  Sun.  We  shall  visit 
the  plain  of  Menmon,  and   behold  those   mighty 


1  The  voj-R^es  on  the  Nile  are,  under  favorable  circum- 
stances, performed  with  considerable  rapitiily.  "  En  cinq  ou 
sis  jour^."  says  Mnittety  "on  pourroit  aisCment  rrmonter  do 
rentboiichure  du  Nil  a  ses  cataractes,  ou  descendrc  des  cata- 
ractcs  juMin'.a  \^  iner."  The  great  uncertainty  of  the  navi- 
gation is  proved  by  what  Bdzoni  tells  us ; — ''  Nous  lie  mimes 
celte  fois  que  deux  jours  ct  deiai  pour  fairc  le  tnijet  du  Caire 


statues  that  fling  their  shadows'  at  sunrise  over  the 
Libyan  hills.  W'a  shall  hear  the  image  of  the  Son 
of  the  Morning  responding  to  the  first  touch  of  light 
From  thence,  in  a  few  hours,  a  breeze  like  this  will 
transport  us  to  those  sunny  islands  near  the  cata- 
racts ;  there,  to  wander,  among  the  sacred  palm- 
groves  of  Philoe,  or  sit,  at  noontide  hour,  in  those 
cool  alcoves,'  which  the  waterfall  of  Syene  shadows 
under  its  arch.  Oh,  who  is  there  that,  with  scenes 
of  such  loveliness  within  reach,  would  turn  coldly 
away  to  the  bleak  desert,  and  leave  this  fair  world, 
with  all  its  enchantments,  shining  unseen  and  unen- 
joyed?  At  least"' — I  added,  taking  tenderly  her 
hand  in  mine — "  let  a  few  more  days  be  stolen  from 
the  dreary  fate  to  which  thou  hast  devoted  thyself, 
and  then " 

She  had  heard  but  the  last  few  words — the  rest 
had  been  lost  upon  her.  Startled  by  the  tone  of 
tenderness  into  which,  in  despite  of  all  my  resolves, 
I  had  suffered  my  voice  to  soften,  she  looked  for  an 
instant  with  passionate  earnestness  into  my  face ; — 
then,  dropping  upon  her  knees  with  her  cla.sped 
hands  upraised,  exclaimed, — "  Tempt  me  not.  In 
the  name  of  God  I  implore  thee,  tempt  me  not  to 
swerve  from  my  sacred  duty.  Oh  I  take  me  in- 
stantly to  that  desert  mountain,  and  I  will  bless  thee 
forever." 

This  appeal,  I  felt,  could  not  be  resisted — even 
though  my  heart  were  to  break  for  it.  Having 
silently  intimated  my  assent  to  her  prayer,  by  a 
slight  pressure  of  her  hand  as  I  raised  her  from  the 
deck,  I  proceeded  immediately,  as  we  were  still  iu 
fidl  career  for  the  south,  to  give  orders  that  our 
sail  should  be  instantly  lowered,  and  not  a  moment 
lost  in  retracing  our  course. 

In  giving  these  directions,  however,  it,  for  the 
first  time,  occurred  to  me,  that,  as  I  had  hired  this 
yacht  in  the  neighborhood  of  Memphis,  tt'r.ere  it 
was  probable  the  flight  of  tlie  young  Priestess  would 
be  most  vigilantly  tracked,  we  should  run  the  risk 
of  betraying  to  the  boatmen  the  place  of  her  retreat ; 
— and  there  was  now  a  most  favorable  opportunity 
for  taking  precautious  against  this  danger.  De- 
siring, therefore,  that  we  should  be  landed  at  a  small 
village  ou  the  shore,  under  pretence  of  paying  a 
visit  to  some  shrine  iu  the  ueighborliood,  I  there 
dismissed  our  barge,  and  was  relieved  from  fear  of 
further  observation,  by  seeing  it  again  set  sail,  and 
resume  its  course  fleetly  up  the  curreuL 


a  Metawi,  auqucl,  dans  notre  second  voyage,  nous  avions 
employ^  di.i:-huit  jours." 

3  "  Elles  ont  jir6s  de  vinf  t  mitres  (61  pieds)  d'clAvatioo  ; 
et  au  lever  du  soleil,  leur?  otiilircs  imnicnses  s'ttendetit  an 
loin  sur  la  chaine  I.ibycnne."  Description  generate  Sa 
Thilfcs,  par  MM.  JoUois  et  DesuillierM. 

^  Paul  Lucas. 


706 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


From  the  boats  of  all  descriptions  that  lay  idle 
beside  the  baiili,  I  now  selected  one,  in  every  re- 
Bpect,  suited  to  my  purpose — being,  in  its  shape  and 
aecommodations,  a  miniature  of  our  former  vessel, 
but,  at  the  same  time,  so  light  and  small  as  to  be 
manageable  by  myself  alone,  and  requiring,  with 
the  advantage  of  the  current,  little  more  than  a 
hand  to  steer  it.  This  boat  I  succeeded,  without 
mucli  difficulty,  in  purchasing,  and,  after  a  short 
delay,  wo  were  again  afloat  down  the  current ; — the 
sun  just  then  sinking,  in  conscious  glory,  over  his 
own  golden  shrines  in  the  Libyan  waste. 

The  evening  was  calmer  «.nd  more  lovely  than 
any  that  had  yet  smiled  upon  our  voyage  ;  and,  as 
we  left  the  shore,  a  strain  of  sweet  melody  came 
soothingly  over  our  ears.  It  was  the  voice  of  a 
youug  Nubian  girl,  whom  wo  saw  kneeling  before 
an  acacia,  upon  the  bank,  and  singing,  while  her 
companions  stood  around,  the  wild  song  of  invoca- 
tion, which,  in  her  country,  they  address  to  that 
enchanted  tree  :— 

"  Oh:  .\byssinian  tree, 

Wc  pray,  we  pniy  to  Ihee; 
By  the  glow  of  thy  golden  fruit, 
And  the  violet  hue  of  tliy  flower, 

And  the  preetinf!  tonle 

Of  thy  bough's  sahue 
To  the  stranger  who  seeks  thy  liower.^ 

"Oh!   AhyssinUin  tree, 

How  the  traveller  blesses  thee, 
When  the  night  no  moon  allows, 
And  the  sunset  hour  is  near, 

And  thou  bend'st  thy  boughs 

To  kiss  his  brows, 
Saying,  'Come,  re^t  thee  here.' 

Oh !  Abyssinian  tree. 

Thus  bow  thy  head  to  me  !" 

In  the  burden  of  this  song  the  companions  of  the 
young  Nubian  joined ;  and  we  heard  the  words, 
"  Oh  !  Abyssinian  tree,"  dying  away  on  the  breeze, 
long  after  the  whole  group  had  been  lost  to  our 
eyes. 

Whether,  in  the  new  arrangement  which  I  had 
made  for  our  voyage,  au  motive,  besides  those 
which  I  professed,  had  a  share,  I  can  scarcely,  even 
myself— so  bewildered  were  then  ray  feelings — 
detcriniue.  But  no  sooner  had  the  cutTent  borne 
us  away  from  all  human  dwellings,  and  wo  were 
alone  on  the  waters,  with  not  a  soul  near,  than  I 
felt  how  closely  such  solitude  draws  hearts  toge- 
ther, and  how  much  more  wo  seemed  to  belong  to 
each    other,   than   when   there   wore  eyes  around 

US. 

The  same  feeling,  but  without  the  same  sense  of 

1  Sec  an  account  of  this  sensitive  tree,  which  bends  down 
its  branches  to  those  who  approach  it,  in  M.  Joinard's  De- 
scription of  Syene  and  the  Cataracts. 


its  danger,  was  manifest  in  every  look  and  word  of 
Alethe.  The  consciousness  of  the  one  great  effort 
which  she  had  made  appeared  to  liave  satisfied  her 
heart  on  the  score  of  duty — while  the  dcvotedness 
with  which  she  saw  I  attended  to  her  every  wish, 
was  felt  with  all  that  trusting  gratitude  wiiich,  in 
woman,  is  the  day-spring  of  love.  She  was,  there- 
fore, happy,  innocently  happy  ;  and  the  confiding, 
and  even  affectionate,  unreserve  of  her  manner, 
while  it  rendered  my  trust  more  sacred,  made  it 
also  far  more  difHcult. 

It  was  ouly,  however,  upon  subjcc's  unconnected 
with  our  situation  or  fate,  that  she  y.elded  to  such 
interchange  of  thought,  or  tliat  her  voice  ventured 
to  answer  mine.  The  moment  I  alluded  to  the 
destiny  that  awaited  us,  all  her  cheerfulness  fled, 
and  she  became  saddened  and  silent.  When  I  de- 
scribed to  her  the  be,.uty  of  my  own  native  land — 
its  founts  of  inspiration  and  fields  of  glorj- — her 
eyes  sparkled  with  sympathy,  and  sometimes  even 
softened  into  fondness.  But  when  I  ventured  to 
whisper,  that,  in  that  glorious  countiy,  a  life  full  of 
love  and  liberty  awaited  her  ;  when  1  proceeded  to 
contrast  the  adoration  and  bliss  she  might  command, 
with  the  gloomy  austerities  of  the  life  to  which  she 
was  hastening — it  was  like  the  coining  of  a  sudden 
cloud  over  a  summer  sky.  Her  head  sunk,  as  she 
listened ; — I  waited  in  vain  for  an  answer ;  and 
when,  half  playfully  reproaching  her  for  this  silence, 
I  stooped  to  take  her  hand,  I  could  feel  the  warm 
tears  fast  falling  over  it. 

But  even  this — feeble  as  was  the  hope  it  held  out 
— was  still  a  glimpse  of  happiness.  Though  it  fore- 
boded that  I  should  lose  lier,  it  also  whispered  that 
I  was  loved.  Like  that  lake,  in  the  land  of  Roses," 
whose  waters  are  half  sweet,  half  bitter,'  I  felt 
my  fate  to  be  a  compound  of  bliss  and  pain- -but  its 
very  pain  well  worth  all  ordinary  bliss. 

And  thus  did  the  hours  of  that  night  pass  along  ; 
while  eveiy  moment  shortened  our  hajjpy  dieam, 
and  the  current  seemed  to  flow  with  a  swifter  pace 
than  any  that  ever  yet  hurried  to  the  sea.  Not  a 
feature  of  the  whole  scene  but  lives,  at  this  moment, 
freshly  in  my  memory  ; — the  broken  starliglit  on 
the  water  ; — the  rippling  sound  of  the  boat,  as, 
without  oar  or  sail,  it  went,  like  a  thing  of  enchant- 
ment, down  the  stream  ; — the-  scented  fire,  hurning 
beside  us  upon  the  deck,  and  then  that  face,  on 
which  its  light  fell,  revealing,  at  every  moment, 
some  new  chaim — some  blush  or  look,  more  beau- 
tiful than  the  last ! 

Often,  while  I  sat  gazing,  forgetful  of  all  else, 
in  this  world,  our  boat,  left  wholly  to  itself,  would 

3  The  province  of  ArsiuoS,  now  Fionm. 
3  Paul  Lucas. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


707 


di"iv«  from  its  course,  and  bearino^  us  away  to  tl'.c 
bank,  get  entangled  in  tlie  water  liowers,  or  be 
Ciuiglit  in  some  eddy,  ere  I  perceived  wlicre  we 
were.  Once,  too,  wlieu  the  rustiin;^  of  my  oar 
anioiiff  tiio  flowers  had  startled  away  from  t!ie  bank 
some  wild  antelopes,  that  had  stolen,  at  that  kHII 
hour,  to  drink  of  the  Nile,  wiiat  an  emblem  did  I 
tliink  it  of  the  young  heart  then  beside  me — tasting, 
fv.r  the  first  time,  of  hope  and  love,  and  so  soon, 
alas,  to  bo  scared  from  their  sweetness  forever ! 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  nie;ht  was  now  far  advanced — tlie  bend  of 
our  course  towards  the  left,  and  the  closiiig  in  of  the 
eastern  hills  upon  the  river,  ^^ave  warning'  of  our 
appr^ch  to  the  hermit's  dwelling.  Every  minute 
now  appeared  like  the  last  of  existence;  and  I  felt 
a  sinking  of  despair  at  my  heart,  which  would  have 
been  intolerable,  had  not  a  resolution  that  suddenly, 
and  as  if  by  inspiration,  occurred  to  me,  presented  a 
glimpse  of  hope,  which,  in  some  degree,  calmed  my 
feelings. 

Much  as  I  had,  all  my  life,  despised  hypocrisy — 
the  very  sect  I  had  embraced  being  chiefly  recom- 
mended to  me  by  the  war  they  continued  to  wage 
upon  the  cant  of  all  others — it  was,  nevertheless, 
in  hypocrisy  that  I  now  scrupled  not  to  take  refuge 
from  that  calamity  which  to  me  was  far  woi-se  than 
either  shame  or  death,  my  separation  from  Alethe. 
In  my  despair,  I  adopted  tlie  hurnihating  plan — 
deeply  Immiliating  as  I  felt  it  to  be,  even  amid  the 
joy  with  which  I  welcomed  it — of  offering  myself 
to  this  hermit  as  a  convert  to  his  faith,  and  thus 
becoming  the  fellow-disciple  of  Alethe  under  liis 
care ! 

From  the  moment  I  resolved  upon  this  plan  my 
spirit  felt  lightened.  Thougli  having  fully  before 
my  eyes  the  mean  labp'iuth  of  imposture  into 
which  it  would  lead  me,  I  thought  of  nothing  but 
tlie  chance  of  our  continuing  still  together.  In  this 
hope,  all  pride,  all  philosopliy,  was  forgotten,  and 
every  tiling  seemed  tolerable,  but  the  prospect  of 
losing  her. 

Thus  resolved,  it  was  with  somewhat  less  reluc- 
tant feelings  that  I  now  undertook,  at  the  anxious 
desire  of  my  companion,  to  ascertain  *.lie  site  of 
that  well-known  mountain  in  the  neighborhood  of 
which  the  anchoret's  dwelling  lay.  We  had  already 
passed  one  or  two  stupendous  rocks,  which  stood, 


detached,  like  fortresses,  over  the  river's  brink,  and 
which  in  some  degree  corresponded  with  the  de- 
scription on  the  leaf.  So  little  was  there  of  life  now 
stirring  along  the  shores,  that  I  had  begun  almost  to 
despair  of  any  assistance  from  inquiry,  when,  on 
looking  to  the  western  bank,  I  saw  a  boatman 
among  the  sedges,  towing  his  small  boat,  with  some 
difficulty,  up  the  current.  Hailing  liim  as  we  pass- 
eo,  1  asked, — "  Where  stands  the  Mountain  of  the 
Birds?'*' — and  he  had  hardly  time,  as  he  pointed 
above  us,  to  answer  **  There,"  when  we  perceived 
tliat  we  were  just  then  entciing  into  the  shadow, 
which  this  mighty  rock  flings  across  the  whole  of 
the  flood. 

In  a  few  moments  we  had  reached  the  mouth  of 
the  ravine,  of  which  the  Mountain  of  the  Birds 
forms  one  of  t!ie  sides,  and  througii  which  the 
scanty  canal  from  the  Nile  flows.  At  the  sight  of 
this  awful  chasm,  within  some  of  whose  dreary  re- 
cesses (if  we  had  rightly  interpreted  the  leaf)  the 
dwelling  of  the  Solitary  was  to  be  found,  our  voices 
sunk  at  once  into  a  low  whisper,  while  Alethe 
turned  round  to  me  with  a  look  of  awe  and  eager- 
ness, as  if  doubtful  whether  I  had  not  already  dis- 
appeared from  her  side.  A  quick  movement,  how- 
ever, of  her  hand  towards  the  ravine,  told  too  plain- 
ly that  her  purpose  was  still  unchanged.  Imme- 
diately checking,  therefore,  with  my  oars,  the 
career  of  our  boat,  I  succeeded,  after  no  small  exer- 
tion, in  turning  it  out  of  the  current  of  the  river,  and 
steering  into  this  bleak  and  stagnant  canal. 

Our  transition  from  life  and  bloom  to  the  very 
depth  of  desolation  was  immediate.  WMiile  the  water 
on  one  side  of  the  ravine  lay  buried  in  shadow,  the 
white  skeleton-like  crags  of  the  other  stood  aloft  in 
the  pale  glare  of  moonlight.  The  sluggish  stream 
througii  wliicli  we  moved  yielded  sullenly  to  the 
oar,  and  tiie  shriek  of  a  few  water-birds,  which  we 
had  roused  from  their  fastnesses,  was  succeeded  by 
a  silence,  so  dead  and  awful,  that  our  lips  seemed 
afraid  to  disturb  it  by  a  breath  ;  and  half-whispered 
exclamations,  **  How  dreary  I" — "  How  dismal  I"' — 
were  almost  the  only  words  exchanged  between 
us. 

We  had  proceeded  for  some  time  tlirough  this 
gloomy  defile,  when,  at  a  short  distance  before  us, 
among  the  rocks  upon  which  the  moonlight  fell, 
we  could  perceive,  on  a  ledge  elevated  but  a  little 
above  the  canal,  a  small  hut  or  cave,  which,  from 
a  tree  or  two  planted  around  it,  had  some  appear- 
ance of  being  tlie  abode  of  a  human  being.  "  This, 
then,"  thought  I,  "  is  the  home  to  which  she  is  des- 


•  There  has  been  much  controversy  among  the  Ariibinn 
writers,  with  respect  to  the  site  of  this  nioiiniain,  fur  which 
see  Qiiatremere,  totn.  i.  urt.  ^ntoun. 


708 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


lined !" — A  chill  of  despair  came  a^ain  over  my 
heart,  and  the  oars,  as  I  sat  gazing,  lay  motionless 
in  my  hands. 

I  found  Alethe,  too,  whose  eyes  had  caught  the 
same  object,  drawing  closer  to  my  side  tliaii  slie  had 
yst  ventured.  Laying  her  hand  afritatedly  upon 
mine,  "  We  must  here,"  said  she,  "  part  forever." 
I  turned  to  her  as  she  spoke  ;  there  was  a  tender- 
ness, a  despondency,  in  her  countenance,  that  at 
once  saddened  and  inflamed  my  soul  -'Part!"  I 
exclaimed,  passionately — f^  No  ! — the  same  God 
shall  receive  us  both.  Thy  faith,  Alethe,  shall,  from 
this  hour,  bo  mine ;  and  I  will  live  and  die  -n  this 
desert  witli  tiiee !" 

Her  surprise,  her  delight,  at  these  words  was  .ike 
a  momentarj-  delirium.  The  wild,  anxious  smile, 
with  which  she  looked  into  my  face,  as  if  to  ascer- 
tain whether  she  had  indeed  heard  my  words  ariglit, 
bespoke  a  happiness  too  much  for  reason  to  bear. 
At  length,  the  fulness  of  her  heart  found  relief  in 
tears ;  and,  murmuring  forth  an  incoherei.t  blessing 
on  my  name,  she  let  her  head  fall  languidly  and 
powerlessly  on  my  arm.  The  light  from  our  boat- 
fire  shone  upon  her  face.  I  saw  her  eyes,  which  she 
had  closed  for  a  moment,  again  opening  upon  mo 
with  the  same  tendereess,  and — merciful  Providence, 
how  I  remember  that  moment ! — Vifas  on  the  point 
of  bending  down  my  lips  towards  hers,  when,  sud- 
denly, in  the  air  above  us,  as  if  coming  direct  from 
heaven,  there  burst  forth  a  strain  of  choral  music, 
that  with  its  solemn  sweetness  filled  the  whole 
valley- 
Breaking  away  from  my  caress  at  these  super- 
natural sounds,  the  maiden  threw  herself  trembling 
upon  her  knees,  and,  not  daring  to  look  up,  ex- 
claimed wildly,  "  My  mother,  oh  my  mother  I" 

It  was  the  Christian's  morning  hymn  that  we 
heard  ; — the  same,  as  I  learned  after^'ards,  that,  on 
their  high  terrace  at  Memphis,  she  had  been  taught 
by  her  motlier  to  sing  to  the  rising  sun. 

Scarcely  less  startled  than  my  companion,  I 
looked  up,  and  saw,  at  the  very  summit  of  the  rock 
above  us,  a  light,  appearing  to  come  from  a  small 
opening  or  window,  through  which  those  sounds 
likewise,  that  had  appeared  to  me  so  supernatural, 
issued.  There  could  be  no  doubt,  that  we  had  now 
found — if  not  the  dwelling  of  the  anchoret — at  least, 
the  haunt  of  some  of  tl)0  Christian  brotlierhood  of 
these  rocks,  by  whose  assistance  we  could  not  fail  to 
find  the  place  of  his  retreat. 

The  agitation,  into  wliich  Alethe  had  been  thrown 
by  the  first  burst  of  that  psalmody,  soon  yielded  to 
the  softening  recollections  which  it  brouglit  back  ; 
and  a  calm  came  over  her  brow,  such  as  it  had 
never  before  worn,  since  v.'O  met.  She  seemed  to 
feel  as  if  she  had  now  reached  her  dcstiued  haven, 


and   hailed,  as   the  voice   of  heaven   itself,  those 
solemn  sounds  by  which  she  was  welcomed  to  it 

la  her  tranquillity,  however,  I  was  very  far  from 
yet  sympathizing.  Full  of  impatience  to  learn  all 
tliat  awaited  her  as  well  as  myself,  I  pushed  our 
boat  close  to  the  base  of  the  rock,  so  as  to  bring  it 
directly  under  that  lighted  window  on  the  sunnnit, 
to  explore  my  way  up  to  which  was  now  my  im- 
mediate object.  Having  hastily  received  my  in- 
striu-tions  from  Alethe,  and  made  her  repeat  again 
the  name  of  the  Christian  wiiom  we  souglit,  I 
sprang  upon  the  bank,  and  was  not  long  in  discover- 
ing a  sort  of  path,  or  stairway,  cut  rudely  out  of  the 
rock,  and  leading,  as  I  found,  by  easy  windings,  up 
the  steep. 

After  ascending  for  some  i..  »e,  I  an'ived  at  a  level 
space  or  ledge,  which  the  baud  of  labor  had  suc- 
ceeded in  converting  into  a  garden,*  and  which  was 
planted,  here  and  there,  with  fig-trees  and  palms. 
Around  it,  too,  I  could  perceive,  through  the  glim- 
mering light,  a  number  of  small  caves  or  grottoes, 
into  some  of  which,  human  beings  miglit  find  an  en- 
trance ;  while  others  appeared  of  no  larger  dimen- 
sions than  tliose  tombs  of  the  Sacred  Birds  which 
are  seen  ranged  around  Lake  Mceris. 

I  was  still,  I  found,  but  half-way  up  the  ascent, 
nor  was  there  visible  any  further  means  of  continu- 
ing my  course,  as  the  mountain  from  hence  rose, 
almost  perpendicularly,  like  a  wall.  At  length, 
however,  on  exploring  more  closely,  I  discovered 
behind  the  shade  of  a  fig-tree  a  largo  ladder  of 
wood,  resting  firmly  against  the  rock,  and  aifording 
an  easy  and  safe  ascent  up  the  steep. 

Having  ascertained  thus  far,  I  again  descended 
to  the  boat  for  Alethe,  whom  I  found  trembling 
already  at  her  short  solitude ;  and  having  led 
her  up  the  stairway  to  this  quiet  garden,  left  her 
lodged  there  securely,  amid  its  holy  silence,  while 
I  pursued  my  v.'ay  upward  to  the  light  upon  the 
rock. 

At  the  top  of  the  long  ladder  I  found  my.self  on 
another  ledge  or  platform,  somewh.at  smaller  than 
the  first,  but  planted  in  the  same  manner,  with 
trees,  and,  as  I  could  perceive  by  the  mingled  light 
of  morning  and  the  moon,  embeUished  with  flowers. 
I  was  now  near  the  summit ; — there  remained  but 
another  short  ascent,  and,  as  a  ladder  against  the 
rock  supplied,  as  before,  the  means  of  scaling  it,  I 
was  in  a  few  minutes  at  the  opening  from  which 
the  light  issued. 

I  had  ascended  gently,  as  well  from  a  feeling  of 
awe  at  the  whole  scene,  as  from  an  unwillingness 


1  TIic  nitmks  of  Mftunt  Siniii  {Shaw  snys)  hnve  co%t:^d 
over  near  four  acres  of  the  naked  rocks  with  fruitffll  gar- 
dens nod  orchards. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


709 


to  disturb  rudely  the  rites  on  which  I  intruded. 
My  approacli,  tlicrcforo,  being  uuh.oard,  an  oppor- 
tunity was,  for  some  moments,  af^rded  me  of  ob- 
serving the  group  within,  before  my  appearance  at 
the  window  was  di;?covercd. 

In  the  middle  of  tlic  apartment,  which  seemed 
to  liavc  been  once  a  Pagan  oratory,  tlioro  was  col- 
Itcted  an  assembly  of  about  seven  or  eight  persons, 
some  male,  some  female,  kneeling  in  silence  round 
a  small  altar ; — while,  among  tlieni,  as  if  presiding 
over  their  solemn  ceremony,  stood  an  aged  man, 
wr.o,  at  the  moment  of  my  arrival,  was  ])resentiug 
to  one  of  the  female  worshippers  an  alabaster  cup, 
which  she  applied,  with  profound  reverence,  to  lier 
lips.  The  venerable  countenance  of  the  minister, 
as  he  pronounced  a  short  prayer  over  her  head, 
wore  an  expression  of  profound  feeling  that  showed 
how  w!;olly  he  was  absorbed  in  that  rite  ;  and  when 
she  had  drunk  of  the  cup — which  I  saw  had  en- 
graven on  its  side  tho  image  of  a  head,'  with  a  glory 
round  it — the  holy  man  bent  down  and  kissed  her 
forehead." 

After  this  parting  salutation,  the  whole  group 
rose  silently  from  their  knees ;  and  it  was  then,  for 
the  first  time,  triat,  by  a  cry  of  terror  from  one  of 
itie  women,  tho  appearance  of  a  stranger  at  the 
window  was  discovered.  The  whole  assembly 
seemed  startled  and  alarmed,  except  him,  that  su- 
perior person,  who,  advancing  from  the  altar,  with 
an  unmoved  look,  raised  tlie  latch  of  the  door  ad- 
joining to  the  window,  and  admitted  me. 

Tiicre  was,  in  this  old  man's  features,  a  mixture 
of  elevation  and  sweetness,  of  simplicity  and  energy, 
whicii  commanded  at  oirce  attachment  and  homage  ; 
and  half  hoping,  half  fearing,  to  find  in  him  the 
destined  guardian  of  Alethe,  I  looked  anxiously  in 
Ills  face,  as  I  entered,  and  pronouirced  the  irame 
'*  i\Ie!anius  !" — "  Melanius  is  my  name,  young 
stranger,"  he  answered ;  "  and  whether  in  friend- 
siiip  or  in  enmity  thou  comest,  Melaiiius  blesses 
thee.'  Tiius  saying,  he  made  a  sign  with  his  right 
hand  abov€  my  head,  wliile,  with  invohuitary  re- 
spect, I  bowed  iK-nvith  the  benediction. 

"  Let  this  volume,"  I  replied,  "  airswi-r  for  tlie 
peacefulncss  of  my  mission" — at  the  sume  time, 
placing  in  his  hands  the  copy  of  tho  Scriptures 
wliicii  had  been  his  own  gift  to  the  mother  of  Alethe, 
and  which  her  child  now  brought  as  tho  credential 


1  There  was  usually,  Tcrtultian  tells  us,  Ihe  image  of 
ClirUt  nn  the  conuimiiion-ctips. 

2  "  We  :ire  rather  disposed  to  infer,"  says  the  late  Bishop 
of  Lincoln,  in  his  very  sensiljle  work  on  Terlullian.  **  that, 
at  the  tiinclusion  of  all  their  meetings  for  the  pur|.  ise  of 
devotion,  '.he  early  Christians  were  accustomed  to  give  tho 


of  her  claims  on  his  protection.  At  the  sight  of  this 
Kacred  pledge,  which  ho  instairtly  recognised,  the 
solemnity  th.-it  had  at  first  marked  his  reception  of 
me  softened  into  tenderness.  Thoughts  of  other 
litnes  appeared  to  pass  through  his  mind  ;  and  as, 
with  a  sigh  of  recollection,  )ie  took  the  book  from 
my  hands,  some  words  on  the  outer  leaf  caught  his 
eye.  Tliey  were  few — but  contained,  most  proba- 
bly, tho  last  wishes  of  the  dying  Theora  ;  for,  as  he 
read  .them  over  eagerly,  I  saw  teal's  in  his  aged 
eyes.  "  The  trust,"  he  sa!d,  with  a  faltering  voice, 
"  is  precious  and  sacred,  a;^d  God  v.ill  enable,  I  hope, 
his  servant  to  guard  it  faiihfully." 

During  this  short  dialo_;uc,  tho  other  persons  of 
the  assembly  had  dcpart>  d — being,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  bretliren  from  the  neighboring  bank  of  the 
Nile,  who  came  thtis  scrretly  before  daybreak,'  to 
join  in  wotM,':pping  their  God.  Fearful  lest  their 
descent  down  the  rockjnight  alarm  Alethe,  I  hur- 
ried briefly  over  the  few  words  of  explanation  that 
remained,  and  leaving  the  venerable  Christian  to 
follow  at  his  leisure,  h^-stened  aiLxiously  down  to 
rejoin  the  young  maiden. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Mela.mus  was  ouo  of  the  first  of  those  zealous 
Christians  of  Egypt,  wlio,  following  the  recent  ex- 
ample of  the  hermit,  Paul,  bade  farewell  to  all  the 
comforts  of  social  existence,  and  betook  themselves 
to  a  life  of  contemplation  in  the  desert.  Less  selfish, 
however,  in  his  piety,  than  most  of  these  ascetics, 
Mclanius  forgot  not  the  world  in  leaving  it.  He 
knew  that  man  was  not  born  to  live  wholly  for  him- 
self; that  his  relation  to  human  kind  was  that  of 
the  link  to  the  chain,  and  that  even  his  sohtude 
should  be  turned  to  the  advantage  of  others.  In 
flying,  therefore,  from  the  din  and  disturbance  of 
life,  ho  sought  not  to  place  himself  beyond  the  reach 
of  its  sympathies,  but  selected  a  retreat  where  he 
could  combine  all  the  advantages  of  solitude  with 
those  o])portunitiesof  being  tiseful  to  his  fellow -men. 


kiss  of  peace,  in  token  of  the  Ijrotherly  love  subsisting  be- 
tween them." 

3  It  was  among  the  accusations  of  Cclsus  against  the 
Christians,  that  they  helil  their  assemblies  privately,  and 
contrary  to  law ;  and  one  of  the  speakers,  in  the  curious 
work  of  Minucius  Feliz,  calls  the  Christians  "latebrosa  et 
lucifugax  natio." 


710 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


which  a  neighborhood  to  their  populous  haunts 
would  afford. 

That  taste  for  the  gloom  of  subterranean  recfsses, 
which  the  race  of  Misraim  inlierit  from  their  Ethi- 
opian ancestors,  had,  by  hollowing  out  all  Egypt 
into  caverns  and  crypts,  supplied  these  Christian 
anchorets  with  an  ample  choice  of  retreats.  Ac- 
cordingly, some  found  a  slielter  in  the  grottoes  of 
EJethya ; — others,  among  the  royal  tombs  of  the 
Thebaid.  In  the  middle  of  the  Seven  Valleys,* 
where  the  sun  rarely  shines,  a  few  have  fixed  their 
dim  and  melancholy  retreat ;  while  othci-s  have 
sought  the  neighborhood  of  the  red  Lakes  of  Nitria,'* 
and  there,  like  those  Pagan  solitaries  of  old,  who 
fixed  tlieir  dwelling  among  the  palm-trees  near  the 
Dead  Sea,  pass  their  whole  lives  in  musing  amidst 
the  sterility  of  nature,  and  seem  to  find,  in  her  deso- 
lation, peace. 

It  was  on  one  of  the  in^untyins  of  the  Said,  to 
the  east  of  the-  river,  tliat  IMelanius,  as  we  have 
seen,  rhoso  his  place  of  seclusion — having  all  the 
life  and  fertility  of  the  Nile  on  one  side,  and  the 
lone,  dismal  barrenness  of  the  desert  on  the  other. 
Half  way  down  this  mountain,  where  it  impends 
over  the  ravine,  he  found  a  scries  of  caves  or  grot- 
toes dug  out  of  the  rock,  which  had,  in  other  times, 
ministered  to  some  purpose  of  mystery,  but  whose 
use  had  long  been  forgotten,  and  their  recesses 
abandoned. 

To  this  place,  after  the  banishment  of  his  great 
master,  Origen,  Melanius,  with  a  few  faithful  fol- 
lowers, retired,  and  there,  by  the  example  of  his 
innocent  life,  as  well  as  by  his  feiTid  eloquence, 
succeeded  in  winning  crowds  of  converts  to  his 
faith.  Placed,  as  he  was,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  rich  city,  Antinoe,^  thougli  he  mingled  not 
with  its  multitude,  his  name  and  his  fame  were 
ever  among  them,  and,  to  all  who  songlit  after  in- 
struction or  consolation,  the  cell  of  the  liermit  was 
always  open. 

Notwithstanding  the  rigid  abstinence  of  his  own 
habits,  he  was  yet  careful  to  provide  for  the  com- 
forts of  otliers.  Content  witli  a  rude  pallet  of  straw, 
himself,  he  had  always  for  the  stranger  a  less 
liomely  resting-place.  From  his  gi'otlo,  the  way- 
faring and  the  indigent  never  went  mirefreshed ; 
and,  with  the  aid  of  some  of  his  brethren,  he  had 
formed  gardens  along  the  ledges  of  the  mountain, 
which   gave  an  air  of  life  and  cheerfulness  to  liis 


'  See  Matrizifs  account  of  these  valleys,  given  liy  Qtm- 
tremrrc,  tnm.  i.  p.  450. 

2  For  a  striking  descriplion  of  this  refiion,  sec  **  linmesea" 
a  work  which,  though  in  genenil  tuo  technical  and  eUliorate, 
shows,  in  many  passages,  to  what  piclure^Que  cflects  the 
scenery  and  mythology  of  E^'pl  may  lie  made  subservient. 


rocky  dwelling,  and  supplied  him  witli  the  chief 
necessaries  of  such  a  climate — fruit  and  shade. 

Though  the  acquaintance  he  had  formed  with 
the  mother  of  Alethe,  during  the  short  period  of 
her  attendance  at  the  school  of  Origen,  was  soon 
iuterruptcd,  and  never  afterwards  renewed,  the 
interest  which  he  had  then  taken  in  her  fate  was 
far  too  lively  to  be  forgotten.  He  had  seen  the 
zeal  with  which  her  young  heart  welcomed  in- 
struction ;  and  the  thought  that  so  promising  a  can- 
didate for  heaven  should  have  relapsed  iuto  idolatry, 
came  ofteuj  with  disquieting  apprehension,  over  his 
mind. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  true  pleasure,  that,  but  a 
year  or  two  before  Theora's  death,  he  had  learned 
by  a  private  communication  from  her,  transmitted 
througli  a  Christian  enbalmer  of  Memphis,  that 
"  not  only  had  her  own  heart  taken  root  in  the 
faith,  but  tliat  a  new  bud  had  flowered  with  the 
same  divine  hope  ;  and  that,  ere  long,  he  might  see 
them  both  transplanted  to  tlie  desert." 

The  coming,  therefore,  of  Alethe  was  far  less  a 
surprise  to  him,  than  her  coming  thus  alone  was  a 
shock  and  a  soitow  ;  and  the  silence  of  their  first 
meeting  showed  how  painfully  both  remembered 
that  the  tie  which  had  brought  them  together  was 
no  longer  of  this  world — that  the  hand,  which 
should  have  been  then  joined  with  theirs,  was 
mouldering  in  the  tomb.  I  now  saw,  that  even 
religion  like  his  was  not  proof  against  the  sadness 
of  mortality.  For,  as  the  old  man  put  aside  the 
ringlets  from  her  forehead,  and  contemplated  in 
that  clear  countenance  the  reflection  of  wliat  her 
mother  had  been,  there  mingled  a  moumfnlness 
with  his  piety,  as  he  said,  "  Heaven  rest  l:er  soul !'' 
which  showed  how  little  even  the  certainty  of  a 
heaven  for  those  we  love  can  reconcile  us  to  the 
pain  of  having  lost  them  on  earth. 

The  full  llglit  of  day  had  now  risen  upon  the 
desert,  and  our  host,  reminded,  by  the  faint  looks 
of  Alethe,  of  the  many  anxious  hours  we  had 
passed  witliout  sleep,  proposed  that  we  should 
seek,  in  the  chambere  of  the  rock,  such  rest  as  a 
hennit's  dwelling  could  offer.  Pointing  to  one  of 
the  largest  of  these  openings,  as  he  addressed 
me — "Thou  wilt  find,"  he  said,  "in  that  grotto 
a  bed  of  fresh  doum  leaves,  and  may  the  conscious- 
ness of  having  protected  the  oi-phau  sweeten  tliy 
sleep  I" 


s  From  the  position  assigned  to  Antinoe  in  this  work,  we 
should  cnncluile  that  it  extended  much  ftrlher  to  the  north, 
than  the  few  ruins  of  it  that  remain  would  seem  to  indicate, 
and  that  the  distance  between  the  city  and  the  Mount  ila 
of  the  Birds  was  considerably  less  than  what  it  appears  to 
be  at  present. 


I 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


711 


I  felt  how  dearly  this  praise  had  been  earned, 
and  already  ahnost  repented  of  having  deserved 
it.  There  was  a  sadues.s  in  the  countenance  of 
Alethe,  as  I  took  leave  of  her,  to  which  the  fore- 
bodings of  my  own  heart  but  too  faithfully  re- 
sponded ;  nor  could  I  help  fearing,  as  her  liand 
parted  liiigeringly  from  mine,  that  I  had,  by  this 
sacrifice,  placed  her  beyond  my  reach  forever. 

Having  lighted  for  me  a  lamp,  wliich,  in  these 
recesses,  even  at  noon,  is  necessary,  the  holy  man 
led  me  to  the  entrance  of  the  grotto.  And  here,  I 
blush  to  say,  my  career  of  hypocrisy  began.  With 
the  sole  view  of  obtaining  another  glance  at  Alethe, 
I  turned  humbly  to  solicit  the  benediction  of 
the  Christian,  and,  having  conveyed  to  her,  while 
bending  reverently  down,  as  much  of  the  deep 
feeling  of  ray  soul  as  looks  could  express,  I  then, 
with  a  desponding  spirit,  liurried  into  the  cavern. 

A  short  passage  led  me  to  the  chamber  within — 
the  walls  of  which  I  found  covered,  like  those  of 
the  grottoes  of  Lycopolis,  with  paintings,  wliich, 
though  executed  long  ages  ago,  looked  as  fresh  as 
if  their  colors  were  but  laid  on  yesterday.  Tliey 
were,  all  of  them,  representations  of  rural  and 
domestic  scenes  ;  and,  in  the  greater  number,  the 
melancholy  imagination  of  the  artist  had  called  in, 
as  usual,  the  presence  of  Death,  to  throw  liis  shadow 
over  tne  picture. 

My  attention  was  particularly  drawn  to  one  series 
of  subjects,  throughout  the  %vhole  of  which  the  same 
group — consisting  of  a  youth,  a  maiden,  and  two 
aged  persons,  who  appeared  to  be  the  father  and 
mother  of  the  girl — were  represented  in  all  tlie  de- 
tails of  their  daily  life.  Tlie  looks  and  attitudes  of 
the  young  people  denoted  that  they  were  lovers ; 
and,  sometimes,  they  were  seen  sitting  under  a 
canopy  of  flowers,  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  each 
other's  faces,  as  though  they  could  never  look 
away ;  sometimes,  they  appeared  walkmg  along 
the  banks  of  the  Nile, — 

on  one  ot*  those  sweet  nights 

When  I^is,  tlie  pure  star  of  lovers,'  lights 

Her  bridal  crescent  o'er  the  holy  stream — 

When  wandering  youths  and  maidens  watch  her  beam, 

And  nunilicr  o'er  the  nights  she  hath  to  run, 

Ere  she  again  embrace  her  bridegrooui  sun.3 

Through  all  these  scenes  of  endearment  the  two 
elder  persons  stood  by  ; — their  calm  comitenanccs 
touched  with  a  share  of  that  bliss,  in  whose  perfect 
light  the  young  lovers  were  basking.  Thus  far,  all 
was  happiness ; — but  the  sad  lesson  of  mortality 
was  yet  to  come.  In  the  last  picture  of  the  series, 
one  of  the  figures  was  missing.     It  was  that  of  the 

1  Vide  Piuiarch.  de  Isid. 

a  '•  Conjunclio  soils  cum  Ulna,  quod  est  veluti  utriusque 
connubiuni."    Jditonski. 


young  maiden,  who  had  disappeared  from  among 
them.  On  the  brink  of  a  dark  lake  stood  the  three 
who  remained  ;  while  a  boat,  just  departing  for  the 
City  of  the  Dead,  told  too  plainly  the  end  of  their 
dream  of  happiness. 

Tliis  memorial  of  a  sorrow  of  other  times — of  a 
sorrow,  ancient  as  death  itself— was  not  wanting 
to  deepen  the  melancholy  of  my  mind,  or  to  add 
to  the  weight  of  the  many  bodings'  that  pressed 
upon  it. 

After  a  night,  as  it  seemed,  of  anxious  and  un- 
sleeping thought,  I  rose  from  my  bed  and  returued 
to  the  garden.  I  found  the  Christian  alone — seat- 
ed, under  the  shade  of  one  of  his  trees,  at  a  small 
table,  on  which  there  lay  a  volume  unrolled,  while 
a  beautiful  antelope  was  sleeping  at  his  feet.  Struck 
by  the  contrast  which  he  presented  to  those  haughty 
priests,  whom  I  had  seen  surrounded  by  the  pomp 
and  gorgeousncss  of  temples,  "  Is  this,  then,"  thouglit 
I,  "  the  faith  before  which  the  world  now  trem- 
bles— its  temple  the  desert,  its  treasury  a  book, 
and  its  High  Priest  the  solitary  dweller  of  the 
rock?" 

He  had  prepared  for  me  a  simple,  but  hospitable 
repast,  of  which  fruits  from  his  own  garden,  the 
white  bread  of  Olyra,  and  the  juice  of  the  boney- 
caue,  formed  the  most  costly  luxuries.  His  man- 
ner to  me  was  even  more  cordial  and  fatherly  than 
before  ;  but  the  absence  of  Alethe,  and,  still  more, 
the  ominous  reserve,  with  which  he  not  only,  him- 
self, refrained  from  all  mention  of  licr  name,  but 
eluded  the  few  inquiries,  by  which  I  sought  to  lead 
to  it,  seemed  to  confinn  all  the  apprehensions  I  had 
felt  in  parting  from  her. 

She  had  acquainted  him,  it  was  evident,  with 
the  whole  history  of  our  flight.  My  rejiutation  as 
a  philosopher — my  desire  to  become  a  Christian — 
all  was  already  known  to  the  zealous  anchoret,  and 
the  subject  of  my  conversion  was  the  very  first  on 
which  he  entered.  Oh,  pride  of  philosophy,  how 
wert  thou  then  humbled,  and  with  what  shame  did 
I  stand  in  the  presence  of  that  venerable  man,  not 
daring  to  let  my  eyes  encounter  his,  while,  with 
unhesitating  trust  in  the  sincerity  of  my  intention, 
he  welcomed  me  to  a  participation  of  his  holy  hope, 
and  imprinted  the  Kiss  of  Charity  on  my  infidel 
brow  ! 

Embarrassed  as  I  could  not  but  feel  by  the  hu 
miliating  consciousness  of  hypocrisy,  I  was  even  still 
more  perplexed  by  my  almost  total  ignorance  of  the 
real  tenets  of  the  faith  to  which  I  professed  myself 
a  convert.  Abashed  and  confused,  and  wi\h  a 
heart  sick  at  its  own  deceit,  I  listened  to  the 
animated  and  eloquent  gratulations  of  the  Christian, 
as  though  they  were  words  in  a  dream,  witl.o  it  any 
link   or   meaning ;   nor  could   disguise  but  by  the 


712 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


mockery  of  a  reverent  bow,  at  every  pause,  the 
total  warit  of  eelf-possession,  and  even  of  speech, 
under  which  I  labored. 

A  few  minute.s  more  of  such  (rial,  and  I  must 
have  avowed  my  imposture.  But  the  h.oly  man 
perceived  my  embarrassment ; — and,  wliether  mis- 
taking it  for  awe,  or  knowing  it  to  he  ignorance,  re- 
lieved me  from  my  perplexity  by,  at  once,  changing 
the  theme.  Having  gently  awakened  his  antelope 
from  its  sleep,  "  You  have  doubtless,"  he  said, 
"  heard  of  my  brother-anchoret,  Paul,  who,  from 
his  cave  in  the  marble  mountains,  near  the  Red 
Sea,  sends  liourly  tlie  blessed  '  sacrifice  of  tlianks- 
giving"  to  heaven.  Of  his  walks,  they  tell  me,  a 
liou  is  the  companion  ;'  but,  for  me,"  he  added  with 
a  playful  and  significant  smile,  "  who  try  my  powers 
of  taming  but  on  the  gentler  animals,  this  feeble 
child  of  the  desert  is  a  far  fitter  playmate."  Then, 
taking  his  statT,  and  putting  the  timo-woni  volume 
which  he  had  been  perusing  into  a  large  goat-skin 
pouch,  that  hung  by  his  side,  "  I  will  now,"  said 
he,  "  conduct  thee  over  my  rocky  kingdom,  that 
thou  mayest  see  in  what  drear  and  barren  places 
that  *  sweet  fruit  of  the  spirit,'  Peace,  may  be 
gathered." 

To  speak  of  peace  to  a  heart  throbbing,  as  mine 
did,  at  that  moment,  was  like  talking  of  some  dis- 
tant harbor  to  the  mariner  sinking  at  sea.  In  vain 
did  I  look  around  for  some  sign  of  Alethe  ; — in  vain 
make  an  effort  even  to  utter  her  name.  Conscious- 
ness of  my  own  deceit,  as  well  as  a  fear  of  awaken- 
ing in  the  mind  of  Melanius  any  suspicion  that 
might  tend  to  frustrate  my  only  hope,  threw  a  fetter 
over  my  spirit,  and  checked  my  tongue.  In  humble 
Bilence,  therefore,  I  followed  ;  while  t!ie  cheerful 
old  man,  with  slow,  but  firm  step,  ascended  the 
rock,  by  tlie  same  ladders  which  I  liad  mounted  on 
the  preceding  nigiit. 

During  the  time  w'hen  the  Decian  Persecution 
was  raging,  many  Christians,  as  he  told  me,  of  the 
neighborhood  had  takeii  refuge  under  his  protec- 
tion, in  these  grottoes  ;  and  the  small  chapel  upon 
the  summit,  where  I  had  found  his  tlock  at  prayer, 
was,  in  those  awful  times  of  sufiering,  tlicir  usual 
place  of  retreat,  where,  by  drav.ing  up  these  lad- 
ders, they  were  enabled  to  secure  themselves  from 
pursuit. 

The  view,  froin  the  top  of  the  rock,  extending 
on  either  side,  embraced  the  two  extremes  of  fer- 
tility and  desolation ;  nor  could  the  Epicurean 
and  the  Anchoret,  wlio  now  stood  gazing  from 
that  height,  be  at  any  loss  to  indulge  their  respec- 
tive tastes,   between  the  living  luxuriauco   of  the 

1  M  C/idtcaultrianil  ba^  introduced  Paul  and  his  lioa  into 
the  Martyrs,  liv.  xi. 


world  on  one  side,  and  the  dead,  pulseless  repose  of 
the  desert  on  the  other.  When  we  turned  to  the 
river,  what  a  picture  of  aniination  presented  it- 
self! Near  us  to  the  south,  were  tlie  graceful 
colonnades  of  Antinoe,  its  proud,  populous  streets, 
and  triumphal  monuments.  On  the  opposite  shore, 
rich  plains,  all  teeming  with  cultivation  to  tlio 
water's  edge,  seemed  to  offer  up,  as  from  verdant 
altars,  their  fruits  to  the  sun ;  while,  beneath  us, 
tlie  Nile, 

tlie  gIi)rious  stream, 

Tint  lute  between  Us  bunks  was  seen  lo  glide — 
With  shrines  and  marble  cities,  on  each  side, 
Giittcring,  lilie  jewels  strung  along  a  chain — 
Had  now  sent  forth  its  waters,  and  o'er  jilain 
.And  valley,  like  a  giant  from  his  bed 
Rising  with  cutstrctch'd  limbs  suptTbly  spread. 

From  this  scene,  on  one  side  of  the  mountain,  we  had 
but  to  turn  round  our  eyes  to  the  other,  i.L'.  it  was 
as  if  Nature  herself  had  become  suddenly  extinct ; 
— a  wide  waste  of  sands,  bleak  and  interminable, 
wearying  out  the  sun  with  its  sameness  of  desola- 
tion ; — black,  burut-up  rocks,  that  stood  as  bar- 
riers, at  which  life  stopped  ; — while  the  only  signs 
of  animation,  past  or  present,  were  the  footprints, 
hero  and  there,  of  an  antelope  or  ostrich,  or  the 
bones  of  dead  camels,  as  they  lay  whitcniMr  at  a 
distance,  marking  out  tlie  track  of  the  caravans  over 
the  waste. 

After  listening,  while  ho  contrasted,  in  a  few 
eloquent  words,  the  two  regions  of  life  and  death  on 
whoso  confines  we  stood,  I  again  descended  with 
my  guide  to  the  garden  that  we  had  left.  From 
thence,  turning  into  a  path  along  the  mountain-side, 
he  led  mo  to  another  row  of  grottoes,  facing  the 
desert,  which  had  been  once,  he  said,  the  abode  of 
those  brethren  in  Christ,  who  had  fled  with  him  to 
this  solitude  from  the  crowded  world — but  which 
death  had,  within  a  few  short  months,  rendered 
tenantlcss.  A  cross  of  red  stone,  and  a  icit  faded 
trees,  were  the  only  traces  these  soUtarics  had  left 
behind. 

A  silence  of  some  minutes  succeeded,  while  wo 
descended  to  the  edge  of  the  canal ;  and  I  saw  op- 
posite, among  the  rocks,  that  solitary  cave  which 
had  so  chilled  me  with  its  aspect  on  the  piecedmg 
night.  Beside  the  bank  we  found  one  of  those  rus- 
tic boats,  which  the  Egj-ptians  construct  of  planks 
of  wild  thorn,  bound  rudely  together  with  bands  of 
papyrus.  Placing  ourselves  in  this  boat,  and  rather 
impelling  than  rowing  it  across,  we  made  our  way 
through  the  foul  and  shallow  flood,  and  landed  di- 
rectly under  the  site  of  the  cave. 

This  dwelUng  was  situated,  as  I  have  already 
mentioned,  on  a  ledge  of  the  rock  ;  and,  being  pro- 
vided with  a  sort  of  window  or  aperture  to  admit 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


71.1 


tlio  li^'it  of  heaven,  was  accounted,  I  fonnd,  far 
more  cheerful  than  llic  p-ottoccs  on  tlie  other  side  of 
the  ravine.  But  there  was  a  dreariness  in  the  wliole 
rcfrion  around,  lo  which  light  only  lent  additional 
horror.  The  dead  wliiteness  of  the  rocks,  as  they 
-lood,  hke  ghosts,  in  the  sunshine  ; — tiiat  melan- 
jl.oly  pool,  half  lost  in  the  sands  : — all  gave  to  ray 
in;ud  11:6  idea  of  a  wasting  world.  To  dwell  in 
a  place  so  desolate  seemed  to  me  a  living  death ; 
and  w'.wn  the  Christian,  as  we  entered  the  cave, 
j^aid,  "  Here  is  to  be  Ihy  home,"  prepared  as  I  had 
bi.'eu  for  the  worst,  ail  my  resolution  gave  way  ;— 
'very  feeling  of  disappointed  passion  and  humbled 
pride,  which  had  been  gathering  round  my  heart  for 
tlie  last  few  hours,  found  a  vent  at  once,  and  I  burst 
into  tears. 

Accustomed  to  human  weakness,  and  perhaps 
n;uessing  at  some  of  the  sources  of  mine,  the  good 
Hermit,  without  appearing  to  take  any  notice  of 
this  emotion,  jirocecded  to  expatiate,  with  a  cheer- 
ful air,  on,  what  he  called,  the  comforts  of  my 
dwelling.  Sl'.eltered  from  the  dr)',  burning  wind  of 
the  south,  my  porch  would  hihale,  he  said,  the  fresh 
breeze  of  the  Dog-star.  Fruits  from  his  own  moun- 
tain-garden should  furnish  my  repast.  The  well 
of  the  neighboring  rock  would  supply  my  beverage  ; 
and  "  here,"  he  continued — lowenug  his  voice  into 
a  more  solemn  tone,  as  he  placed  upon  tlie  table 
the  volume  which  he  had  brought — "  here,  my  son, 
is  tliat  *  well  of  living  waters,'  in  which  alone  thou 
wilt  find  lasting  refreshment  or  peace !"  Thus 
baying,  he  descended  tho  rock  to  his  boat ;  and, 
after  a  few  plaslies  of  his  oar  had  died  upon  my  ear, 
the  solitude  and  silence  that  reigned  around  me  was 
complete. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

What  a  fate  was  mme  ! — 'but  a  few  weeks  since, 
presiding  over  that  gay  Festival  of  tlie  Garden,  with 
all  the  luxuries  of  existence  tributary  in  my  train  ; 
and  now — self-humbled  into  a  solitary  outcast — the 
hypocr.lical  pupil  of  a  Christian  anchoret — without 
even  the  excuse  of  religious  fanaticism,  or  any  other 
madness,  but  that  of  love,  wild  love,  to  extenuate 


1  ".Te  vis  dans  Je  d6sert  des  hirondplles  d'un  gris  clair 
comnie  le  s;ilile  sur  lequel  elles  viilent." — Dtnon. 

'  III  iilluniis  tn  Whiiton's  idea  of  a  comet  havinjr  caused 
the  lieluLze,  .V.  Oirard,  iKiving  reriKirked  thnl  the  word  Ty- 
phoii  ni'uis  a  <Iflii;:e.  udds.  "On  ne  pful  ciiiendri'  par  le 
tcta^  du  re^ne  de'l'yphon  qui  celui  pendant  Icqiiel  le  duiuge 


my  fall  !  Were  there  a  hope  that,  by  this  hmnili- 
ating  waste  of  existence,  I  might  purchaKe  now 
and  then  a  momentary  glimpse  of  Alethe,  even  the 
deptlis  of  the  desert,  with  such  a  chance,  would  be 
welcome.  But  to  live — -and  Uve  thus — without  her, 
was  a  misery  which  I  neitlier  foresaw  nor  conld 
endure. 

Hating  even  to  look  upon  the  den  to  which  I 
was  doomed,  I  hurried  out  into  the  air,  and  found 
my  way,  along  the  rocks,  to  the  d-^sert.  Flie  smi 
was  going  down,  witli  that  b!ood-re.l  hue,  which 
he  so  often  wears,  in  this  climate,  at  his  setting. 
I  saw  the  sands,  stretching  out,  like  a  sea,  to  the 
horizon,  as  if  their  waste  extended  to  the  very 
verge  of  the  world — and,  in  the  bitterness  of  my 
feelings,  rejoiced  to  see  so  large  a  po:  ion  of  crea- 
tion rescued,  even  by  this  barren  liberty,  from  llie 
encroaching  grasp  of  man.  The  thought  seemed  to 
relieve  my  wounded  pride,  and,  as  I  wandered  over 
t!;o  dim  and  boundless  solitude,  to  be  thus  free, 
even  amidst  bhght  and  desolation,  appeared  to  me  a 
blessing. 

T!ie  only  living  tiling  I  saw  was  a  restless  swal- 
low, whose  wings  were  of  the  same  hue  with  the 
gray  sands  over  which  he  fluttered.'  *'  Why 
(thought  I)  may  not  tho  mind,  like  this  bird,  par- 
take of  tlie  color  of  tlie  desert,  and  sympat;ii7e  in 
its  austerity,  its  freedom,  and  its  calm  ?"' — thus 
vainly  endeavoring,  between  despondence  and  de- 
fiance, to  encounter  with  some  degree  of  fortitude 
what  yet  my  heart  sickened  to  contemplate.  But 
the  elK>rt  was  unavailing.  Overcome  by  thai  vast 
solitude,  whose  repose  was  not  the  slumber  of  peace, 
but  rather  the  sullen  and  burning  silence  of  hate,  I 
felt  my  spirit  give  way,  and  even  love  itself  yielded 
to  despair. 

Taking  my  seat  on  a  fragment  of  a  rock,  and 
covering  my  eyes  with  my  hands,  I  made  an  etToit 
to  shut  out  tiie  overwhelming  prospect.  But  all 
in  vain — it  was  still  before  me,  with  every  additional 
horror  that  fancy  could  suggest ;  and  when,  again 
looking  forth,  I  beheld  the  last  red  ray  of  tlie  sun, 
shooting  across  the  melancholy  and  lifeless  waste,  it 
appeared  to  me  like  the  light  of  that  comet  which 
once  desolated  this  world,^  and  tlnis  luridly  shono 
out  over  tlie  ruin  that  it  had  made! 

Appalled  by  my  own  gloomy  imaginations,  I 
turned  towards  the  ravine  ;  and,  notwitliStanding 
the  disgust  With  Wiiich  I  had  fled  from  my  dwell- 
ing, was  not  ill  pleased  to  find  my  way,  over  the 


innnda  I.%  terra,  tems  pendnnt  Irquel  on  dut  oli-ervcr  la  co- 
mmie qui  I'occasionna,  etdnntr:;pparition  ful,  nnnseiileineiil 
pour  Ics  peuples  de  I'Ejjypte,  et  de  rElliiopie,  inai'*  t-ncore 
\UA\T  tiius  peuplcs  le  pr.supe  fiine;.tc  do  Icur  dpstructiun 
pretque  lutale." — Description  de  la  Vallit  de  V Fgarrment. 


714 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


rocks,  to  it  again.  On  approaching  tlie  cave,  to 
my  astonisiinicnt,  I  sa%v  a  liglit  williin.  At  such  a 
motiH'iit,  any  vestige  of  life  was  welcome,  and  I 
hailed  tlie  uncxpecled  appearance  with  pleasure. 
On  entering,  however,  I  found  the  chamber  all  as 
lonely  as  I  had  left  it.  The  liglit  I  had  seen  came 
from  a  lamp  that  burned  brightly  on  the  table ; 
beside  it  was  unfolded  the  volume  which  Melanius 
had  brougiit,  and  upon  the  open  leaves — ob,  joy  and 
surprise — lay  the  well-known  cross  of  Alctlio  ! 

What  hand,  but  her  own,  could  have  prepared 
this  reception  for  mo  ? — The  very  thouglit  sent  a 
hope  into  my  heart,  before  which  all  despondency 
fled.  Even  the  gloom  of  the  desert  was  forgotten, 
and  my  rude  cave  at  once  brightened  into  a  bovver. 
She  had  here  reminded  me,  by  this  sacred  memo- 
rial, of  the  vow  which  I  had  pledged  to  her  under 
the  Hermit's  rock  ;  and  I  now  scrupled  not  to  re- 
iterate the  same  daring  promise,  though  conscious 
that  through  hypocrisy  alone  I  could  fulfil  it. 

Eager  to  prepare  myself  for  my  ta.sk  of  impos- 
ture, I  sat  down  to  the  volume,  which  I  now  found 
to  be  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  ;  and  the  first  sentence, 
on  whic!)  my  eyes  fell,  was — "  The  Lord  hath  com- 
manded the  blessing,  even  Life  for  evermore  1" 
Startled  by  these  words,  in  which  it  appeared  to  me 
as  if  the  Spirit  of  my  dream  had  again  pronounced 
his  assuring  prediction,'  I  raised  my  eyes  from  the 
page,  and  repeated  the  sentence  over  and  over,  as  if 
to  try  wiiether  in  these  sounds  there  lay  any  charm 
or  spell,  to  reawaken  that  faded  illusion  in  my  soul. 
But,  no — the  rank  frauds  of  tlie  Memphian  priest- 
hood had  dispelled  all  my  trust  in  the  promLses  of 
religion.  My  heart  had  again  relapsed  into  its  gloom 
of  skepticism,  and,  to  the  word  of  "  Life,"  the  only 
answer  it  seat  back  was,  "  Death  !" 

Being  impatient,  however,  to  possess  myself  of  the 
elements  of  a  faith,  upon  which — whatever  it  might 
promise  for  hereafter — I  felt  that  all  my  happiness 
here  depended,  I  turned  over  the  pages  with  an 
earnestness  and  avidity,  such  as  never  even  the 
most  favorite  of  my  studios  had  awakened  in  me. 
Though,  like  all  who  see;^  Wt  the  surface  of  learn- 
ing, I  flew  desultorily  over  the  leaves,  lighting  only 
on  the  more  prominent  and  shining  points,  I  yet 
found  myself,  even  in  this  undisciplined  career,  ar- 
rested, at  every  page,  by  the  awful,  the  supernatural 
sublimity,  the  alternate  melancholy  and  grandeur  of 
the  images  that  crowded  upon  me. 

I  had,  till  now,  known  the  Hebrew  theology  but 
through  the  platonizing  refinement  of  Pliilo ; — as, 


I  '*  Many  people,"  said  Qrigen,  "  have  Ijcen  brought  over 
to  Chriiiti.-\nity  by  the  Spirit  of  GnA  giving  a  sudden  turn  to 
their  minds,  and  ntfcring  visions  lo  Ihein  eillier  l)y  day  or 
night."     On  this  JotHh  remarks: — "Why  sliould  it  be 


in  like  manner,  for  my  knowledge  of  the  Christian 
doctrine  I  was  indebted  to  my  brother  Epicureans, 
Lucian  and  Celsus.  Little,  therefore,  was  my  mind 
prepared  for  the  simple  majesty,  the  high  tone  of  ' 
inspiration — the  poetry,  in  short,  of  heaven  that 
breathed  throughout  these  oracles.  Could  admira- 
tion have  kindled  faith,  I  should,  that  night,  have 
been  a  believer  ;  so  elevated,  so  awed,  was  my  im- 
agination by  that  wonderful  book — its  warnings  of 
wo,  its  announcements  of  glory,  and  its  unrivalled 
strains  of  adoration  and  sorrow. 

Hour  after  hour,  with  the  same  eager  and  desul- 
tory curiosity,  did  I  turn  over  the  leaves ; — and 
when,  at  length,  I  lay  down  to  rest,  my  fancy  was 
still  haunted  by  the  impressions  it  had  received.  I 
went  again  through  the  various  scene:  -f  which  1 
had  read ;  again  called  up,  in  sleep,  the  bright  im- 
ages that  had  passed  before  mo  ;  and  when  awa- 
kened at  early  dawn  by  the  solemn  Uyinn  from  the 
chapel,  imagined  that  I  was  still  listening  to  the 
sound  of  the  winds,  sighing  mournfully  through  the 
harps  of  Israel  on  the  willows. 

Starting  from  my  bed,  I  hurried  out  upon  the 
rock,  with  a  hope  that,  among  the  tones  of  that 
morning  choir,  I  might  be  able  to  distinguish  the 
sweet  voice  of  Alethe.  But  the  strain  had  ceased  j 
— I  caught  only  the  last  notes  of  tho  Hymn,  as,' 
echoing  up  that  lonely  valley,  they  died  away  into 
the  silence  of  the  desert. 

With  the  first  glimpse  of  light  I  was  again  eager- 
ly at  my  study,  and,  notwithstanding  the  frequent 
distraction  both  of  my  thoughts  and  looks  towards 
tho  distant,  half-seen  grottoes  of  the  Anciiorct,  con- 
tinued my  task  with  unabating  perseverance  through- 
out tho  day.  Still  alive,  however,  only  lo  the  elo- 
quence, the  poetry  of  what  I  studied,  of  its  claims  to 
authority,  as  a  history,  I  never  once  paused  to  con- 
sider. My  fancy  alone  being  interested  by  it;  to 
fancy  alone  I  referred  all  that  it  contained ;  and, 
passing  rapidly  from  annals  to  prophecy,  from  nar- 
ration to  song,  regarded  the  whole  but  as  a  tissue  of 
oriental  allegories,  in  which  tho  deep  melancholy  of 
Egyptian  associations  was  interwoven  with  the  rich 
and  sensual  imagery  of  the  East. 

Towards  sunset  I  saw  the  venerable  Hermit,  on 
his  way,  across  the  canal,  to  my  cave.  Tiiough  ho 
was  accompanied  only  by  liis  graceful  antelope, 
which  came  snuffing  the  wild  air  of  the  desert,  as  if 
scenting  its  home,  I  felt  his  visit,  even  thus,  to  be 
a  most  welcome  relief.  It  was  the  hour,  he  said, 
of  Ills   evening  ramble   up  the   momvtaiu — of  liis 


thought  improbable  that  Pagans  of  good  dispositions,  but  not 
free  from  prejudices,  should  have  been  called  by  divine  ad- 
monitions, by  dreams  or  visions,  which  might  be  a  support 
to  Christianity  in  those  days  of  distress  1" 


•sm  " 

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Bll. 

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Al 
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I 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


ri5 


accustomed  visit  to  those  cistonis  of  tho  rock, 
from  wliich  he  drew  nightly  his  most  precious 
beverag^e.  While  ho  spoke,  I  observed  in  hie  hand 
one  of  those  earthen  cups,'  in  which  it  is  the 
cnstom  of  tho  iuiiabitants  of  the  wilderness  to  col- 
ect  tho  fresh  dew  among  the  rocks.  Having  pro- 
posed that  I  should  accompany  him  in  his  walk, 
he  proceeded  to  lead  me,  in  tho  direction  of  tiie 
desert,  np  the  side  of  tiie  mountain  that  rose  above 
my  dwelling,  and  which  formed  the  southern  wall 
or  screen  of  t)ie  defile. 

Near  the  summit  we  found  a  seat,  where  the  old 
man  paused  to  rest.  It  commanded  a  full  view 
over  tho  desert,  and  was  by  the  side  of  one  of  tiiose 
hollows  in  the  rock,  those  natural  reservoirs,  in 
which  are  treasured  tlie  dews  of  night  for  the 
refreshment  of  the  dwellers  in  the  wilderness. 
Having  learned  from  me  how  far  I  had  advanced 
in  my  study — "  In  yonder  light,"  said  lie,  pointing 
to  a  small  cloud  in  the  east,  which  had  been  formed 
on  the  horizon  by  the  haze  of  the  desert,  and  was 
now  faintly  reflecting  the  splendors  of  sunset — 
"in  the  midst  of  that  light  stands  Mount  Sinai,  of 
whoso  glory  thou  hast  read ;  upon  whose  summit 
was  the  scene  of  one  of  those  awful  revelations,  iu 
which  the  Almiglity  has  renewed  from  time  to 
time  his  communication  with  Man,  and  kept  alive 
the  remembrance  of  his  own  Providence  in  this 
world." 

After  a  pause,  as  if  absorbed  in  the  immensity  of 
the  subject,  the  holy  man  continued  his  sublime 
theme.  Looking  back  to  tho  earliest  annals  of  time, 
lie  showed  how  constantly  every  relapse  of  the 
human  race  into  idolatry  has  been  followed  by 
some  manifestation  of  Divine  power,  chastening 
the  strong  and  proud  by  punishment,  and  winning 
back  the  humble  by  love.  It  was  to  preserve,  he 
said,  unextinguished  upon  earth,  that  great  and 
vital  truth — the  Creation  of  the  world  by  one  Su- 
preme Beiuij — that  God  chose,  from  among  the  na- 
tions, an  humble  and  enslaved  race — that  he  brought 
them  out  of  their  captivity  "ou  eagles'  wings,"  and, 
still  surrounding  every  step  of  their  course  with 
miracles,  has  placed  them  before  the  eyes  of  all 
succeeding  generations,  as  the  depositaries  of  his  will 
and  the  ever-diu-ing  memorials  of  his  power.^ 


I  Palladius,  who  lived  some  time  ia  Egypt,  describes  the 
monk  Ptolemrtus,  who  inhabited  the  desert  of  Scete,  as 
collecliiip  in  earthen  cups  the  abundant  dew  from  the 
rocks." — Dibliothec.  Pat.  tnm.  xiii. 

a  The  brief  sketch  here  given  of  the  Jewish  dispen5alion 
agrees  very  much  with  the  view  taken  of  it  hy  Dr.  Sumner, 
in  the  first  chapters  of  his  eloquent  work,  the  "  Records  of 
the  Creation." 

3  In  the  original,  the  discourses  of  the  Hermit  are  given 
much  more  at  length. 

*  "It  is  impossible  to  deny,"  says  Dr.  Sumner,  "  that  the 


Passing,  then,  in  review  the  long  train  of  inspired 
inlerpretej*s,  whose  pens  and  whose  tongues  were 
made  the  echoes  of  the  Divine  voice,^  ho  traced 
throughout  tho  events  of  succfssive  ages,  tho  grad- 
ual unfolding  of  the  dark  scheme  of  Providence- — 
darkness  without,  but  all  light  and  glory  within. 
The  glimpses  of  a  coming  redemption,  visible  even 
through  the  wrath  of  Heaven  ; — the  long  series  of 
prophecy  through  which  this  hope  runs,  burning 
and  alive,  like  a  spark  along  a  chain  ; — the  slow 
and  merciful  preparation  of  the  hearts  of  mankind 
for  the  great  trial  of  their  faitli  and  obedience  that 
was  at  hand,  not  only  by  miracles  that  appealed  to 
the  living,  but  by  prophecies  launciied  into  the 
future  to  carry  conviction  to  the  yet  unborn  ; — 
"  through  all  these  glorious  and  beneficent  grada- 
tions we  may  track,"  said  he,  "  tlie  manifest  foot- 
steps of  a  Creator,  advancing  to  Iiis  grand,  nltimato 
end,  the  salvation  of  his  creatures." 

After  some  hours  devoted  to  these  holy  instruc- 
tions, we  returned  to  tho  ravine,  and  Melanius  left 
me  at  my  cave  ;  praying,  as  he  parted  fiom  me — 
witii  a  benevolence  which  I  but  ill,  alas  !  deserved 
— that  my  soul  miglit,  under  these  lessons,  be  *'  as 
a  watered  garden,"  and,  ore  long,  "  bear  fruit  imto 
life  etenial." 

Next  morning,  I  was  again  at  my  study,  and 
even  more  eager  in  the  awakening  task  than  before. 
With  the  commentary  of  the  Hermit  freshly  in  my 
memoi-y,  I  again  read  through,  with  attention,  tho 
Book  of  the  Law.  But  in  vain  did  I  seek  the 
premise  of  immortality  in  its  pages.^  '*  It  tells 
nie,"  said  I,  "  of  a  God  coming  down  to  earth,  but 
of  the  ascent  of  Man  to  heaven  it  speaks  not.  The 
rewards,  the  punishments  it  announces,  lie  all  on 
this  side  of  the  grave  ;  nor  did  even  tlio  Omnipotent 
ofTcr  to  his  own  chosen  servants  a  hope  beyond 
tlie  impassable  limits  of  this  world.  Where,  then, 
is  the  salvation  of  which  the  Christian  spoke?  or, 
if  Death  be  at  the  root  of  th.e  faith,  can  Life  spring 
out  of  it  ?" 

Again,  in  tho  bitterness  cf  Jisappointment,  did  I 
mock  at  my  own  wiling  self-delusion — again  rail 
at  tho  arts  of  that  traiUess,  Fancy,  ever  ready,  like 
tho  Delilah  of  this  wondrous  book,  to  steal  upon  the 
slumbers  of  Reason,  and  deliver  him  up,  shorn  and 


sanctions  of  the  Mosaic  Luware  altogether  temporal 

It  is,  ind"''(!,  one  of  the  facts  that  can  only  be  explained  by 
acknowledging  that  he  really  acted  under  a  Divine  coinmis- 
sion,  promulgating  a  temporary  law  for  a  peculiar  purpose,' 
— a  nnich  more  candid  and  sen:?iMe  way  of  treating  this 
very  difficult  puint,  than  by  eitlier  ende woriiig,  .Jve  War- 
burton,  to  escape  from  it  into  a  parados,  or,  slill  uorsc,  con 
triviug,  like  Dr.  Graves,  to  increase  its  dilhculty  by  expla- 
nation.—Vide  "  On  the  Pentateuch."  See  also  Hornets  In- 
troduction, &c.,  vol.  i.  p.  220. 


716 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


powerless,  to  his  foes.  If  deception,  tlioiight  I,  bo 
necessary,  at  least  let  mc  not  practise  it  ou  myself; 
— in  tlic  desperate  alternative  before  me,  let  me 
;    rather  be  even  hypocrite  than  dupe. 

These  self-accnsingf  reflections,  cheerless  as  they 
rendered  my  task,  did  not  abate,  for  a  single  mo- 
ment, my  industry  in  pursuing  it.  I  read  ou  and 
on,  with  a  sort  of  sullen  apathy,  neither  channcd 
by  style,  nor  transported  by  imagery — the  fatal 
blight  in  my  heart  having  communicated  itself  to 
my  imagination  and  taste.  The  curses  and  the 
blessings,  the  glory  and  the  ruin,  which  the  historian 
recorded  and  the  prophet  had  predicted,  seemed  all 
of  this  world — all  temporal  and  earthly.  That  mor- 
tality, of  which  the  fountain-head  had  tasted,  tinged 
the  whole  stream  ;  and  when  I  read  the  words,  *'  all 
are  of  the  dust,  and  all  turn  to  dust  again,"'  a  feel- 
ing, like  the  wind  of  tlio  desert,  came  witheringlj^ 
over  me.  Love,  Beauty,  Glory,  every  thing  jnost 
brigiit  and  worshipped  upon  earth,  appeared  to  be 
sinking  before  my  eyes,  under  this  dreadful  doom, 
into  ouo  general  mass  of  corruption  and  silence. 

Possessed  by  the  image  of  desolation  I  had  thus 
called  up,  I  laid  my  head  upon  the  book,  in  a  parox- 
ysm of  despair.  Death,  in  all  his  most  ghastly 
varieties,  passed  before  me  ;  and  I  liad  continued 
thus  for  some  time,  as  under  the  influence  of  a  fear- 
ful vision,  when  the  toucli  of  a  hand  upon  my 
shoulder  roused  me.  Looking  up,  I  saw  the  An- 
choret standing  by  my  side ; — his  countenance 
beaming  with  that  sublime  tranquillity,  which  a  hope, 
beyond  this  earth,  aloue  can  bestow.  How  I  did 
envy  him  ! 

We  again  took  our  way  to  the  seat  upon  the 
mountain — the  gloom  within  my  own  mind  making 
every  thing  around  me  more  gloomy.  Forgetting 
my  hypocrisy  _  -ny  feelings,  I  proceeded  at  ouee 
to  make  an  avowai  to  him  of  all  the  double  and  fears 
which  my  study  of  the  morning  had  awakened. 

"  Thou  art  yet,  my  son,"  he  answered,  "  but  on 
the  threshold  of  our  faith.  Thou  hast  seen  but  the 
first  rudiments  of  the  Divine  plan  ; — its  full   and 

I  While  Voltaire,  Volncy,  &c.,  refer  to  the  Ecclesiastes, 
as  ahounding  with  Icncts  of  materialism  and  Epicurism.  M. 
Dcs  Voiu.^  and  others  find  in  it  strong  pronis  of  lelief  in  a 
future  .state.  The  cliief  diirictilty  lies  in  the  chapter  from 
wliieli  tills  te.vt  is  quoted;  and  the  mode  of  construction  by 
which  seme  writers  attempt  to  get  rid  of  it — namely,  by 
putting  these  te.\ts  into  tlie  month  of  a  funlish  reasoner — 
appears  forced  and  gratuitous. — Vide  Dr.  Hntr^s  Jlnahjsis. 

a  Tills  opinion  of  the  Hermit  may  be  supposed  to  have 
been  derived  from  his  master,  Origen  ;  but  it  is  not  easy  to 
ascertain  the  e.\act  doctrine  of  Orlgen  on  this  subject.  In 
the  Treatise  on  Prayer  attributed  to  him,  he  asserts  that  God 
the  Father  alone  should  he  invoked — which,  says  Bayle,  is 
to  "enchi-rir  sur  les  Heresies  des  Sorinicns.*'  Notu'iih- 
standing  this,  however,  and  some  other  indications  of.  what 
w;is  afterwards  called,  Arianism,  (such  as  the  opinion  of  the 
divinity  being  received  by  eominttnication,  which  Mitncr 


consummate  perfection  hatli  not  yet  opened  trpon 
thy  mind.  However  glorious  that  manilestalion 
of  Divinity  on  Mount  Sinai,  it  was  but  the  lore- 
runner  of  unotlier,  still  more  glorious,  which,  in 
tlie  fulness  of  time,  was  to  burst  upon  the  w  orld  ; 
when  all,  tliat  before  had  seemed  dim  ;ind  inc;om- 
plete,  was  to  be  perfected,  and  ti.e  prcmses, 
shadowed  out  by  the  '  spirit  of  proplieey,'  real  zed  ; 
— when  the  seal  of  silence,  under  wliicii  the  Future 
hud  so  long  lain,  was  to  be  broken,  and  the  glad 
tidings  of  life  and  immortality  proclaimed  to  tl;o 
world  1" 

Observing  my  features  brigh.lon  at  these  words, 
the  pious  man  continued.  Anticipating  some  of 
the  holy  knowledge  that  was  in  slore  for  me,  he 
traced,  through  all  its  wonders  and  mercies,  the 
great  work  of  Redemption,  dwelling  in  detail  upon 
every  miraculous  circumstance  connected  with  it — 
the  exalted  nature  of  the  Being,  by  whose  mi,„firv 
it  was  accomplished,  the  noblest  and  first  created 
of  the  Sons  of  God,°  inferior  only,  to  the  one,  self- 
e.xistent  Father; — the  mysterious  incarnation  of 
this  heavenly  messenger  ;— the  miracles  that  au- 
thenticated his  divine  mission ; — the  example  of 
obedience  to  God  and  love  to  man,  which  l.e  set,  as 
a  sliining  light,  before  the  world  forever ; — and, 
lastly  and  cliielly,  his  death  and  resurreclion,  by 
whicli  the  covenant  of  mercy  was  sealed,  and  "  life 
and  immortaliiy  brought  to  light." 

"  Such,"  continued  the  Hermit,  "  was  the  Me- 
diator, promised  through  all  time,  to  '  make  recon- 
ciliation for  iniquity,'  to  change  death  into  life,  and 
bring  '  healing  on  his  wings'  to  a  darkened  world. 
Such  was  th.e  last  crowning  dispensation  of  that 
God  of  benevolence,  in  whoso  hands  sin  and  deatlj 
are  but  instruments  of  everlasting  good,  and  who, 
through  apparent  evil  and  temporary  retributon, 
bringing  all  things  '  out  of  darkness  into  l.is  mar- 
vellous light,'  proceeds  watchfully  and  unchangingly 
to  the  great,  iinal  object  of  his  providence — Ihe  res- 
toration of  the  whole  human  race  to  purity  and 
happiness  !''^ 

asserts  to  have  been  held  by  this  Father,)  Origen  was  one 
of  the  authorities  quoted  by  Alhanasius  in  sufiport  of  liis 
high  doctrines  of  coeternily  and  co-essenti.ility.  What 
Priestley  says  is,  pcrbajis,  the  best  solnlion  of  these  Incun- 
sistencies  ; — "  Ori^^en,  as  well  as  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  has 
been  thoucht  to  fivor  the  .\rian  principles;  but  he  (lid  il 
only  in  words,  and  not  in  ideas " — Early  Opinions,  S-c. 
Whatever  uncertainty,  however,  there  may  exist  with 
respect  to  the  opinion  of  Origen  himself  on  this  sulijecl. 
there  is  no  doubt  tint  the  doctrines  of  his  imniediale  fol- 
lowers were,  at  least,  Antl-Athanasian.  "  So  many  Bi^ho|)s 
of  Africa,"  says  Priestley,  "  were,  at  this  period  Cl'elween 
the  year  255  and  258)  Unitarians,  that  Alhana^ins  says, 
'  The  Son  of  God' — meaning  his  divinity — 'was  scarcely 
any  longer  preached  in  the  churches.'  " 

3  This  benevolent  doctrine — which   not  only  goes  fir  tn 
solve  the  great  problem  of  moral  and  physical  evil,  biil  which 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


717 


Wlt'.i  a  niiiid  aslonislicd,  if  not  touched,  by  tlicse 
(iiscourscs,  I  returned  to  my  cave,  and  found  the 
lamp,  as  before,  ready  liglUed  to  receive  me.  Tlie 
volume  which  I  liad  been  liitherto  studying,  was  re- 
pKiced  by  anotlier,  which  biy  open  upon  tlio  table, 
with  a  brancli  of  fresh  pahn  between  its  leaves. 
Though  I  could  not  doubt  to  whose  gentle  and 
guardian  hand  I  was  indebted  for  this  invisible 
watchfulness  over  my  studies,  there  was  yet  a 
something  in  if,  so  like  spiritual  interposition,  that  it 
struck  me  with  awe  ; — -and  never  more  than  at  tliis 
moment,  when,  on  approacliiug  the  volume,  I  saw, 
as  tiie  light  glistened  over  its  silver  letters,'  that  it 
was  the  very  Book  of  Life  of  wliich  the  Hermit  had 
spoken  ! 

The  midnight  hymn  of  the  Christians  had  .sound- 
ed througli  the  valley,  before  I  had  yet  raised  my 
eyes  from  that  sacred  volume ;  and  the  second  hour 
of  the  sun  found  me  again  over  its  pages. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 

i«  this  mode  of  existence  I  \td  now  passed  some 
days  ; — my  mornings  devoted  to  reading,  my  nights 
to  listening,  under  the  wide  canopy  of  heaven,  to 
the  holy  eloquence  of  Melanius.  The  perseverance 
with  which  I  inquired,  and  the  quickness  with 
which  I  learned,  soon  succeeded  in  deceiving  my 
benevolent  instructor,  who  mistook  curiosity  for 
zeal,  and  knowledge  for  belief.  Alas !  cold,  and 
barren,  and  earthly  was  that  knowledge — the  word 
without  the  spirit,  the  shape  without  the  life.  Even 
when,  as  a  relief  from  hypocrisy,  I  persuaded  my- 
self that  I  bf'eved,  it  was  but  a  brief  delusion, 
a  faith,  whose  hope  crumbled  at  the  touch — 
like  the  fruit  of  the  desert-shrub,^  shining  and 
empty  ! 

But,  though   my  soul  was   still  dark,  the   good 

would,  if  received  more  generally,  lend  to  soften  the  siiirit  of 
uncharitabiencss,  so  fatally  prevalent  among  Christian  sects 
—was  maintained  by  that  gre.it  light  of  the  e.irly  Church, 
Origen,  and  has  not  wanted  supporters  among  more  modern 
Theologians.  That^'illotson  was  incHned  to  the  opinion 
appears  from  his  sermon  preached  bcfljre  the  queen.  Palcy 
IS  suiiposcd  to  have  held  the  same  amiable  doctrine ;  and 
Newton  (the  author  of  the  work  on  the  Prophecies)  is  also 
among  the  supporters  of  it.  For  a  full  account  of  the  argu- 
ments in  favor  of  thi.s  opinion,  derived  both  from  reason  and 
the  cypress  language  of  Scripture,  see  Dr.  Southwood  Smit/t's 
very  interesting  work,  "Ou  the  Divine  Government."  See 
aho  JHii<T£c  an  .'Jft^ncwirii/,  where  the  doctrine  of  the  advocates 
of  Universal  Restoration  is  thus  briefly,  and,  I  believe,  fairly 
explained  : — "  BeginoiDg  with  the  existence  of  an  intinitely 


Hermit  saw  not  into  its  deptl-.s.  The  very  facility 
of  my  belief,  which  might  have  suggested  some 
doubt  of  its  sincerity,  was  but  regarded,  by  his 
innocent  zeal,  as  a  more  signal  triumph  of  the 
truth.  His  own  ingenuousness  led  him  to  a  ready 
trust  in  others  ;  and  the  examples  of  such  conver- 
sions as  that  of  the  philosoplier,  Justin,  who,  during 
a  walk  by  the  sea-shore,  received  the  light  into  his 
soul,  had  prepared  liim  for  illuminations  of  the 
spirit,  even  more  rapid  than  mine. 

During  all  this  time,  I  neither  saw  nor  heard 
of  Alethe ; — nor  could  my  patience  have  endured 
through  so  long  a  privation,  had  not  those  mute 
vestiges  of  her  presence,  that  welcomed  me  every 
night  on  my  return,  made  me  feel  that  I  was  still 
living  under  her  gentle  hifluence,  and  that  h.er 
sympathy  hung  round  every  step  of  my  progress. 
Once,  too,  when  I  ventured  to  speak  her  name  to 
iVIelanius,  though  he  answered  not  my  inquir;', 
there  was  a  smile,  I  tha-gh?  of  promise  upon  his 
countenance,  which  love,  far  f.cre  alive  than  faith, 
was  ready  to  interpret  as  it  desired. 

At  length — it  was  on  the  si.xth  or  seventh 
evening  of  my  solitude,  when  I  lay  resting  at  the 
door  of  my  cave,  after  the  study  of  the  day — -I 
was  startled  by  hearing  my  name  called  loudly 
from  the  opposite  rocks ;  and  looking  up,  saw, 
upon  the  cliff  near  the  deseited  grottoes,  Melanius 
and — oh  !  I  could  not  doubt — my  Alethe  by  his 
side ! 

Though  I  had  never,  since  the  first  night  of  my 
return  from  the  desert,  ceased  to  flatter  myself  wiih 
the  fancy  that  I  was  still  living  in  her  presence,  the 
actual  sight  of  her  once  more  made  me  feel  for 
what  a  long  age  we  had  been  separated.  She  was 
clothed  all  in  white,  and,  as  sl;e  .stood  in  the  last 
remains  of  the  sunshine,  appeared  to  my  too  pro- 
phetic fancy  like  a  parting  spirit,  whose  last  foot- 
steps on  earth  that  pure  glory  encircled. 

With  a  delight  only  to  be  imagined,  I  saw  them 
descend  the  rocks,  and,  placing  themselves  in  tlio 
boat,  proceed  directly  towards  my  cave.  To  dis- 
guise from  Melanius  the  mutual  delight  with  wliich 

powerful,  wise,  nnd  good  Being,  as  the  first  atsd  fundcmert;\l 
principle  of  rational  religion,  they  pronounce  the  essence  of 
this  Being  tn  be  love,  and  from  this  infer,  as  a  dcm'tnstrable 
consequence,  that  none  of  the  creatures  formed  by  such  a 

Being  will  ever  be  made  eternally  miserable Since 

Gnd  (they  say)  would  act  unjustly  in  inflicting  eternal  misery 
for  temporary  crimes,  the  sufleriiigs  of  the  wicked  can  be  hut 
remedial,  and  will  tenuinate  in  a  complete  purification  from 
mural  disorder,  and  in  their  ultimate  restoration  to  virtue 
and  happiness.** 

1  The  Code.t  Cottonianus  of  the  New  Testament  is  writtea 
in  silver  letters  on  a  purple  ground.  The  t'odex  Cottonianus 
of  the  Septuagint  version  of  the  Old  Testament  is  supposed 
to  be  the  identical  copy  that  belonged  to  Origen. 

s  Vido  HamittutCs  JE;ftjpliaca. 


718 


MOORE'S   WORKS. 


~l 


we  again  met  was  impossible ; — nor  did  Alcllie 
even  attempt  to  make  a  secret  of  l;er  joy.  Tlioncrli 
blus-iintj  at  licr  own  iiappiness,  as  little  couid  lier 
frank  nature  conceal  it,  as  the  clear  waters  of 
Etliiopia  can  liido  tlieir  gold.  Every  look,  every 
word,  bespoke  a  fulness  of  affection,  to  which, 
doubtful  as  I  was  of  our  tenure  of  happiness,  I 
knew  not  liow  to  respond. 

I  was  not  long,  however,  left  ignorant  of  the 
bright  late  tliat  awaited  mo  ;  but,  as  we  wandered 
or  rested  among  (he  rocks,  learned  every  thing  that 
had  been  arranged  since  our  parting.  Slie  had 
made  the  Hermit,  I  found,  acquainted  with  all  that 
had  passed  between  us  ;  had  told  him,  without  re- 
sen'e,  eveiy  incident  of  our  voyage — the  avowals, 
the  demonstrations  of  affection  on  one  side,  and  the 
deep  sentiment  that  gratitude  had  awakened  on  the 
other.  Too  wise  to  regard  affections  so  natural 
witii  severity — knowing  that  they  were  of  heaven, 
and  but  made  evil  by  man — the  good  Hermit  had 
heard  of  our  attachment  with  pleasme  ;  and,  fully 
satisfied  as  to  the  honor  and  purity  of  my  views, 
by  tl'.e  fidelity  witli  whicli  I  had  delivered  my  trust 
into  his  hands,  saw,  in  my  affection  for  the  young 
orplian,  bnt  a  providential  resource  against  that 
friendless  solitude  in  wliich  his  dcatli  nmst  soon 
leave  her. 

As,  listening  eagerly,  I  collected  lliese  particulars 
from  their  discourse,  I  conld  hardly  trust  my  ears. 
It  seemed  a  happiness  too  great  to  be  true,  to  be 
real ;  nor  can  words  convey  an  idea  of  (he  joy, 
the  shame,  the  wonder  with  which  I  listened,  while 
the  holy  man  himself  declared  that  ho  awaited  but 
the  moment,  when  he  shonld  find  me  worthy  of  be- 
coming a  member  of  tlio  Christian  Church,  to  give 
me  also  the  hand  of  Alethe  in  that  sacred  union, 
which  alone  sanctifies  love,  and  makes  the  faith, 
which  ■  niedges,  holy.  It  was  but  yesterday,  he 
added,  tha.  'lis  young  charge,  herself,  after  a  pre- 
paration of  prayer  and  repentance,  such  as  even 
her  [lure  .spirit  required,  had  been  admitted,  by  the 
sacred  ordinance  of  baptism,  into  the  bosom  of  the 
faith  ; — and  the  white  garment  she  wore,  and  the 
ring  of  gold  on  her  finger,'  "  were  symbols,"  he 
added,  '*  of  that  New  Life  into  which  she  had  been 
initiated." 

I  raised  my  eyes  to  hers  as  he  spoke,  but  with- 
drew tiiem  again,  dazzled  and  confused.  Even  her 
beauty,  to  my  imagination,  seemed  to  liave  under- 
gone some   brightening  change  ;   and   the   contrast 


1  pL*e,  Inr  the  custom  anion}:  tlie  early  Ciiristiuns  of  wc;ir- 
in?  wliile  fur  a  few  days  after  baptism,  jlmbrus.  de  Jihjst. — 
Willi  respect  to  the  ring,  tlie  Bisliol)  iif  Lincoln  sa\s,  in  hi-s 
work  on1'erluliian,**Ttie  naniral  inrcrcnce  from  these  words 
( Tert-  lie  Piiiticitid)  appears  to  be,  that  a  rin;:  used  tn  be  given 
In  baptism ;  but  I  have  found  no  otlier  trace  ofsucli  a  custem." 


between  that  open  and  happy  countenance,  and  the 
unblest  brow  of  the  infidel  that  stood  before  herj 
abashed  me  into  a  sense  of  nnworthincss,  and  alrpost 
checked  my  rapture. 

To  that  night,  however,  I  look  back,  as  an  epoch 
in  my  e.\istence.  It  proved  that  sorrow  is  not  the 
only  awakener  of  devotion,  but  that  joy  may  some- 
times quicken  the  holy  spark  into  life.  Returning 
to  my  cave,  with  a  heart  full,  even  to  oppression, 
of  its  happiness,  I  could  find  no  other  relief  1o  my 
overcharged  feelings,  than  that  of  throwing  myself 
on  my  knees,  and  uttering,  for  the  first  tiine  in  my 
life,  a  heartfelt  prayer,  tliat  if,  indeed,  there  were 
a  Being  who  watched  over  nia,(.kind,  he  would  send 
down  one  ray  of  liis  truth  into  my  darkened  soul, 
and  make  it  worthy  of  the  blessings,  both  here  and 
hereafter,  proffered  to  it ! 

My  days  now  rolled  on  in  a  perfect  dream  of 
happiness.  Every  hour  of  the  morning  was  wel- 
comed as  bringing  nearer  and  nearer  the  blest  time 
of  sunset,  when  the  Hermit  and  Alethe  *»ever  failed 
to  visit  my  now  charmed  cave,  wliere  her  smile 
left,  at  each  parting,  a  light  that  lasted  till  her  K| 
return.  Tiien,  our  rambles,  together,  by  starlight, 
over  the  mountain  ;  our  pauses,  from  time  to  time, 
to  contemplate  the  wonders  of  the  bright  heaven 
above  ns  ;  our  repose  by  the  cistern  of  tlie  rock  ; 
and  our  silent  listening,  through  hours  that  seemed 
minutes,  to  the  holy  eloquence  of  our  teacher ; — 
all,  all  was  happiness  of  the  most  heartfelt  kind, 
and  such  as  even  the  doubts,  tho  cold  lingering 
doubts,  that  still  hung,  like  a  mist,  around  my  heart, 
could  neither  cloud  nor  chill. 

As  soon  as  the  moonlight  nights  returned,  we 
used  to  venture  into  the  desert ;  and  those  sands, 
which  had  lately  looked  so  desolate,  in  my  eyes, 
now  assumed  even  a  cheerful  and  smiling  aspect. 
To  tlie  light,  innocent  heart  of  Alethe,  every  thing 
was  a  source  of  enjoyment.  For  her,  even  the 
desert  had  its  jewels  and  flowers  ;  and,  sometimes, 
her  delight  was  to  search  among  tho  sands  for 
those  beautiful  pebbles  of  jasper'  that  abound  in 
them ; — sometimes  her  eyes  would  sparkle  with 
pleasure  on  finding,  perhaps,  a  stunted  marigold, 
or  one  of  those  bitter,  scarlet  flowers,^  that  lend 
their  dry  mockery  of  ornament  to  the  desert.  In 
all  tliese  pursuits  and  pleasures  the  good  Hermit 
took  a  share — mingling  occasioually  with  them 
the  reflections  of  a  benevolent  piety,  that  lent  its 
own  cheerful  liue  to  all  the  works  of  creation,  and 


!i  Vide  Claric. 

3  "  Les  J\Irsnnbryiinthc>7:t'rTt  vf^'flnrtim  et  Zvi^ophiiUitm 
coechuiim.  plantes  grasses  des  iit-s<  il  .  rejetiies.  :i cause  de 
lciirftcreti\  par  les  chaniean.v.  les  clievres,  et  les  gazelles  ' — 
Jil.  JJcIite  upon  the  Plants  o/  E^rypt. 


Satii 


[jjijiili' 
tot  loll 
Diaii 
of  Mel 
btcoiui 
occ» 
.Will' 
is  llif 
Bit  lie 
il|.ito 
Isiiiii 
lie  id 
agb'inj 
Sitjllii 
nild. 
Eve: 
thai  It 
Graiii 

liests 


Enperi 
its  m 
bvivl 


hp 

Citllli 

inyll; 

j  prai 

i  deria; 

as  t 

itel 

But 

j  meilj 

i  Ion; 

alite; 

i«(i( 

clian^ 

Cliiist 

newi 

% 

liaus 

reiga 

of  a 

(erifi 

Oil. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


719 


•aw  the  consoling  truth,  **  God  is  Lovo,"  written 
lewlhly  evorywliere. 

Such  was,  for  a  few  weeks,  my  blissful  life. 
Oh,  morninjTs  of  hope !  oli,  nights  of  happiue.ss ! 
with  wliat  melanclioly  pleasure  do  I  retrace  your 
flight,  and  how  reluctantly  pass  to  the  sad  events 
that  followed  I 

Dniinrr  this  time,  in  compliance  with  the  wishes 
of  Melanins,  who  seemed  unwdHntr  tliat  I  shonld 
become  wholly  eslranjjed  from  the  world,  I  ni--ed 
occasionally  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  neiarhborinn;  city, 
Antinoe,'  which,  being  the  capital  of  the  Thebald, 
is  the  centre  of  all  the  luxury  of  Upper  Egypt. 
But  here,  ko  changed  was  my  every  feeling  by  the 
all-absorbing  passion  which  now  possessed  me,  thiil 
I  sauntered  along,  wholly  uninterested  by  either 
the  scenes  or  tlie  people  that  surrounded  me,  and, 
sighincr  for  that  rocky  solitude  where  my  Alethe 
breathed,  felt  this  to  be  the  wilderness,  and  t/tat  the 
world. 

Even  the  thoughts  of  my  own  native  Athens, 
that  at  every  step  were  called  up,  by  the  liglit 
Grecian  architecture  of  this  imperial  city,  did  not 
awaken  one  single  regret  in  my  heart — one  wish 
to  exchange  even  an  hour  of  my  desert  for  the  best 
luxuries  and  honors  that  awaited  me  in  th.e  Garden. 
I  saw  the  arches  of  triumph  ; — I  walked  mider  the 
superb  portico,  which  encircles  the  whole  city  with 
its  marble  shade  ; — I  stood  in  the  Circus  of  the  Sun, 
by  whose  rose-colored  pillars  the  mysterious  move- 
ments of  tlie  Nile  are  measured  ; — on  all  these 
proud  monuments  of  glory  and  art,  as  well  as  on 
the  gay  multitude  that  enlivened  them,  I  looked 
with  an  nnheednig  eye.  If  they  awakened  in  me 
any  thouglit,  it  was  the  mournful  idea,  that,  one 
day,  like  Thebes  and  Hellopolis,  this  pageant  would 
pass  away,  leaving  nothing  behind  but  a  few  moul- 
dering ruins — like  sea-shells  found  where  the  ocean 
has  been — to  tell  that  the  great  tide  of  Life  was 
once  tht-re  ! 

But,  though  indifferent  thus  to  all  that  had  for- 
merly attracted  me,  there  were  subjects,  once  alien 
to  my  heart,  on  which  it  was  now  most  tremblingly 
alive  ;  and  some  rumors  which  had  reached  me, 
in  one  of  my  visits  to  the  city,  of  an  expected 
change  in  the  policy  of  the  Emperor  towards  the 
Christians,  filled  my  mind  with  apprehensions  as 
new  as  they  were  dreadful  to  me. 

The  toleration  and  even  favor  which  the  Chrii* 
tiaus  eujoyd,  during  the  first  four  years  of  the 
reign  of  Valerian,  had  removed  from  them  all  fear 
of  a  renewal  of  those  horrors,  which  they  had  ex- 
perienci^d  under  the  rule  of  his  predecessor,  Decius. 
Of  late,  however,  some  less  friendly  dispositions  had 

1  Vide  Savary  and  Q^ualremere. 


manifested  themselves.  The  bigots  of  the  court, 
taking  alarm  at  the  rapid  spread  of  the  new  faith, 
had  succeeded  in  filling  the  mind  of  tl.c  moruu'ch 
with  that  religious  jealousy,  which  is  the  ever-ready 
jtarent  of  cruelty  and  injustice.  Among  thesn  couu- 
selloi^  of  evil  was  Macrianus,  the  Pra;(orian  Prefect, 
who  was,  by  birth,  an  Eg^'ptlan,  and  had  long 
made  himself  notorious — so  akin  is  euprrstition  to 
intolerance — by  his  addiction  to  the  dark  pi-actlces 
of  demon-worship  and  magic. 

From  this  minister,  who  was  no.r  high  in  the 
favor  of  Valerian,  the  new  measures  of  severity 
against  the  Christians  were  expected  to  emanate. 
All  tongues,  in  all  quarters,  were  busy  with  the 
news.  In  the  streets,  in  the  public  gardens,  on  the 
steps  of  the  temples,  I  saw,  everywhere,  groups  of 
hiquirfrs  collected,  and  heard  the  name  of  JMacria- 
nus  upon  every  tongue.  It  was  dreadful,  too,  to 
observe,  in  the  countenances  of  those  who  spoke, 
the  variety  of  feeling  with  which  the  rumor  was 
discussed,  according  as  they  feared  or  desired  its 
truth — according  as  they  were  likely  to  be  among 
the  torturers  or  the  victims. 

Alarmed,  though  still  iguorej  tof  the  whole  extent 
of  the  dangrcr,  I  hurried  back  to  the  ravine,  and, 
going  at  once  to  the  grotto  of  Melanius,  dt-tailod  to 
him  every  particular  of  the  inteliigence  I  liad  col- 
lected. He  listened  to  me  with  a  composure,  wiiich 
I  mis;took,  alas  !  for  confidence  in  his  own  security  ; 
and,  naming  the  hour  for  our  evening  walk,  retired 
into  liis  grotto. 

At  the  accustomed  time,  accompanied  by  Alethe, 
he  came  to  my  cave.  It  was  evident  that  he  had 
not  communicated  to  her  the  intelligence  which  X 
had  brought,  for  never  hath  brow  worn  such  hap- 
piness as  that  which  now  played  around  hers : — 
it  was,  alas !  not  of  this  earth.  Melanius,  himself, 
though  composed,  was  thoughtful  ;  and  the  solem- 
nity, almost  approaching  to  melancholy,  with  which 
he  placed  tlie  hand  of  Alethe  iu  mine — in  the  per- 
formance, too,  of  a  ceremony  that  ought  to  have 
filled  my  heart  with  joy — saddened  and  alarmed 
me.  This  ceremony  was  our  betrothment,  the  act 
of  plighting  our  faith  to  each  other,  which  we  now 
solemnized  on  the  rock  before  the  door  of  my  cave, 
iu  the  face  of  that  calm,  sunset  heaven,  whose  one 
star  stood  as  our  witness.  After  a  blessing  from 
the  Hennit  upon  our  spousal  pledge,  I  placed  the 
ring — the  earnest  of  our  future  union — on  her  fin- 
ger; and,  in  the  blush,  with  which  she  surrendered 
to  me  her  whole  heart  at  that  instant,  forgot  every 
thing  but  my  happiness,  and  felt  secure  even  against 
fate! 

We  took  our  accustomed  walk,  that  evening, 
over  the  rocks  and  on  the  desert.  So  bright  was 
the  moon— more  like  the  daylight,  indeed,  of  other 


720 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


climes — that  wc  cou'tl  plainly  see  tlio  tracks  of  the 
wild  aultioprs  in  Iho  pan  I ;  and  it  Wiis  not  without 
a  tiA';^ht  trt-niblc  of  feeling  in  his  voice,  as  if  some 
inclaiiclioly  analogy  ocenircd  to  him  a.3  he  spoke, 
that  tiic  good  Hermit  said,  "  I  have  observed,  in  tlie 
course  of  my  walks,'  that  wherever  llie  track  of 
that  genl.l«  animal  appears,  there  is,  almost  always, 
found  the  foot-print  of  a  beast  of  prey  near  it.'' 
He  regained,  however,  his  usual  clieerfuiness  before 
we  parted,  and  fixed  the  following  evening  for  au 
excui-sion,  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine,  to  a  point 
looking,  lie  said,  "  towards  that  nort!icni  region  of 
the  desert,  where  the  hosts  of  the  Lord  encamped 
in  their  departure  out  of  bondage." 

Thongii,  when  Alethe  was  present,  all  my  fears 
even  for  lierself  weic  forgotten  in  that  perpetual 
element  of  happiness,  which  encircled  her  lilio  the 
air  triat  sl.e  breathed,  no  sooner  was  I  alone,  than 
vagne  terrors  and  bodings  crowded  upon  mo.  In 
vain  did  I  endeavor  to  reason  away  my  fears,  by 
dwelling  only  on  the  most  cheering  circumstances 
— on  the  reverence  with  which  Melanias  was  re- 
garded, even  by  tlie  Pagans,  and  the  inviolate  se- 
curity with  whic'.i  he  had  lived  tlirough  the  most 
perilous  periods,  not  only  safe  himself,  but  alTording 
sanctuary  in  the  deptlis  of  his  grottoes  to  others. 
Tliougli  somewhat  calmed  by  these  considerations, 
yet,  when  at  length  I  siudc  off  to  sleep,  dark,  hor- 
rible dreams  took  possession  of  my  mind.  Scenes 
of  death  and  of  torment  passed  confusedly  before 
me ;  and,  when  I  awoke,  it  was  with  the  fearful 
impression  that  all  tliese  liorrors  wero  reaL 


CH.A.PTER  XIX. 

At  length,  tlie  day  dawned — that  dreadful  day .' 
Impatient  to  be  relieved  from  my  suspense,  I  threw 
myself  into  my  boat — the  same  in  which  we  had 
performed  our  happy  voyage — and,  as  fast  as  oars 
could  speed  rae,  hurried  away  to  the  city.  I  found 
the  suburbs  silent  and  solitary,  but,  as  I  approached 
the  Forum,  loud  yells,  like  tlioso  of  barbarians  in 
combat,  struck  on  my  car,  and,  when  I  entered  it — 
great  God,  wliat  a  spectacle  presented  itself!  The 
imperial   edict  against  tlie  Christians   had    arrived 


1  "  Je  rcnKirqtiai,  avec  une  reflexion  triste,  qu'un  anlmr\] 
dc  uroio  nccoiiipagne  prcb-que  toujours  tcs  pas  do  co  joli  ct 
frtle  indiviiin." 

a  "Tlic^e  Cliristians  who  sacrificed  to  Idols  to  s;ive  them- 
BOIVQs  were  called  by  vurious  aaiues,  Thurificaii,  Satrificali, 


during  the  night,  and  already  th.e  wild  fury  of  big- 
otry was  let  loose. 

Under  a  canopy,  in  the  middle  of  the  Forum, 
was  the  tribunal  of  the  Governor.  Two  statues — 
one  of  Apollo,  the  other  of  Osiris — stood  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stops  that  led  np  to  his  judgnie.'it- 
seat.  Before  these  idols  were  shrines,  to  whicli  the 
devoted  Cliristians  were  dragged  from  all  quarte-., 
by  the  soldiers  and  mob,  aud  there  compelled  to 
recant,  by  throwing  incense  into  the  flame,  or,  on 
their  refusal,  huriied  away  to  torture  and  death. 
It  was  an  appalling  scene ; — the  consternation,  the 
cries  of  some  of  the  victims — the  pale,  silent  reso- 
lution of  others  ; — the  fierce  .shouts  of  laugliter  th.at 
broke  from  the  multitude,  when  the  dropping  of  the 
frankincense  on  the  altar  proclaimed  some  denier 
of  Ciirist  ;^  and  the  fiend-like  triumph  with  which 
the  courageous  Confessors,  who  avowed  their  faith, 
were  led  away  to  the  flames ;— never  could  I  have 
conceived  sucli  an  a.ssemblage  of  horrors  I 

Though  I  gazed  but  for  a  few  minutes,  in  those 
minutes  I  felt  and  fancied  enough  for  yeare.  Al- 
ready did  the  form  of  Alethe  appear  to  flit  before 
me  through  that  tumult ; — I  heard  them  shout  her 
name ;  her  shriek  fell  on  my  ear ;  and  the  very 
thought  so  palsied  me  with  terror,  that  I  stood  fixed 
and  statue-like  on  the  spot. 

Recollecting,  however,  tlie  fearful  preciousness 
of  every  moment,  and  that — perhaps,  at  this  ver>' 
instant — some  emissaries  of  blood  might  be  on  their 
way  to  the  Grottoes,  I  rushed  wildly  out  of  the 
Forum,  and  made  my  way  to  the  quay. 

The  streets  were  now  crowded  ;  but  I  ran  head- 
long througli  the  multitude,  and  was  already  under 
tlie  portico  leading  down  to  the  river — already 
saw  the  boat  that  was  to  bear  me  to  Alethe — when 
a  Centurion  stood  sternly  in  my  path,  and  I  was 
surrounded  and  arrested  by  soldiers  !  It  was  in 
vain  that  I  implored,  that  I  struggled  with  them 
as  for  life,  assuring  them  that  I  was  a  stranger — 
that  I  was  an  Athenian — that  I  was — not  a 
Christian.  The  precipitation  of  ray  fliglit  was 
suflicieut  evidence  against  me,  and  unrelentingly, 
aud  by  force,  they  bore  me  away  to  the  quarters 
of  their  Chief. 

It  was  enough  to  diive  me  at  once  to  madness  ! 
Two  hours,  two  frightful  hours,  was  I  kept  waitiug 
tlie  arrival  of  the  Tribune  of  their  Legion' — my 
brain  burning  w-itli  a  thousand  fears  and  unagiii- 
ations,  which  every  passing  niiuute  made  but  more 


Mittevtcs,  JVpn-aforfS,"  ice.     Baronlus  mentions  a  bishop  of 
this  period,  (253.)  I\I;ircellinus,  who,  yielding  to  the  thre;'.t-s 
of  itie  (Jenliles.  threw  incense  upon  the  altar. — Vide  Jlrnoh, 
cuntra  Cent.  lib.  vii. 
3  A  rank,  Eiinllar  to  that  of  Colonel. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


721 


likely  to  be  realized.  Ail  I  could  collect,  too,  from 
tlie  conversations  of  those  around  me,  but  added  to 
the  ajronizin^  apjirt'honsions  with  whicli  I  was  racked. 
'J'roops,  it  was  said,  had  been  sent  in  all  directions 
Ihroui^h  the  neigiiborhood,  to  brin^  in  tlie  rebelHous 
Christians,  and  make  them  bow  before  the  Gods  of 
tlie  Empire.  Witli  liorror,  too,  I  lieard  of  Orcus — 
Orcus,  the  High  Priest  of  Memjjhis — as  one  of  the 
principal  instigators  of  this  sanguinary  edict,  and  as 
here  present  in  Aiitinoe,  animating  and  directing  i(.s 
execution. 

lu  this  state  of  torture  I  remained  till  the  arrival 
of  the  Tribune.  Absorbed  in  my  own  thoughts,  I 
had  not  perceived  his  entrance ; — till,  hearing  a 
voice,  iu  a  tone  of  friendly  surprise,  exclaim,  "  AI- 
clphrou !"  I  looked  up,  and  in  this  legionary  Chief 
recognised  a  young  Roman  of  rank,  wlio  had  held 
a  military  command,  the  year  befoi'e,  at  Athens, 
and  was  one  of  the  most  distiiiunished  visiters  of  tho 
Garden.  It  was  no  time,  however,  for  courtesies: — 
he  was  proceeding  with  ail  cordiality  to  greet  mo, 
but,  having  heard  him  order  my  in.--tant  release, 
I  could  wait  for  no  more.  Acknowledging  his  kind- 
ness but  by  a  grasp  of  the  hand,  I  flew  off,  like  one 
frantic,  through  the  streets,  and,  iu  a  few  minute:^, 
was  oil  tlie  river. 

My  sole  hope  had  been  to  reach  the  Grottoes  be- 
fore any  of  the  detached  parties  should  arrive,  and, 
by  a  timely  Sight  across  the  desert,  rescue,  at  least, 
Alethe  from  their  fury.  The  ill-fated  delay  that  liad 
occurred  rendered  this  hope  almost  desperate  ;  but 
the  tranquillity  1  found  everj'where  as  I  proceeded 
down  the  river,  and  my  fond  confidence  in  the 
sacreduess  of  the  Hermit's  retreat,  kept  ray  Iieart 
from  sinking  altogether  under  its  terrors. 

Between  the  current  and  my  oars,  the  boat  flew, 
with  the  speed  of  wind,  along  the  waters,  and  I 
was  already  near  the  rocks  of  the  ravine,  when  I 
saw,  turning  out  of  tlie  canal  into  the  river,  a  barge 
cruv.^dii'd  with  people,  and  glittering  with  arms ! 
How  did  I  ever  survive  the  shock  of  that  sight? 
The  oars  dropped,  as  if  struck  oilb  of  my  hands,  in- 
to tlie  water,  and  I  sat,  helplessly  gazing,  as  that 
terrific  vision  approached.  In  a  few  miitntes,  tlie 
current  brought  us  together; — and  I  saw,  ou  tho 
deck  of  the  barge,  Alethe  herself  and  tlie  Hermit 
surrounded  by  soldier  I 

We  were  already  passing  each  other,  when,  with 
a  desperate  effort,  I  sprang  from  my  boat  and  lighted 
upon  the  edge  of  their  vessel.  I  knew  iiut  what  I 
did.  for  despair  was  my  only  prompter.  Snatching 
at  tlie  sword  of  one  of  the  soldiers,  as  I  stood  totter- 
ing on  the  edge,  I  had  succeeded  in  wresting  it  out 
of  his  hands,  when,  at  the  same  moment,  I  received 
a  thrust  of  a  lance  from  cue  of  his  comrades,  and 
fell  backward  into  the  river.     I  can  just  remember 


rising  again  and  making  a  grasp  at  the  side  of  the 
vessel ; — but  tlie  shock,  and  the  faintncss  from  my 
wound,  de[)rived  mo  of  all  consciousness,  and  a 
shriek  from  Alethe,  as  I  sank,  is  all  I  can  recollect 
of  what  followed. 

Would  I  iiad  then  died  1 — Vet,  no.  Almighty 
Being — I  should  have  died  in  darkness,  and  I  have 
lived  to  know  Thee  ! 

On  returning  to  my  senses,  I  found  myself  re- 
clined on  a  couch,  in  a  splendid  apartment,  the 
whole  appearance  of  whicli  being  Grecian,  I,  for  a 
moment,  forgot  uU  that  had  passed,  and  imagined 
myself  iu  my  own  homo  at  Athens.  But  too  soon 
the  whole  dreadful  certainty  flashed  upon  me  ;  and, 
starting  wildly — disabled  as  I  was — from  my  conch, 
I  called  loudly,  and  wilh  the  shriek  of  a  maniac, 
upon  Alethe. 

I  was  in  the  house.  I  tlien  found,  of  my  friend 
and  disciple,  the  young  Tribune,  who  had  made  the 
Governor  acquainted  with  my  name  and  condition, 
and  had  received  me  under  his  roof,  when  brought, 
bleeding  and  insensible,  to  Antinoe.  From  him  I 
now  loarued  at  once — for  I  could  not  wait  for  de- 
tails— the  sum  of  all  that  had  happened  in  that 
dreadful  interval.  IVIelanius  was  no  more — Alethe 
still  alive,  but  in  prison  I 

"  Take  me  to  her" — I  had  but  time  to  .say — 
"  take  me  to  her  instantly,  and  let  me  die  by  her 
side"  —  when,  nature  again  failing  under  such 
shocks,  I  relapsed  into  insensibility.  In  this  state 
I  continued  for  near  an  hour,  and,  on  recovering, 
found  the  Tribune  by  my  side.  The  horrors,  he 
said,  of  the  Forum  were,  for  that  day,  over, — but 
what  the  morrow  might  bring,  he  shuddered  to  con- 
template. His  nature,  it  was  plain,  revolted  from 
the  inhuman  duties  in  which  he  was  engaged. 
Touched  by  tho  agonies  ho  saw  mo  suffer,  lie,  in 
some  degree,  relieved  them,  by  promising  that  I 
should,  at  nightfall,  be  conveyed  to  the  prison,  and, 
if  possible,  through  his  influence,  gain  access  to 
Alethe.  She  might  yet,  he  added,  be  saved,  could 
I  succeed  in  persuading  her  to  comply  with  the 
terms  of  tlie  edict,  and  make  sacrifice  to  the  Gods. — 
"  Otherwise,"  said  he,  '■  tliere  is  no  hope  ; — the  vin- 
dictive Orcus,  who  has  resisted  even  this  short  re- 
spite of  mercy,  will,  to.-inorrow,  inexorably  demand 
his  prey." 

He  then  related  to  me,  at  my  own  request — 
though  every  word  was  torture — all  the  harrowing 
details  of  the  proceeding  before  the  Tribunal.  "  I 
have  seen  courage,"  said  he,  "  in  its  noblest  forms, 
in  the  field;  but  the  calm  intrepidity  with  which 
that  aged  hermit  endured  torments — which  it  v/aa 
hardly  less  tormeut  to  witness — surpassed  all  that  I 
could  liave  conceived  of  human  fortitude  V 

My  poor  Alethe,   too — iu  describing  to  rae  her 


722 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


conduct,  the  brave  man  wc\)i  lilie  a  child.  Over- 
whelmed, he  said,  at  first  by  her  appreheusious  for 
my  safety,  she  had  given  way  to  a  full  bim>t  of 
womanly  weakness.  But  no  sooner  was  she  brought 
b'5'fore  the  Tribunal,  and  the  declaration  of  her  faith 
was  demanded  of  her,  than  a  spirit  almost  super- 
natural seemed  to  animate  her  whole  form.  "  She 
raised  her  eyes,"  said  he,  "  calmly,  but  with  fervor, 
to  heaven,  while  a  blusli  was  the  only  sign  of  mor- 
tal feeling  on  her  features: — and  the  clear,  sweet, 
and  untrembling  voice,  with  which  she  pronounced 
her  own  doom,  in  the  words,  '  I  am  a  Christian  !'* 
sent  a  thrill  of  admiration  and  pity  throughout  the 
multitude.  Her  youth,  lier  loveliness,  affected  all 
hearts,  and  a  cry  of  '  Save  the  young  maiden  I'  was 
heard  in  all  directions." 

The  implacable  Orcus,  fiowever,  would  not  hear 
of  mercy.  Resenting,  as  it  appeared,  with  all  his 
deadliest  rancor,  not  only  her  own  escape  from  his 
toils,  but  the  aid  with  which  she  had,  so  fatally  to 
his  views,  assisted  mine,  he  demanded  loudly  and 
in  the  name  of  the  insulted  sanctuary  of  Isis,  her 
instant  death.  It  was  but  by  the  firm  intervention 
of  the  Governor,  who  shared  the  general  sympathy 
in  her  fate,  that  the  delay  of  another  day  was 
granted  to  give  a  chance  to  the  young  maiden  of  yet 
recalling  her  confession,  and  thus  affording  some 
pretext  for  saving  her. 

Even  in  yielding,  with  evident  reluctance,  to  this 
respite,  tlie  inhuman  Priest  would  yet  accompany 
it  with  some  mark  of  his  vengeance.  Whether  for 
the  pleasure  (observed  the  Tribune)  of  mingling 
mockery  with  his  cruelty,  or  as  a  warning  to  her  of 
the  doom  she  must  ultimately  expect,  he  gave  or- 
ders that  there  should  be  tied  round  her  brow  one 
of  those  chaplets  of  coral,"  with  which  it  is  the  cus- 
tom of  young  Christian  maidens  to  array  themselves 
on  the  day  of  their  martyrdom  ; — "  and,  thus  fear- 
fully adorned,"  said  he,  '*  she  was  led  away,  amidst 
the  gaze  of  the  pitying  multitude,  to  prison." 

With  these  harrowing  details  the  short  interval 
till  nightfall — every  minute  of  which  seemed  an 
age — was  occupied.  As  soon  as  it  grew  dark,  I 
was  placed  upon  a  litter — my  wound,  though  not 
dangerous,  requiring  such  a  conveyance— and,  un- 
der the  guidance  of  my  fiiend,  I  was  conducted  to 
the  prison.  Through  his  interest  with  the  guard, 
we  were  without  difficulty  admitted,  and  1  was 
borne  into  the  chamber  where  the  maiden  lay  im- 
mured    Even  the  veteran  guardian  of  tlie    place 


'The  merit  of  the  confession  "Christianas  sum,"  or 
"  Christi;ina  sum,"  was  considerably  enhanced  by  the  clear- 
ness and  distinctness  with  which  it  was  pronounced.  Eu- 
sebius  mentions  the  martyr  Vetius  as  making  it  Aa^jrpordrp 


seemed  touched  with  compassion  for  his  prisoner, 
and  supposing  her  to  be  asleep,  had  the  litter  placed 
gently  near  her. 

She  was  half  reclining,  with  her  face  hid  beneath 
her  hands,  upon  a  couch — at  the  foot  of  which  stood 
an  idol,  over  whose  hideous  features  a  lamp  oi 
naphtha,  that  hung  from  the  ceiling,  shed  a  wild 
and  ghastly  glare.  On  a  table  before  the  image 
was  a  censer,  with  a  small  vessel  of  incense  beside 
it— one  grain  of  which,  thrown  voluntarily  iu^o 
the  flame,  would,  even  now,  save  that  precious 
life.  So  strange,  so  fearful  was  the  whole  scene, 
tliat  I  almost  doubted  its  reality.  Alethe  !  my  own, 
happy  Alethe  !  can  it,  I  thought,  be  thou  that  I 
look  upon? 

She  now  slowly  .nd  with  difficulty,  raised  her 
head  from  the  couci.,  on  obsen'ing  which,  the  kind 
Tribune  withdrew,  and  we  were  left  alone.  There 
was  a  paleness,  as  of  death,  over  her  features ;  and 
those  eyes  which,  when  last  I  saw  them,  were  but 
too  bright,  too  happy  for  this  world,  looked  dim  and 
sunken.  In  raising  herself  up,  she  put  her  hand,  as 
if  from  pain,  to  her  forehead,  whose  marble  hue  but 
appeared  more  death-like  from  those  red  bands  that 
lay  80  awfully  across  it. 

After  wandering  for  a  minute  vaguely,  her  eyes 
at  length  rested  upon  me — and,  with  a  slirick,  half 
terror,  half  joy,  she  sprung  from  the  couch,  and 
sunk  upon  her  knees  by  my  side.  She  had  believed 
me  dead ;  and,  even  now,  scarcely  trusted  her 
senses.  *' My  husband  !  my  love  I"  she  exclaimed; 
"  oh,  if  thou  comest  to  call  me  from  this  world,  be- 
hold I  am  ready  I"  In  saying  thus,  she  pointed 
wildly  to  that  ominous  wreath,  and  then  dropped 
her  head  down  upon  my  knee,  as  if  an  arrow  had 
pierced  it. 

"  Alethe  I"  I  cried — terrified  to  the  very  soul  by 
that  mysterious  pang — and,  as  if  the  sound  of  my 
voice  had  reanimated  her,  she  looked  up,  with  a 
faint  smile,  in  my  face.  Her  thoughts,  which  liad 
evidently  been  wandering,  became  collected  ;  and 
in  her  joy  at  my  ^fety,  her  sorrow  at  my  suflering, 
she  forgot  entirely  the  fate  that  impended  over  her- 
self Love,  innocent  love,  alone  occupied  all  her 
thougiits  ;  and  tiie  warmth,  the  affection,  the  dc- 
votedness,  with  which  she  spoke — oh  how,  at  any 
other  moment,  I  would  have  blessed,  have  lingered 
upon  every  word  \ 

But  the  time  flew  fast — that  dreadful  morrow 
was  approaching.     Already  I  saw  her  writhing  iu 


a  Une  "  de  ces  couronnes  de  grain  de  corail,  dont  Ics  vier- 
ges  martjTes  ornoient  leurs  cheveux  en  allant  a  la  niori." — 
Lea  Martyrs. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


V23 


the  hands  of  the  torturer — the  flames,  tlie  racks,  the 
wheels,  were  before  my  eyes!  Half  frantic  with 
the  fear  that  lier  resolution  was  fixed,  I  flung  my- 
self from  the  litter  in  an  agony  of  weeping,  and 
supplicated  her,  by  the  love  she  boro  me,  by  the 
liappiness  that  awaited  us,  by  her  own  merciful 
Gtxi,  who  was  too  good  to  require  such  a  sacrifice — 
bj  all  that  the  most  passionate  anxiety  could  dic- 
tate, I  implored  that  she  would  avert  from  us  the 
doom  that  was  coming,  and — but  for  once — com- 
ply with  the  vain  ceremony  demanded  of  her. 

Sli/iuking  from  me,  as  I  spoke — but  with  a  look 
more  of  sorrow  than  reproacli — "  What,  thou,  too  !" 
she  said  mournfully — "  thou,  into  whoso  inmost 
spirit  I  had  fondly  hoped  the  same  light  had 
entered  as  into  my  own !  No,  never  be  thou 
leagued  with  them  who  would  tempt  mo  to  '  make 
shipwreck  of  my  faith  !'  Thou,  wlio  couldst  alone 
bind  me  to  life,  use  not,  I  entreat  thee,  thy  power  ; 
but  let  me  die,  as  He  I  serve  hath  commanded 
— die  for  the  Truth.  Remember  the  holy  lessons 
we  heard  together  on  those  nights,  those  happy 
nights,  when  both  the  present  and  future  smiled 
upon  us — when  even  the  gift  of  eternaljife  came 
more  welcome  to  my  soul,  from  the  glad  con- 
viction that  thou  wert  to  be  a  sharer  in  its  bless- 
ings ; — shall  I  forfeit  now  that  divine  privilege  ? 
shall  I  deny  the  true  God,  whom  we  then  learned 
to  love  ? 

"  No,  my  own  betrothed,"  she  continued — point- 
ing to  the  two  rings  on  her  finger — "  behold  these 
pledges — they  are  both  sacred.  I  should  have  been 
as  true  to  thee  as  I  am  now  to  heaven, — nor  in  that 
life  to  which  I  am  hastening  shall  our  love  be  for- 
gotten. Should  tlie  baptism  of  fire,  through  which 
I  shall  pass  to-morrow,  make  me  worthy  to  be 
heard  before  the  throne  of  Grace,  I  will  intercede 
for  thy  soul — I  will  pray  thit  it  may  yet  share  %vith 
mine  that  '  inheritance,  immortal  and  undefiled,' 
which  Mercy  ofTers,  and  that  thou — and  my  dear 
mother — and  I " 

She  here  dropped  her  voice ;  the  momentary 
animation,  with  wliich  devotion  and  affection  had 
inspired  her,  vanished ; — and  there  came  a  dark- 
ness over  all  her  features,  a  livid  darkness — like 
the  approach  of  death — that  made  me  shudder 
through  every  limb.  Seizing  my  hand  convul- 
sively, and  looking  at  me  witli  a  fearful  eagerness, 
as  if  anxious  to  hear  some  consoling  assurance 
from  my  own  lips — "  Believe  me,"  she  continued, 


1  VVe  find  poisonous  crowns  mentioned  by  Pliny,  under  the 
designation  of  "corona'  ferales.'*  Paschaliut,  too,  gives  the 
following  account  of  these  "deadly  garlands,'*  as  he  calls 
them  ; — "Sed  mirum  est  tarn  salutare  inventum  humanam 
aaqiiitiam  reperisse,  quomodo  ad  nefarios  usus  traducent. 


"  not  all  the  torments  they  are  preparing  for  me — 
not  even  this  deep,  bunting  pain  in  my  brow,  to 
which  they  will  hardly  find  an  equal — could  he  half 
so  dreadful  to  me  as  the  thought  that  I  leave  thee, 
without " 

Here  her  voice  again  failed ;  her  head  sunk 
upon  my  arm,  and— merciful  God,  let  me  forget 
what  I  then  felt — I  saw  that  she  was  dying  I 
Whether  I  uttered  any  cry,  I  know  not ; — but  the 
Tribune  came  rushing  into  the  chamber,  and,  look- 
ing on  the  maiden,  said,  with  a  face  full  of  horror, 
"  It  is  but  too  true  I" 

He  then  told  me  iti  a  low  voice,  what  he  had 
just  learned  from  the  guardian  of  the  prison,  that 
the  band  round  the  young  Christian's  brow'  was — 
oil  horrible ! — a  coinpound  of  the  most  deadly  poison 
— the  hellish  invention  of  Orcus,  to  satiate  his  ven- 
geance, and  make  the  fate  of  his  poor  victim  secure. 
My  first  movement  was  to  untie  that  fatal  wreath 
— but  it  would  not  come  away— it  would  not  come 
away  ! 

Roused  by  the  pain,  she  again  looked  in  my 
face  ;  but,  unable  to  speak,  took  hastily  from  her 
bosom  the  small  silver  cross  which  she  had  brought 
with  her  from  my  cave.  Having  pressed  it  to 
her  own  lips,  she  held  it  anxiously  to  mine,  and, 
seeing  me  kiss  the  holy  symbol  with  fervor,  looked 
happy,  and  smiled.  The  agony  of  death  seemed 
to  have  passed  away  ; — there  came  suddenly  over 
her  features  a  heavenly  light,  some  sliare  of  which 
I  felt  descending  into  my  own  soul,  and,  in  a  few 
minutes  more,  she  expired  in  my  arms. 


Here  ends  the  Manuscript ;  but,  on  the  outer  cover  is 
found,  in  the  handwriting  of  a  much  later  period^ 
thefollowing  Notice,  extracted,  as  it  appears, from 
some  Egyptian  martyrology  ;— 

"  Alcipiiron — an  Epicurean  philosopher,  con- 
verted to  Christianity,  a.  d.  257,  by  a  young  Egyp- 
tian maiden,  who  sufTered  martyrdom  in  that  year. 
Immediately  upon  her  death  he  betook  himself  to 
the  desert,  and  lived  a  life,  it  is  said,  of  much 
holiness  and  penitence.  During  the  persecution 
under  Dioclesian,  his  sufferings  for  the  faith  were 


Nempe,  repertte  sunt  nefandx  coronte  harum,  quas  dixi,  tarn 
salnbriuin  per  nomen  quidein  etspeciem  iniitatrices,  at  re  el 
efTectu  ferales,  atque  adeo  capitis,  cui  imponuntur,  interfec- 
trices." — De  Coronis. 


T24                                              MOORE'S   WORKS. 

most  exemplary ;  and  being  at  lengtli,  at  an  ad- 

accuse him  of  havinir  been  addicted  to  the  super- 

vanced age,  condemned  to  hard  labor,  for  refusing 

stitions   of  Egj-pt.      For   this   calumny,   however. 

to  comply  with  an  Imperial  edict,  he  died  at  the 

there   appears  to  be   no  better  foundation   than  a 

Brass  Mines  of  Palestine,  a.  d.  i297. — 

circumstance,  recorded  by  ono  of  his  brother  monks, 

"  As    Alciphron    held    the    o])inions    maintained 

that  there  was  found,  after  his  death,  a  small  metal 

since  by  Arius,  his  memory  has  not  been  spared 

mirror,  like    those  used  in  the  ceremonies  of   Isis, 

by  Athanasian  writers,  who,  among  other  charges. 

suspended  around  his  neck." 

ALCIPHRON: 

A  FRAGMENT. 

LETTER  I. 

Fondly,  in  thought,  I  wing  r  y  flight 

Back  to  those  groves  and  gardens  bright. 

FROM  ALCIPHRON  AT  ALEXANDRIA  TO  CLEON  AT 

And  often  think,  by  this  sweet  light. 

ATHENS. 

How  lovelily  they  all  must  shine  ; 

Can  see  tliat  graceful  temple  throw 

Well  may  you  wonder  at  my  flight 

Down  the  green  slope  its  lengtlien'd  shade, 

From  thosa  fair  Gardens,  in  whose  bowers 

AVhile,  on  the  marble  steps  below. 

Lingere  whate'er  of  wise  and  bright, 

There  sits  some  fair  Athenian  maid, 

Of  Beauty's  smile  or  Wisdom's  light, 

Over  some  favorite  volume  bending  ; 

Is  left  to  grace  this  world  of  ours. 

And,  by  her  side,  a  youthful  sage 

Well  may  my  comrades,  as  they  roam, 

Holds  back  the  ringlets  that,  descending. 

On  such  sweet  eves  as  this,  inquire 

Would  else  o'ershadow  all  the  page. 

Why  I  have  left  that  happy  home 

But  hence  such  thoughts  ! — nor  let  me  grieve 

AVhere  all  is  found  that  all  desire, 

O'er  scenes  of  joy  that  I  but  leave, 

And  Time  hath  wings  that  never  tire  ; 

As  the  bird  quits  awhile  its  nest 

Where  bliss,  in  all  the  countless  shapes. 

To  come  again  willi  livelier  zest. 

That  Fancy's  self  to  bliss  hath  given, 

Comes  clustering  round,  like  road-side  grapes 

And  now  to  tell  thee — what  I  fear 

That  woo  the  traveller's  lip,  at  even  ; 

Thou'lt  gravely  smile  at — wJiy  I'm  here. 

Where  Wisdom  flings  not  joy  away — 

Though  through  my  life's  short,  sunny  dream. 

As  Pallas  in  the  stream,  they  say, 

I've  floated  without  pain  or  care. 

Once  flung  her  flute — but  smiling  owns 

Like  a  light  leaf,  down  pleasure's  stream. 

That  woman's  lip  can  send  forth  tones 

Caughi  in  each  sparKliug  eddy  there  ; 

Worth  all  the  music  of  those  splieres 

Though  never  Mirtli  awaked  a  strain 

So  many  dream  of,  but  none  hears  ; 

That  my  heart  ecliocd  not  again  ; 

Where  Virtue's  self  puts  on  so  well 

Yet  have  I  felt,  when  even  most  gay, 

Her  sister  Pleasure's  smile,  that,  loath 

Sad  thoughts— I  knew  not  whence  or  why — 

From  either  nymph  apart  to  dwell, 

Suddenly  o'er  my  spirit  fly. 

We  finish  by  embracing  both. 

Like  clouds,  that,  ere  we've  time  to  say 

"  How  bright  the  sky  is  !"  shade  the  sky. 

Yes,  such  the  place  of  bliss,  I  own. 

Sometimes  so  vague,  so  undefined, 

From  all  whose  charms  I  just  have  flo%vn  ; 

Were  these  strange  dark'uings  of  my  mind — 

And  even  while  thus  to  thee  I  write, 

AVhile  naught  but  joy  around  me  beam'd — 

And  by  the  Nile's  dark  flood  recline, 

So  causelessly  they've  come  and  flown. 

ALCIPHRON.                                                     725 

That  not  of  life  or  eaith  tliey  secm'd, 
But  shadows  from  somo  world  imkiiowu 

To  make  earth's  meanest  slave  regret 
Leaving  a  world  so  soft  and  bright. 

More  oft,  however,  'twas  the  thought 

On  one  side,  iu  the  dark  blue  sKy, 

How  soon  that  scene,  with  all  its  play 
Of  life  and  gladness,  must  decay — 

Lonely  and  radiant,  was  the  eyo 
Of  Jove  himself,  while,  on  the  other, 

Those  !ij)s  I  pross'd,  the  hands  I  caun;ht — 
Myself^the  crowd  tliat  mirth  had  hrought 

'Mong  stars  tliat  came  out  one  by  one, 
The  young  moon — like  the  Roman  mother 

Around  me — s\vcpt  like  weeds  away  '. 

! 

1        This  thought  it  was  tliat  came  to  shed 

Among  her  hving  jewels — shone. 
"  Oil  that  from  yonder  orbs,"  I  thought, 
"  Pure  and  eternal  as  they  are. 

1            O'er  rapture's  hour  its  worst  alloys  ; 
And,  close  as  shade  with  sunshine,  wed 

"  There  could  to  earth  somo  power  be  brought, 
"  Some  chann,  "V'th  their  own  essence  fraught. 

Its  sadness  with  my  happiest  joys. 

"  To  make  man  deathless  as  a  star ; 

Oh,  but  for  tliis  disheartening  voice, 

"  And  open  to  his  vast  desires 

SteaJing  amid  oiur  mirth  to  say 

"  A  course,  as  boundless  and  sublime 

That  all,  in  which  we  most  rejoice, 

"  As  that  which  waits  those  comet-fires, 

Ere  night  may  be  the  earth-worm's  prey  ; 

"  That  burn  and  roam  throughout  all  tune  !" 

But  for  this  bitter — only  this — 

Full  as  the  world  is  brimm'd  with  bliss, 

While  thoughts  like  these  absorb'd  my  -r-nid, 

And  capable  as  feels  my  soul 

Of  draining  to  its  dregs  the  whole. 

That  weariness  which  earthly  bliss, 
However  sweet,  still  leaves  behind, 

I  should  ttn*n  earth  to  heav'n,  and  be. 

As  if  to  show  how  earthly  'tis. 

If  bliss  made  Gods,  a  Deity  ! 

Came  lulling  o'er  me,  and  I  laid 

My  limbs  at  that  fair  statue's  oase — 

Thou  know''st  that  night — the  very  last 

That  niuacle,  which  Art  hath  made 

Tliat  'mong  my  Garden  friends  I  pass'd — 

Of  all  the  choice  of  Nature's  grace — 

When  the  School  held  its  fea£t  of  mirth 

To  which  so  oft  I've  knelt  and  sworn. 

To  celebrate  our  fomider's  birth. 

That,  could  a  Uvmg  maid  like  her 

And  all  that  He  in  dreams  but  saw 

Unto  this  wondering  world  bo  born. 

Wlien  he  set  Pleasure  on  the  tlirone 

I  would,  myself,  turn  worshipper. 

Of  this  bright  world,  and  wrote  her  law 

In  human  heails,  W'as  felt  and  known — 

Sleep  came  then  o'er  me — and  I  seem'd 

Not  iu  unreal  di*eams,  but  true 
Substantial  joy  as  pulse  e'er  knew — 

To  bo  transported  far  away 
To  a  bleak  desert  plain,  where  gleam'd 

By  hearts  and  bosoms,  that  each  felt 
Itself  the  realm  where  Pleasure  dwelt. 

One  single,  melancholy  ray, 
Throughout  that  darkness  dimly  shed 

From  a  small  taper  in  the  hand 

That  night,  when  all  our  mirth  was  o'er. 

Of  one,  who,  pale  as  are  the  dead. 

The  minstrels  silent,  and  the  feet 

Before  me  took  his  spectral  stand, 

Of  the  ;r-uug  maidens  heard  no  more — 

And  said,  wliile,  awfully,  a  smile 

So  stilly  was  the  time,  so  sweet. 

Came  o'er  the  wanness  of  his  cheek — 

And  such  a  calm  came  o'er  that  scene. 

"  Go,  and  beJfde  the  sacred  Nile 

Where  life  and  revel  late  had  been — 

"  You'll  find  th'  Eternal  Life  you  seek." 

Lone  as  the  quiet  of  some  bay. 

From  which  the  sea  hath  ebb'd  away — 

Soon  as  he  spoke  these  words,  the  hue 

That  still  I  lingcr'd,  lost  in  thought. 

Of  death  o'er  all  his  features  grew. 

Gazing  upon  the  stars  of  night. 
Sad  and  intent,  as  if  I  sought 

Some  mournful  secret  in  their  light ; 

Like  the  pale  raoniiug,  when  o'er  night 
She  gains  the  victory,  full  of  light ; 
■Wliile  the  small  torch  he  held  became 

And  ask'd  them,  'mid  that  silence,  why 

A  glory  in  his  hand,  whose  flame 

Man,  glorious  man,  alone  must  die, 

Brighten'd  the  desert  suddenly. 

,        While  they,  less  wonderful  than  he, 
Shine  on  through  all  eternity. 

Even  to  the  far  horizon's  line — 
Along  whose  level  I  could  see 

Gardens  and  groves,  that  seem'd  to  shine. 

That  night — thou  haply  may'st  forget 
Its  loveluiess — but  'twas  a  night 

As  if  then  o'er  them  freshly  play'd 
A  vernal  rainbow's  rich  cascade  ; 

726                                                MOORE'S 

WORKS. 

And  music  floated  everywhere, 

Of  Fate  itself,  urged  me  away 

Circling,  as  'Iwere  ikelf  the  air, 

From  Athens  to  this  Holy  Land  ; 

And  spirits,  on  whose  wings  the  hue 

Where,  'mong  the  secrets,  still  untaught. 

Of  heaven  still  lingcr'd,  round  me  flew. 

The  myst'ries  that,  as  yet,  uor  sun 

Till  from  all  sides  such  splendors  broke, 

Nor  eye  hath  reach'd — oh,  blessed  thought ! — 

That,  with  the  excess  of  light,  I  woke  ! 

May  sleep  this  everlasting  one. 

Such  was  my  dream  ; — and,  I  confess,  • 

Farewell— when  to  our  Garden  friends 

Though  none  of  all  our  creedlcss  School 

Thou  talk'st  of  the  wild  dream  that  sends 

E'er  conn'd,  believed,  or  reverenced  loss 

The  gayest  of  their  school  thus  far. 

The  fables  of  the  priest-led  fool, 

Wandering  beneath  Canopus'  star. 

Who  tells  us  of  a  soul,  a  mind, 

Tell  them  that,  wander  where  he  will, 

Separate  and  pure,  within  us  shrined. 

Or,  howsoe'er  they  now  condemn 

Which  is  to  live — ah,  hope  too  bright ! — 

His  vague  and  vain  pursuit,  he  still 

Forever  in  yon  fields  of  light ; 

Is  worthy  of  the  School  and  them  ; — 

Who  fondly  thinks  the  guardian  eyes 

Still,  all  their  own — nor  e'er  forgets. 

Of  Gods  are  on  him — as  if,  blest 

Ev'n  while  his  heart  and  soiU  pursue 

And  blooming  in  their  own  blue  skies. 

Th'  Eternal  Light  which  never  sets. 

Th'  eternal  Gods  were  not  too  wise 

The  many  meteor  joys  that  do, 

To  let  weak  man  disturb  their  rest  I — 

But  seeks  them,  hails  them  with  delight. 

Though  thinking  of  such  creeds  as  thou 

Where'er  they  meet  his  longing  sight. 

And  all  our  Garden  sages  think. 

And,  if  his  life  must  wane  away, 

Yet  is  there  something,  I  allow. 

Like  other  lives,  at  least  the  day, 

In  dreams  like  this — a  sort  of  link 

The  hour  it  lasts  shall,  like  a  fire 

With  worlds  unseen,  which,  from  the  hour 

With  incense  fed,  in  sweets  expire. 

I  first  could  lisp  my  thoughts  till  now. 

Hath  master'd  me  witli  spell-like  power. 

And  who  can  tell,  as  we're  combined 

LETTER  n. 

Of  various  atoms — some  refined. 

Ijke  those  that  scintillate  and  play 

FROM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME. 

In  the  fix'd  stars — some,  gross  as  they 

Memphis. 

That  froivn  in  clouds  or  sleep  in  clay — 

'Tis  true,  alas — the  myst'ries  and  the  lore 

Who  can  be  sure,  but  'tis  the  best 

I  came  to  study  on  this  wondrous  shore. 

And  brightest  atoms  of  our  frame. 

Are  all  forgotten  in  the  new  delights, 

Those  most  akin  to  stellar  flame. 

The  strange,  wild  joys  that  fill  my  days  and  nights. 

That  shine  out  thus,  when  we're  at  rest ; — 

Instead  of  dark,  dull  oracles  tliat  speak 

Ev'n  as  the  stars  themselves,  whoso  light 

From  subterranean  temples,  those  /  seek 

Comes  out  but  in  the  silent  night. 

Come  from  the    breathing  shrines    where    Beauty 

Or  is  it  that  there  lurks,  indeed. 

lives, 

Some  truth  in  Man's  prevailing  <yed, 

And  Love,  her  priest,  the  soft  responses  gives. 

And  that  our  Guardians,  from  on  high. 

Instead  of  honoring  Isis  in  those  rites 

Come,  in  that  pause  from  toil  and  sin. 

At  Coptos  held,  I  hail  her,  when  she  lights 

To  put  the  senses'  curtain  by. 

Her  first  youug  crescent  on  the  holy  stream — 

And  on  the  wakeful  soul  look  in  I 

When  wandering  youths  and  maidens  watch   her 

beam. 

Vain  thought ! — but  yet,  howe'er  it  be. 

And  number  o'er  the  nights  slio  hath  to  run. 

Dreams,  more  than  once,  have  proved  to  mo 

Ere  she  again  embrace  her  bridegroom  sun. 

Oracles,  truer  far  than  Oak, 

While  o'er  some  mystic  leaf,  that  dimly  lends 

Or  Dove,  or  Tripod,  ever  spoke. 

A  clue  into  past  times,  the  student  bends. 

And  'twas  the  words — thou'lt  hear  and  smile — 

And  by  its  glinnnering  guidance  leanis  to  tread 

Tiie  words  that  phantom  seeui'd  to  spealt — 

Back  through  the  shadowy  kuowlcdgo  of  tho  dead — 

"  Go,  and  beside  the  sacred  Nile 

The  only  skill,  alas,  /  yet  caji  claim 

"  ■you'll  find  the  Eternal  Life  you  seek — " 

Lies  in  deciphering  some  new  loved-oue's  name — 

That,  haunting  me  by  night,  by  day. 

Some  gentle  missive,  hintijig  time  and  place. 

At  length,  as  with  the  unseeu  hand 

In  language,  soft  as  Memphiau  reed  can  trace. 

ALCIPHRON. 


727 


And  where — oh  where's  the  heart  that  could  with- 
stand 
Th'  nuniimber'd  witcheries  of  this  sun-born  laud, 
Wlicro  first  young  Pleasure's  banner  was  unfurl'd, 
And  Love  hath  temples  ancient  as  the  world  ! 
Where  mystery,  like  the  veil  by  Beauty  worn, 
Hides  but  to  win,  and  shades  but  to  adorn  ; 
Wliere  that  luxurious  nielanclioly,  horn 
Of  passion  and  of  genius,  sheds  a  gloom 
Making  joy  holy  ; — where  the  bower  and  tomb 
Stand  side  by  side,  and  Pleasure  learns  from  Death 
The  instant  value  of  eacli  moment's  breath. 

Couldst  thou  but  see  how  like  a  poet's  dream 
This  lovely  land  now  looks ! — the  glorious  stream. 
That  late,  between  its  banks,  was  seen  to  glide 
'Mong  shrines  and  marble  cities,  on  each  side 
Glitt'ring  like  jewels  strung  along  a  chain, 
Hath  now  sent  forth  its  waters,  and  o'er  plain 
And  valley,  like  a  giant  from  his  bed 
Rising  with  outstretch'd  limbs,  hath  grandly  spread  ; 
While  far  as  sight  can  reach,  beneath  as  clear 
And  blue  a  heaven  as  ever  bless'd  our  sphere, 
Gardens,  and  pillar'd  streets,  and  porphyry  domes. 
And  high-built  temples,  fit  to  be  the  homes 
Of  mighty  Gods,  and  pyramids,  whose  hour 
Outlasts  all  time,  above  the  waters  tower  ! 

Then,  too,  the  scenes  of  pomp  and  joy,  that  make 
One  theatre  of  this  vast,  peopled  lake, 
W'liere  all  that  Love,  Religion,  Commerce  gives 
Of  life  and  motion,  ever  moves  and  lives. 
Here,  up  the  steps  of  temples  from  the  wave 
Ascending,  in  procession  slow  and  grave. 
Priests  in  white  garments  go,  with  sacred  wands 
And  silver  cymbals  gleaming  in  their  hands  ; 
While  there,  rich  barks — fresh   from   those  sunny 

tracts 
Far  off,  beyond  the  sounding  cataracts — 
Glide,  with  their  precious  lading  to  the  sea, 
Plumes  of  bright  birds,  rhinoceros  ivory. 
Gems  from  the  Isle  of  i\Ieroe,  and  those  grains 
Of  gold,  wash'd  down  by  Abyssinian  rains. 
Here,  where  the  waters  wind  into  a  bay 
Shadowy  and  cool,  some  pilgrims,  on  their  way 
To  Sals  or  Bubastus,  among  beds 
Of  lotus  flowers,  that  close  above  their  heads. 
Push  theii*  light  barks,  and  there,  as  in  a  bower, 
Sing,  talk,  or  sleep  away  the  sultry  hour ; 
Oft  dipping  in  the  Nile,  when  faint  with  heat. 
That  leaf,  from  which  its  waters  drink  most  sweet.-r- 
While  haply,  not  far  off,  beneath  a  bank 
Of  blossoming  acacias,  many  a  prank 


^  Cleopatra. 


Is  play'd  in  the  cool  current  by  a  train 

Of  laughing  nymphs,  lovely  as  she,'  whose  chain 
Around  two  conquerors  of  the  world  was  cast. 
But,  for  a  third  too  feeble,  broke  at  last. 

For  oh,  believe  not  them,  who  dare  to  brand, 
As  poor  in  charms,  the  women  of  this  land. 
Tl.ough  darken'd  by  that  sun,  whose  spirit  flt/vs 
Th.   ugh  every  vein,  and  tinges  as  it  goes, 
'Tis  bat  th'  embrowning  of  the  fruit  that  tells 
How  rich  within  the  soul  of  ripeness  dwells — 
The  hue  their  own  dark  sanctuaries  wear, 
Announcing  heaven  in  half-caught  glimpses  there. 
And  never  yet  did  tell-tale  looks  set  free 
The  secret  of  young  hearts  more  tenderly. 
Such  eyes  ! — long,  shadowy,  with  that  languid  fall 
Of  the  fringed  lids,  which  may  be  seen  in  all 
Who  live  beneath  the  sun's  too  ardent  rays — 
Lending  such  looks  as,  on  their  marriage  days. 
Young  n\aids  cast  down  before  a  bridegroom's  gaze 
Then   for  their   grace — mark  but  the  nymph  like 

shapes 
Of  the  young  village  girls,  when  carrying  grapes 
From  green  Anthylla,  or  light  urns  of  flowers — 
Not  our  own  Sculpture,  in  her  happiest  hours, 
E'er  imaged  forth,  even  at  the  touch  of  him'' 
\Vliose  touch  was  life,  more  luxury  of  limb  ; 
Then,  canst  thou  wonder  if,  'mid  scenes  hke  these, 
I  should  forget  all  graver  mysteries, 
All  lore  but  Love's,  all  secrets  but  that  best 
In  heaven  or  earth,  the  art  of  being  blest ! 
Yet    are    there    times — though    brief,  I   own,  their 

stay, 
Like  Summer  clouds  that  shine  themselves  away — 
Moments  of  gloom,  when  even  these  pleasures  pall 
Upon  my  sadd'niug  heart,  and  I  recall 
That  Garden  dream — that  promise  of  a  power — 
Oh,  were  there  such  ! — to  lengthen  out  life's  hour, 
On,  on,  as  through  a  vista,  far  away 
Opening  before  us  into  endless  day  ! 
And  chiefly  o'er  my  spirit  did  this  thought 
Come  on  that  evening — bright  as  ever  brought 
Light's  golden  farewell  to  the  world — when  first 
Th'  eternal  pyramids  of  Memphis  burst 
Awfully  on  my  sight — standing  sublime 
'Twixt  earth  and  heaven,  the  watch-towers  of  Time, 
From  whose  lone  summit,  when  his  reign  hath  pass'd 
From  eartn  iorever,  he  will  look  his  last ! 

There  hung  a  calm  and  solemn  sunshine  round 
Those  mighty  monuments,  a  hushing  sound 
In  the  still  air  that  circled  them,  which  stole 
Like  nmsic  of  past  times  into  my  soul. 


^  ^pelles. 


728 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I  thought  what  myriads  of  the  wise,  aud  brave, 

And  beautiful,  had  sunk  into  the  grave, 

Since  eartli  first  saw  tliese  wonders — and  1  said, 

"  Are  things  eternal  only  for  the  Dead  ? 

"  Hath  man  no  loftier  hope  than  this,  which  dooms 

"  His  only  lasting  tropliies  to  be  tombs  ? 

"  But  'tis  not  so — earth,  heaven,  all  nature  s!:o\vs 

**  He  may  become  immortal — luay  unclose 

"  The  wings  within  him  wrapt,  and  proudly  rise, 

"  Redeemed  from  earth,  a  creature  of  tlic  ;-kies  1 

"  And  who  can  say,  among  the  written  spells 

"  From   Hermes'  hand,  that,  in  these  shrines  aud 

cells 
"  Have,  from  the  Flood,  hiy  hid,  there  may  not  be 
"  Some  secret  clue  to  immortality, — 
"  Some  amulet,  whose  spell  can  keep  hfe"s  fire 
"  Awake  within  us,  never  to  expire  ! 
"  'Tis  known  that,  on  the  Emerald  Table,'  hid 
"  For  ages  in  yon  loftiest  pyramid, 
"  The  Tlirice-Grcat-  did  himself  engrave,  of  old, 
"  The  chymic  mystery  that  gives  endless  gold. 
"  And  why  may  not  this  mightier  secret  dwell 
"  Within  the  same  dark  chambere  ?  who  can  tell 
"  But  that  those  kings,  who,  by  the  written  skill 
"  Of  th'  Emerald  Table,  call'd  forth  gold  at  will, 
"  And  quarries  upon  quarries  lieap'd  and  hurl'd, 
"  To  build  them  domes  t!iat  might    outstand  the 

world — 
"  Who  knows  but  that  the  heavenlier  art,  which 

shares 
"  The  life  of  Gods  with  man,  was  also  theirs — 
"  That  they  themselves,  triumphant  o'er  the  power 
"  Of  fate  and  death,  are  living  at  this  hour  ; 
"  And  these,  the  giant  homes  they  still  possess, 
"  Not  tombs,  but  everlasting  palaces, 
"  Within  whose  depths,  hid  from  the  world  above, 
"  Even  now  they  wander,  with  the  few  they  love, 
"  Through  subterranean  gardens,  by  a  light 
"  Unknown  on  earth,  which   hath  nor  dawn   nor 

night  I 
"  Else,  why  those    deathless   structures  ?    why  the 

grand 
"  And  hidden  halls,  that  undermine  this  land  ? 
"  Why  else  hath  none  of  earth  e'er  dared  lo  go 
"  Through  the  dark  windings  of  that  realm  below, 
"  Nor  aught  from  heav'n  itself,  except  the  God 
"  Of    Silence,    through    those    endless    labyrinths 

trod  ?" 
Thus  did  I  dream — wild,  wandering  dreams,  I  own, 
But  such  as  haunt  me  ever,  if'alone. 
Or  in  that  pause,  'twixt  joy  and  joy  I  be, 
Like  a  ship  hush'd  between  two  waves  at  sea. 

'  See  Notes  on  the  Ep  curean. 
3  The  Hermes  T^smegistus. 


Then  do  these  spirit  whisperings,  like  the  sound 
Of  the  Dark  Future,  come  appalling  round  ; 
Nor  can  I  break  the  trance  that  holds  me  then, 
Till  high  o'er  Pleasure's  surge  I  mount  again  I 

Even  now  for  new  adventure,  new  delight. 

My  heart  is  on  the  wing  ; — this  very  night. 

The  Temple  on  that  Island,  half-way  o'er 

From  Memphis'  gardens  to  the  eastern  shore. 

Scuds  up  its  annual  rile'  to  her,  whose  beams 

Bring  the  sweet  time  of  night-flowers  and  dreams  ; 

The  nynipl),  who  dips  her  urn  in  silent  lakes. 

And  turns  to  silvery  dew  each  drop  it  takes  ; — 

Oh,  not  our  Dian  of  the  North,  who  chains 

In  vestal  ice  the  current  of  young  veins. 

But  she  who  haunts  the  gay  Bubastiau*  grove, 

And  owns  she  sees,  from  her  bright  heaven  above. 

Nothing  on  earth  to  match  that  heaven  but  Love. 

Think,  then,  what  bliss  will  be  abroad  to-night  I — 

Besides  those  sparkling  nymphs,  who  meet  the  slglit 

Day  after  day,  familiar  as  the  sun. 

Coy  buds  of  beauty,  yet  unbreathed  upon. 

And  all  the  hidden  loveliness,  that  lies. 

Shut  up,  as  are  the  beams  of  sleeping  eyes, 

Within  these  twilight  shrines — to-night  shall  be 

Let  loose,  like  birds,  for  this  fes-tivity  ! 

And  mark,  'tis  nigh  ;  already  the  sun  bids 

His  evening  farewell  to  the  Pyramids, 

As  he  hath  done,  age  after  age,  till  they 

Alone  on  earth  seem  ancient  as  his  ray  ; 

While  their  great  shadows,  stretching  from  the  light, 

Look  like  the  first  colossal  steps  of  Night, 

Stretching  across  the  valley,  to  invade 

The  distant  hills  of  porphyry  with  their  shade. 

Around,  as  signals  of  the  setting  beam. 

Gay,  gdded  flags  on  every  house-top  gleam  : 

While,  liark  I — from  all  the  temples  a  rich  swell 

Of  music  to  the  Moon — farewell — farewell. 


LETTER  HL 


FROM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME 

J)fctliphi3. 

TuERE  is  some  star — or  it  may  bo 

That  moon  wo  saw  so  near  last  night — 

Which  comes  athwart  my  destiny 
Forever,  with  misleading  light. 

>  The  great  Festival  of  the  Sloon. 

*  Bubastis,  or  Isis,  was  the  Diana  of  llie  Egyiitian  my- 
thology. 


ALCIPHRON.                                                 729 

If  for  a  moment,  pure  and  wise 

Of  every  form  and  kind — from  those 

And  calm  I  feci,  there  quick  dotli  fall 

That  down  Syene's  cataract  shoots, 

A  spark  from  some  dislurbiufiJ  eyes, 

To  the  grand,  gilded  barge,  that  rows 

Tliat  throuijh  my  heart,  soul,  being  flics. 

To  tambour's  beat  and  breath  of  flutes, 

And  makes  a  wildfire  of  it  all. 

And  wears  at  night,  in  words  of  flame, 

I've  seen — oh,  Cleon,  that  this  earth 

On  the  rich  prow,  its  master's  name  ; — 

Should  e"er  have  giv'u  such  beauty  birth  1 — 

All  were  alive,  and  made  this  sea 

That  man — but,  hold — hear  all  tliat  pass"d 

Of  cities  busy  as  a  hill 

Since  yesternight,  from  first  to  last. 

Of  summer  ants,  caught  suddenly 

In  the  overflowing  of  a  rill. 

The  rising  of  the  Moon,  calm,  slow. 

And  beautiful,  as  if  she  came 

Landed  upon  the  isle,  I  soon 

Fresh  from  the  Elysian  bowers  below. 

Through  marble  alleys  and  small  groves 

Was,  with  a  loud  and  sjveet  acclaim. 

Of  that  mysterious  palm  she  loves. 

Welcomed  from  every  breezy  height. 

Rcach'd  the  fair  Temple  of  the  Moon  ; 

Where  crowds  stood  waiting  for  her  light. 

And  there — as  slowly  tlirough  the  last 

Aud  well  might  tliey  who  view'd  the  scene 

Dim-lighted  vestibule  I  pass'd — 

Then  lit  up  all  around  them,  say, 

Between  the  porphyry  pillars,  twined 

That  never  yet  had  Nature  been 

With  palm  and  ivy,  I  could  see 

Caught  sleeping  in  a  lovelier  ray. 

A  band  of  youthful  maidens  wind, 

Or  rivaird  her  own  noontide  face, 

In  measured  walk,  half  dancingly. 

With  purer  show  of  moonlight  grace. 

Round  a  small  shrine,  on  which  was  placed 

That  bird,'  whose  plumes  of  black  and  white 

Memphis — still  grand,  though  not  the  same 
Unrivaird  Mempliis,  that  could  seize 

Wear  in  their  hue,  by  Nature  traced, 

A  type  of  the  moon's  shadow'd  light. 

From  ancient  Thebes  the  crown  of  Fame, 

And  wear  it  bright  through  centiu-ies — 

In  drapery,  like  woven  snow. 

Now,  in  the  moonshine,  that  came  down 

These  nymphs  were  clad  ;  and  each,  below 

Like  a  last  smile  upon  that  crown, — 

The  rounded  bosom,  loosely  wore 

Memphis,  still  grand,  among  her  lakes. 

A  dark  blue  zone,  or  bandelet, 

Her  pyramids  and  shrines  of  fire, 

With  little  silver  stars  all  o'er, 

Rose,  like  a  vision,  that  half  breaks 

As  are  the  skies  at  midnight,  set, 

On  one  who,  dreaming  still,  awakes, 

Wliile  in  their  tresses,  braided  through. 

To  music  from  some  midnight  choir  : 

Sparkled  tliat  flower  of  Egypt's  lakes. 

While  to  the  west — where  gradual  sinks 

The  silvery  lotus,  in  whose  hue 

In  the  red  sands,  from  Libya  roU'd, 

As  much  delight  the  young  Moon  takes. 

Some  mighty  column,  or  fair  sphynx. 

As  doth  tlie  Day-God  to  behold 

Tliat  stood  in  kingly  courts,  of  old — 

The  lofty  beau-flower's  buds  of  gold. 

It  seem'd,  as,  'mid  the  pomps  that  shone 

And,  as  they  gracefully  went  round 

Thus  gayly  round  him.  Time  look'd  on. 

The  worshipp'd  bird,  some  to  the  beat 

Waiting  till  all,  now  bright  aud  bless'd, 

Of  castanets,  some  to  the  sound 

Should  sink  beneath  him  like  the  rest. 

Of  the  shrill  sistrum  timed  their  feet ; 

While  others,  at  each  step  they  took. 

No  sooner  had  the  setting  sun 

A  tinkling  chain  of  silver  shook. 

Proclaim'd  the  festal  rite  begun, 

And,  'mid  their  idol's  fullest  beams. 

They  seem'd  all  fair — but  there  was  one 

The  Egyptian  world  was  all  afloat. 

On  whom  tlie  light  had  not  yet  shone, 

Than  I,  who  live  upon  these  streams, 

Or  shone  but  partly — so  downcast 

Like  a  young  Nile-bird,  lurn'd  my  boat 

She  held  her  brow  as  slow  she  pass'd. 

To  the  fair  island,  on  wliose  shores. 

And  yet  to  me,  there  seem'd  to  dwell 

Through  leafy  palm-s  and  sycamores, 

A  charm  about  that  unseen  face — 

Already  shone  the  moving  lights 

A  something  in  the  shade  that  fell 

Of  pilgrims  hastening  to  the  rites. 

Over  that  brow's  imagined  grace, 

While,  far  around,  like  ruby  sparks 

Upon  tha  water,  lighted  barlcs, 

1  The  Ibis. 

730 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Whicli  won  me  more  than  all  the  best 

Outshining  beauties  of  the  rest 

And  her  alone  my  eyes  could  see, 

Knchain'd  by  this  sweet  mystery  ; 

And  her  alone  I  .vatch'd,  as  round 

She  glided  o'er  that  marble  ground, 

Stirring  not  more  th'  unconscious  aii 

Than  if  a  Spirit  were  moving  there. 

Till  suddenly,  wide  open  flew 

The  Temple's  folding  gates,  and  threw 

A  splendor  from  within,  a  flood 

Of  glory,  where  tliose  maidens  stood. 

While,  with  that  light — as  if  the  same 

Rich  source  gave  birth  to  both — there  cams 

A  swell  of  hannony,  as  grand 

As  o'er  was  born  of  voice  and  hand, 

Filling  the  gorgeous  aisles  around 

With  luxury^  of  light  and  sound. 


Then  was  it,  by  the  flash  tliat  blazed 

Full  o'er  her  features — oh  'twas  then. 
As  startingly  her  eyes  she  raised, 

But  quick  let  fall  their  lids  again, 
I  saw — not  Psyche's  self,  when  tirst 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  skies 
She  paused,  while  heaven's  glory  burst 

Newly  upon  her  downcast  eyes, 
Could  look  more  beautiful,  or  blush 

With  holier  shame,  than  did  this  maid, 
Wliom  now  I  saw,  in  all  tliat  gush 

Of  splendor  from  the  aisles,  display'd. 
Never — though  well  thou  know'st  how  much 

I've  felt  the  sway  of  Beauty's  star- 
Never  did  her  bright  influence  touch 

My  soul  into  its  deptlis  so  far  ; 
And  had  that  vision  linger'd  there 

One  minute  more,  I  should  have  flown. 
Forgetful  who  I  was  and  where. 

And,  at  her  feet  in  worship  thrown, 

Proflir'd  my  soul  through  life  her  own. 

But,  scarcely  had  that  burst  of  light 
And  music  broke  on  ear  and  sight, 
Than  up  the  aisle  the  bird  took  wing, 

As  if  on  heavenly  mission  sent, 
While  after  him,  with  graceful  spring. 

Like  some  unearthly  creatures,  meant 

To  live  in  that  mix'd  clement 

Of  light  and  song,  the  young  maids  weut ; 
And  slie,  who  in  my  heart  had  thrown 
A  spark  to  burn  for  life,  was  flown. 


In  vain  I  tried  to  follow  ; — bands 
Of  reverend  chanters  lill'd  the  aisle  : 


Where'er  I  sought  to  pass,  their  wauds 
Motion'd  me  back,  while  many  a  file 
Of  sacred  nymphs — but  ah,  not  they 
Whom  my  eyes  look'd  for — throng'd  the  way 
Perple.\'d,  impatient,  'mid  tliis  crowd 
Of  faces,  lights — the  o'erwhelming  cloud 
Of  incense  round  me,  and  my  blood 
Full  of  its  new-born  fire — I  stood. 
Nor  moved,  nor  breathed,  but  when  I  caught 

A  glimpse  of  seme  blue,  spangled  zone, 
Or  wreath  of  lotus,  vhich,  I  tliought, 
Like  those  she  wore  at  distance  shone. 

But  no,  'twas  vain — hour  after  hour, 

Till  my  heart's  throbbing  tirn'd  to  pain, 
And  my  strain'd  eyesight  lost  its  power, 

I  souglit  her  thus,  but  all  in  vain. 
At  length,  liot — wilder'd — in  despair, 
I  rush'd  into  the  cool  night-air, 
And,  hurrying,  (though  with  many  a  look 
Back  to  the  busy  Temple,)  took 
My  way  along  tlie  moonlight  shore, 
And  sprung  into  my  boat  once  more. 

There  is  a  Lake,  that  to  the  north 
Of  Memphis  stretches  grandly  forth, 
Upon  whose  silent  shore  the  Dead 

Have  a  proud  City  of  their  own,' 
With  shrines  and  pyramids  o'erspread — 
Where  many  an  ancient  kingly  head 

Slumbers,  immortalized  in  stone  ; 
-•Vnd  where,  through  marble  grots  beneath, 

The  lifeless,  ranged  like  sacred  thiugs. 
Nor  wanting  aught  of  life  but  breath. 

Lie  in  their  painted  coverings, 
And  on  each  new  successive  race, 

That  visit  their  dim  haunts  below, 
Look  with  the  same  unwithering  face, 

They  wore  three  thousand  years  ago. 
There,  Silence,  thoughtful  God,  who  loves 
Tlie  neighborhood  of  death,  in  groves 
Of  Asphodel  lies  hid,  and  weaves 
His  hushing  spell  among  the  leaves — 
Nor  ever  noise  disturbs  the  air. 

Save  the  low,  humming,  mournful  sound 
Of  priests,  within  their  shrines,  at  prayer 

For  tlie  fresh  Dead  entomb'd  around. 

'Twas  tow'rd  this  place  of  death — in  mood 
Made  up  of  thoughts,  half  bright,  half  dark— 

I  now  across  the  shining  llood 

Unconscious  turn'd  my  light-wuig'd  bark. 


'  Necropolis,  or  the  City  of  the  Deui).  to  ihe  souih  of 
Memphis. 


ALCIPHRON.                                                      731 

The  form  of  that  young  maid,  in  all 

Cold,  dead,  and  black'ning,  'mid  the  gloom 

It5  beauty,  was  before  me  stiil  ; 

Of  those  eternal  sepulchres. 

And  oft  I  thouglit,  if  thus  to  call 

Her  image  to  my  mind  at  will. 

Scarce  had  I  turn'd  my  eyes  away 

If  but  the  memory  of  that  one 

From  that  dark  death-place,  at  the  thought, 

Bright  look  of  hers,  forever  gone. 

When  by  the  sound  of  dashing  spray 

Was  to  my  heart  worth  all  the  rest 

From  a  light  oar  my  ear  was  caugljt. 

Of  woman-kind,  beheld,  possessed — 

While  past  me,  through  the  moonlight,  sail'd 

What  would  it  be,  if  wholly  mine, 

A  little  gilded  bark  that  bore 

Within  these  arms,  as  in  a  shrine, 

Two  female  figures,  closely  veil'd 

Hallow'd  by  Love,  I  saw  her  sliine — 

And  mantled,  towards  that  funeral  shore. 

An  idol,  worshipp'd  by  the  light 

They  landed — and  the  boat  again 

Of  her  own  beauties,  day  and  night — 

Put  otF  across  the  watery  plain. 

If  'twas  a  blessing  but  to  see 

And  lose  again,  what  would  this  be  ? 

Shall  I  confess — to  thee  I  may — 

That  never  yet  hath  come  the  chance 

In  thoughts  like  these — but  often  cross'd 

Of  a  new  music,  a  new  ray 

By  darker  threads — my  mind  was  lost, 

From  woman's  voice,  from  woman's  glance, 

Till,  near  that  City  of  the  Dead, 

Which — let  it  find  me  how  it  might, 

Waked  from  my  trance,  I  saw  o'erhead — 

In  joy  or  grief — I  did  not  bless. 

As  if  by  some  enchanter  bid 

And  wander  after,  as  a  light 

Suddenly  from  the  wave  to  rise — 

Leading  to  undreamt  happiness. 

Pyramid  over  pyramid 

And  chiefly  now,  when  hopes  so  vain 

Tower  in  succession  to  the  skies  ; 

Were  stirring  in  my  heart  and  brain. 

While  one,  aspiring,  as  if  soon 

When  Fancy  had  allured  my  soul 

'Twould  touch  the  heavens,  rose  o'er  all ; 

Into  a  chase,  as  vague  and  far 

And,  on  its  summit,  the  white  moon 

As  would  be  liis,  who  fix'd  his  goal 

Rested,  as  on  a  pedestal ! 

In  the  horizon,  or  some  star — 

Any  bewilderment,  that  brought 

More  near  to  earth  my  high-flown  thought — 

The  silence  of  the  lonely  tombs 

The  faintest  glimpse  of  joy,  less  pure. 

And  temples  round,  where  naught  was  heard 

Less  high  and  heavenly,  but  more  sure. 

But  the  high  palm-tree's  tufted  plumes, 

Came  welcome — and  was  then  to  me 

Shaken,  at  times,  by  breeze  or  bird, 

What  the  first  flowery  isle  must  be 

Form'd  a  deep  contrast  to  the  scene 

To  vagrant  birds  blown  out  to  sea. 

Of  revel,  where  I  late  had  been  ; 

To  those  gay  sounds,  that  still  came  o'er. 

Quick  to  the  shore  I  urged  my  bark, 

Faintly,  from  many  a  distant  shore, 

And,  by  the  bursts  of  moonlight,  shed 

And  th'  unuumber'd  lights,  that  shone 

Between  the  lofty  tombs,  could  mark 

Far  o'er  the  Hood,  from  Memphis  on 

Those  figures,  as  with  hasty  tread 

To  the  Moon's  Isle  and  Babylon. 

They  glided  on — till  in  the  shade 

Of  a  small  pyramid,  which  tlu-ough 

My  oars  were  lifted,  and  my  boat 

Some  boughs  of  palm  its  peak  display 'd. 

Lay  rock'd  upon  the  rippling  stream  ; 

They  vauish'd  instant  from  my  view. 

While  my  vague  thoughts,  alike  afloat, 

Drifted  through  many  an  idle  dream. 

I  hurried  to  the  spot — no  trace 

With  all  of  which,  wild  and  unfix'd 

Of  life  was  in  that  lonely  place  ; 

As  was  their  aim,  that  vision  mix'd. 

And,  had  the  creed  I  hold  by  taught 

That  bright  nymph  of  the  Temple — now. 

Of  other  worlds,  I  might  have  thought 

With  the  same  innocence  of  brow 

Some  mocking  spirits  had  from  thence 

She  wore  within  the  lighted  fane — 

Come  in  this  guise  to  cheat  my  sense. 

Now  kindling,  through  each  pulse  and  vein. 

With  passion  of  such  deep-felt  iire 

At  length,  exploring  darkly  round 

As  Gods  might  glory  to  inspire  ; — 

The  Pyramid's  smooth  sides,  I  found 

Anil  now — oh  Darkness  of  the  tomb, 

An  iron  portal — opening  high 

That  must  eclipse  even  light  like  liers .' 

'Twixt  peak  and  base — and,  with  a  prayer 

733                                              MOORE'S  WORKS. 

To  the  bliss-loving  Moon,  whose  eye 

For  there  was  yet  one  wonder  thore, 

Alone  bclielJ  me,  sprung  in  there. 

That  held  me  as  by  witch'ry  bound. 

Downward  tlje  narrow  stairway  led 

The  lamp,  that  through  the  chamber  shed 

Througli  many  a  duct  obscure  and  dread, 

Its  vivid  beam,  was  at  the  head 

A  labyrinth  for  mystery  made, 

Of  her  who  on  that  altar  slept ; 

With  wanderings  onward,  backward,  round, 

And  near  it  stood,  when  first  I  came — 

And  gathering  still,  where'er  it  wound, 

Bending  her  brow,  as  if  she  kept 

But  deeper  density  of  eliade 

Sad  watch  upon  its  silent  flame — 

A  female  form,  as  yet  so  placed 

Scarce  had  I  ask'd  myself,  "  Can  aught 

Between  the  lamp's  strong  glow  and  me, 

"  That  man  delights  in  sojourn  here  ?'' — 

That  I  but  saw,  in  outliaie  traced. 

When,  suddenly,  far  off,  I  caught 

The  shadow  of  her  sj-mmetiy. 

A  glimpse  of  liglit,  remote,  but  clear — 

Yet  did  my  heart — I  scarce  knew  why — 

Whose  welcome  glimmer  seem'd  to  pour 

Even  at  that  shadow'd  shape  heat  high. 

From  some  alcove  or  cell,  that  ended 

Nor  was  it  long,  ere  full  iu  sight 

The  long,  steep,  marblo  corridor, 

The  figure  turu'd  ;  aud  by  the  light 

Through  which  I  now,  all  h.ope,  descended. 

That  touch'd  her  featiues,  as  she  bent 

Never  did  Spartan  to  his  bride 

Over  the  crystal  monument, 

With  warier  foot  at  midniglit  glide. 

I  saw  'twas  she — the  same — the  same — 

It  seem'd  as  cello's  self  were  dead 

That  lately  stood  before  me,  bright'niug 

In  this  dark  place,  so  mute  my  tread. 

The  holy  spot,  where  she  but  came 

Reaching,  at  length,  tliat  light,  I  saw — 

Aud  went  again,  like  summer  lightning  I 

Oh  listen  to  the  scene,  now  raised 

Before  my  eyes — then  guess  the  awe, 

Upon  the  crystal,  o'er  the  breast 

The  still,  rapt  awe  with  which  I  gazed. 

Of  her  who  took  that  silent  rest, 

'Twas  a  small  chapel,  lined  aroimd 

There  was  a  cross  of  silver  lying — 

With  tho  fair,  spangling  marble,  found 

Another  typo  of  that  blest  home, 

In  many  a  ruin'd  shrine  that  stands 

Which  hope,  and  pride,  and  fear  of  dying 

Half  i-eeu  above  the  Libyan  sands. 

Build  for  us  in  a  world  to  come  : — 

The  walls  were  richly  sculptured  o'er. 

This  silver  cross  the  maiden  raised 

And  charactcr'd  with  that  dark  lore. 

To  her  pure  lips  :^then,  having  gazed 

Of  times  before  the  Flood,  whose  key 

Some  minutes  ou  that  tranquil  face, 

Was  lost  in  th'  "  Universal  Sea." — 

Sleeping  in  all  death's  mournful  grace, 

While  on  the  roof  was  pictured  bright 

Upward  she  turu'd  her  brow  serene, 

The  Theban  beetle,  as  he  shines. 

As  if,  intent  on  heaven,  those  eyes 

When  the  Nile's  mighty  flow  declines, 

Saw  thcu  nor  roof  nor  cloud  between 

And  forth  the  creature  springs  to  light, 

Their  own  pure  orbits  and  tho  skies  ; 

With  life  regenerate  in  his  wings : — 

And,  though  her  lips  no  motion  made, 

Emblem  of  vain  imaginings  ! 

And  that  fLx'd  look  was  all  her  speech. 

Of  a  new  world,  when  this  is  gone, 

I  saw  that  the  rapt  spuit  pray'd 

In  which  the  spirit  still  lives  ou  I 

Deeper  withui  than  words  could  reach 

Direct  beneath  this  type,  reclined 

Strange  power  of  Innocence,  to  turn 

On  a  black  granite  altar,  lay 

To  its  own  hue  whate'er  comes  ucar. 

A  female  form,  iu  crj'stal  shrined. 

And  make  eveu  vagrant  Passiou  burn 

And  looking  fresh  as  if  the  ray 

With  purer  warmth  within  its  sphere  1 

Of  soul  had  fled  but  yesterday. 

She  who,  but  one  short  hour  before. 

While  in  reUef,  of  silv'ry  hue. 

Had  come,  like  sudden  wildfire,  o'er 

Graved  on  the  altar's  front  were  seen 

My  heart  and  brahi — whom  gladly,  even 

A  branch  of  lotus,  broken  iu  two. 

From  that  bright  Temple,  iu  tho  face 

As  that  fair  creature's  life  Iiad  been, 

Of  those  proud  ministers  of  heaven. 

And  a  small  bird  that  from  its  spray 

I  would  have  borne,  iu  wild  embrace. 

Was  winging,  like  her  soul,  away. 

And  risk'd  all  punishment,  divine 

And  human,  but  to  make  her  mite  ;— 

But  brief  the  glimpse  I  now  could  spare, 

She,  she  was  now  before  me,  thr  wn 

To  the  wild,  mystic  wonders  round  ; 

By  fate  itself  into  my  arms — 

ALCIPHRON.                                                   733 

There  stciudinsf.  bcoulifu!,  alone, 

Though  the  red  sun  for  Iioui-s  hath  burn'd. 

With  naiir;ht  to  giuud  her,  but  lier  clianns. 

And  now,  in  his  mid  conree,  hath  met 

Yet  did  I,  tlieii — did  even  a  breath 

The  peak  of  that  eternal  pile 

From  my  parcli'd  lips,  too  parcli'd  to  move, 

Ho  pauses  still  at  noon  to  bless. 

Disturb  a  scene  where  thus,  bencatli 

Standing  beneath  his  downward  smile. 

Eartli's  silent  covering,  Yonth  and  Death 

Like  a  great  Spirit,  shadowless  I — 

Held  converse  tlirongh  nndying  love  ? 

Nor  yet  she  comes — while  here,  alone, 

No — smile  and  taunt  me  as  thou  wilt — 

Sannt'ring  through  this  death -])coplcd  place, 

Though  but  to  gaze  thus  was  delight. 

Where  no  heart  beats  except  my  own, 

Yet  seem"d  it  like  a  wrong,  a  guilt. 

Or  'neath  a  palm-tree's  shelter  thrown. 

To  win  by  stealth  so  pme  a  sight: 

By  turns  I  watch,  and  rest,  and  trace 

And  rather  than  a  look  profane 

These  lines,  that  aro  to  waft  to  thee 

Should  then  have  met  those  thoughtful  eyes, 

My  last  night's  wondrous  history. 

Or  voice  or  whisper  broke  the  chain 

That  link"d  her  spirit  with  the  skies, 

Dost  thou  remember,  in  thai .  sle 

I  would  have  gladly,  in  that  place. 

Of  our  own  Sea,  where  thou  and  I 

From  which  I  watch'd  her  heavenward  face. 

Linger'd  so  long,  so  happy  a  while. 

Let  my  heart  break,  without  one  beat 

Till  all  the  summer  flowers  went  by — 

That  could  disturb  a  prayer  so  sweet. 

How  gay  it  was,  when  sunset  brought 

Gently,  as  if  on  eveiy  tread. 

To  the  cool  Well  our  favorite  maids — 

My  life,  my  more  than  life,  depended. 

Some  we  had  won,  and  some  we  sought — 

Back  through  the  corridor  that  led 

To  dance  within  the  fragrant  shades, 

To  this  bless'd  scene  I  now  ascended, 

And,  till  the  stars  went  down  attuno 

And  with  slow  seeking,  and  some  pain. 

Their  Fountain  Hymns'  to  the  young  moon? 

And  many  a  winding  tried  in  vain, 

Emerged  to  upper  air  again. 

That  time,  too — oh,  'tis  like  a  dream — 

The  sun  had  freshly  risen,  and  down 

When  from  Scamander's  holy  tide 

The  marble  hills  of  Araby, 

I  sprung  as  Genius  of  the  Stream, 

1        Scatter'd,  as  from  a  conqueror's  crown. 

And  bore  away  that  blooming  bride, 

His  beams  into  that  living  sea. 

Who  tliither  came,  to  yield  her  charms 

There  seem'd  a  glory  in  his  light. 

(As  Phrj'gia-.i  maids  are  wont,  ere  wed) 

j            Newly  put  on — as  if  for  pride 

Into  the  cold  Scamander's  arms, 

Of  the  high  homage  paid  this  night 

But  met,  and  welcomed  mine,  instead — 

To  his  own  IsLS,  iiis  young  bride, 

Wondering,  as  on  my  neck  she  fell. 

Now  fading  feminine  away 

How  river-gods  could  love  so  well  I 

In  her  proud  Lord's  superior  ray. 

Who  would  have  thought  that  he,  who  roved 

Like  the  first  bees  of  summer  then. 

My  mind's  first  impulse  was  to  fly 

Rifling  each  sweet,  nor  ever  loved 

At  once  from  this  entangling  net — 

But  the  free  hearts,  that  loved  again. 

New  scenes  to  range,  new  loves  to  try. 

Keadily  as  the  reed  replies 

Or,  in  mirth,  wine,  and  luxury 

To  the  least  breath  that  round  it  sighs — 

Of  every  sense,  that  night  forget. 

Is  the  same  dreamer  who,  last  night. 

But  vain  the  etTort — spell-bound  still, 

Stood  awed  and  breathless  at  the  sight 

I  liuger'd,  without  power  or  will 

Of  one  Eg}-ptian  girl ;  and  now 

To  turn  my  eyes  from  that  dark  door, 

Wanders  among  these  tombs,  with  brow 

Which  now  enclosed  her  'mong  the  dead 

Pale,  watchful,  sad,  as  though  he  just. 

Oft  fancying,  through  the  bouglis,  that  o'er 

Himself,  had  risen  from  out  their  dust ! 

The  sunny  pile  their  flickering  shed. 

'Twa.s  her  light  form  again  I  saw 

Yet  so  it  is — and  the  same  thirst 

Starting  to  earth — still  pure  and  bright, 

For  something  high  and  pure,  above 

But  wakening,  as  I  hoped,  less  awe. 

This  withering  world,  which,  from  the  first, 

Thus  seen  by  morning's  natural  light, 

Made  me  drink  deep  of  woman's  love — 

Than  in  thai  strange,  dim  cell  at  night. 

But  no,  alas — she  ne'er  return'd  : 

>  These  sonf.'^  of  the  Well,  as  they  were  called  by  the 

Ncr  yet — though  still  I  watch — nor  yet, 

ancients,  are  slill  common  in  llie  Greek  isles. 

734 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


As  the  one  joy,  to  heaven  most  near 
Of  all  our  hearts  can  meet  with  here — 
Still  burns  nie  up,  still  keeps  awake 
A  fever  naught  but  death  can  slake. 

Farewell ;  whatever  may  befall — 
Or  bright,  or  dark — thoa'lt  know  it  all. 


LETTER  IV. 

FROM  ORCUS,  HIGH  PRIEST  OF  MEMPHIS,  TO  DECIUS, 
THE  PRJ.TORIAN  PREFECT. 

Rejoice,  my  friend,  rejoice  :^the  youthful  Chief 
Of  tliat  light  Sect  which  mocks  at  all  belief, 
And,  gay  and  godless,  makes  the  present  hour 
Its  only  heaven,  is  now  witliin  our  power. 
Smooth,  impious  school  I — not  all  the  weapons  aim'd 
At  priestly  creeds,  since  iirst  a  creed  was  framed, 
E'er  struck  so  deep  as  that  sly  dart  they  wield, 
The  Bacchant's  pointed  spear  in  laughing  flowers 

conceal'd. 
And  oh,  'twere  victory  to  this  heart,  as  sweet 
As  any  thou  canst  boast — even  when  the  feet 
Of  thy  proud  war-steed  wade  through   Christian 

blood, 
To  wrap  this  scoffer  in  Faith's  blinding  hood, 
And  bring  him,  tamed  and  prostrate,  to  implore 
The  vilest  gods  even  Egypt's  saints  adore. 
What ! — do  these  sages  think,  to  them  alone 
The  key  of  this  world's  happiness  is  known? 
That  none  but  they,  who  make  such  proud  parade 
Of  Pleasure's  smiling  favors,  win  the  maid, 
Or  that  Religion  keeps  no  secret  place. 
No  niche,  in  her  dark  fanes,  for  Love  to  grace  ? 
Fools  ! — did  they  know  how  keen  the  zest  that's 

given 
To  earthly  joy,  when  season'd  well  with  heaven  ; 
How  Piety's  grave  maslc  improves  the  hue 
Of  Pleasure's  laughing  features,  half  seen  through. 
And  how  the  Priest,  set  aptly  within  reach 
Of  two  rich  worlds,  tralKcs  for  bliss  with  each. 
Would  they  not,  Decius — thou,  whom  th'  ancient 

tie 
Twi.\t  Sword  and  Altar  makes  our  host  ally — 
Would  they  not  change  their  creed,  their  craft,  for 

ouis? 
Leave  the  gross  daylight  joys  that,  in  their  bowers. 
Languish    with    too    much    sun,    like     o'orblown 

flowers. 
For  the  veil'd  loves,  the  blisses  undisplay'd 
That  slyly  lurk  within  the  Temple's  shade  ? 


And,  'stead  of  haunting  the  trim  Garden's  school- 
Where  cold  Philosoptiy  usurps  a  rule. 
Like  the  pale  moon's,  o'er  Passion's  heaving  tide, 
Till  Pleasure's  self  is  cliili'd  by  Wisdom's  pridt>— 
Be  taught  by  us,  quit  shadows  for  the  true. 
Substantial  joys  we  sager  Priests  pursue, 
Who,  far  too  wise  to  theorize  on  bliss, 
Or  Pleasure's  substance  for  its  shade  to  miss, 
Preach  other  worlds,  but  live  for  only  this :—' 
Tlianks  to  the  well-paid  Mystery  round  us  flung, 
Wliich,  like  its  type,  the  golden  cloud  that  hung 
O'er  Jupiter's  iove-couci»  its  shade  benign. 
Round  human  frailty  wraps  a  veil  divine. 

Still    less   should    they  presume,    weak    wits,    that 

they 
Alone  despise  the  craft  of  us  who  pray  ; — 
Still  less  their  creedless  vanity  deceive 
With  the  fond  thought,  that  we  who  pray  believe. 
Believe  ! — Apis  forbid — forbid  it,  all 
Ye  monster  Gods,  before  whose  shrines  wo  fall — 
Deities,  framed  in  jest,  as  if  to  try 
How  far  gross  Man  can  vulgarize  the  sky  ; 
How  far  the  same  low  fancy  tliat  combines 
Into  a  drove  of  brutes  you  zodiac's  signs, 
And  turns  that  Heaven  itself  into  a  place 
Of  sainted  sin  and  deified  disgrace. 
Can  bring  Olympus  even  to  shame  more  deep, 
Stock  it  with  things  that  earth  itself  holds  cheap. 
Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  the  kitchen's  sacred  brood. 
Which  Egypt  keeps  for  worship,  not  for  food — 
All,  worthy  idols  of  a  Faith  that  sees 
In  dogs,  cats,  owls,  and  apes,  divinities ! 

Believe  ! — oh,  Decius,  thou,  who  feel'st  no  care 

For  things  divine,  beyond  the  soldier's  share. 

Who  takes  on  trust  the  faitli  for  which  he  bleeds, 

A  good,  fierce  God  to  swear  by,  all  he  needs — 

Little  canst  thou,  whose  creed  around  thee  hangs 

Loose  as  thy  siunmer  war-cloak,  guess  the  pangs 

Of  loathing  and  self-scorn  with  which  a  heart. 

Stubborn  as  mine  is,  acts  the  zealot's  p;u-t — 

The  deep  and  dire  disgust  with  wliich  I  wado 

Through  the  foul  juggling  of  this  holy  trade — 

This  mud  profound  of  mystery,  where  the  feet, 

At  every  step,  sink  deeper  in  deceit. 

Oh  1  many  a  time,  when,  'mid  the  Temple's  blaze, 

O'er  prostrate  fools  the  sacred  cist  I  raise. 

Did  I  not  keep  still  proudly  in  my  mind 

The  power  this  priestcraft  gives  me  o'er  mankind-— 

A  lever,  of  more  might,  in  skilful  hand, 

To  move  this  world,  than  Archimede  e'er  plaun'd— 

I  should,  in  vengeance  of  the  shame  I  feel 

At  my  own  mockery,  crush  the  slaves  that  kneel 

Besotted  roimd ;  and — like  that  kindred  breed 

Of  reverend,  well-dcess'd  crocodiles  they  feed. 


ALCIPHRON 


735 


At  famed  Arsinoo' — make  my  keepers  bless, 
With  tlieir  last  throb,  my  sharp-fang'd  Holiness. 

Say,  is  it  to  bo  borne,  that  scoffers,  vaia 

Of  tlieir  own  freedom  from  tlio  altar's  cliain, 

Should  mock  thus  all  that  thou  thy  blood  hast  sold, 

And  I  my  truth,  pride,  freedom,  to  uphold? 

It  must  not  be  : — think'st  thou  that  Cljristian  sect, 

Whose  followers,  quick  as  broken  waves,  erect 

Their  crests  anew  and  swell  into  a  tide, 

That  threats  to  sweep  away  our  shrines  of  pride — ■ 

Think'st  thou,  with  all  their  wondrous  spells,  even 

they 
Would  triumph  thus,  had  not  the  constant  play 
Of  Wit's  resistless  archery  clear'd  their  way  ? — 
That  mocking  spirit,  worst  of  all  the  foes, 
Our  solemn  fraud,  our  mystic  mummery  knows. 
Whose  wounding  flasli  thus  ever  'mong  the  signs 
Of  a  fast-falling  creed,  prelusive  shines, 
Threat'uing  such  change  as  do  the  awful  freaks 
Of  summer  lightning,  ere  the  tempest  breaks. 

But,  to  my  point — a  youth  of  this  vain  school, 
But  one,  whom  Doubt  itself  hath  fail'd  to  cool 
Down  to  that  freezing  point  where  Priests  despair 
Of  any  spark  from  th'  altar  catching  there — 
Hath,  some  nights  since — it  was,  methinks,  the  night 
That  follow'd  the  full  Moon's  great  annual  rite — 
Tlirough  the  dark,  winding  ducts,  that  downward 

stray 
To  these  earth-hidden  temples,  track'd  his  way, 
Just  at  that  hour  when,  round  the  Shrine,  and  me, 
The  choir  of  blooming  nyniplis  thou  long'st  to  see, 
Sing  their  last  night-hymn  in  the  Sanctuarj'. 
The  clangor  of  the  marvellous  Gate,  that  stands 
At  the  Well's  lowest  dei)th — which  none  but  hands 
Of  new,  untauglit  adventurers,  from  above. 
Who  know  not  the  safe  path,  e'er  dare  to  move- 
Gave  signal  that  a  foot  profane  was  nigh  : — 
'Twas  the  Greek  youth,  who,  by  that  morning's  sky, 
Had  been  observed,  curiously  wand'ring  round 
The  mighty  fanes  of  our  sepulcliral  ground. 

Instant,  th'  Initiate's  Trials  were  prepared, — 
The  Fire,  Air,  Water  ;  all  that  Orpheus  dared. 
That  Plato,  that  tlie  bright-liair'd  Samiau'  pass'd, 
With  trembling  hope,  to  come  to — what,  at  last? 
Go,  ask  the  dupes  of  Priestcraft  I  question  him 
Who,  'mid  terrific  sounds  and  spectres  dim. 
Walks  at  Eleusis  ;  ask  of  those,  who  brave 
The  dazzling  miracles  of  Mithra's  Cave, 
With  its  seveu  starry  gates  ;  ask  all  who  keep 
Those  terrible  night-mysteries,  where  they  weep 


*  For  the  trinkets  with  which  the  sacred  Crocodiles  were 
ornamented,  see  the  Epicurean,  chap.  x. 


And  howl  sad  dirges  to  the  answering  breeze, 
O'er  tlieir  dead  Gods,  their  mortal  Deities — 
Ampliiblous,  hybrid  things,  that  died  as  men, 
Drown'd,  liang'd,  empaled,  to  rise,  as  gods,  again  ; — 
Ask  them,  what  mighty  secret  lurks  below 
This  seven-fold  mystery — can  they  tell  tiiee  ?  No  ; 
Gravely  they  keep  that  only  secret,  well 
And  fairly  kept — that  they  have  none  to  tell ; 
Aud,  duped  themselves,  console  their  humbled  pride 
By  duping  thenceforth  all  mankind  beside. 


Orpheus' 


And    sucli    th'  advance    in    fraud 

time — 
That  earliest  master  of  our  craft  subhme — 
So  many  minor  Mysteries,  imps  of  fraud. 
From  the  great  Orphic  Egg  have  wing'd  abroad. 
That,  still  t'  uphold  our  Temple's  ancient  boast. 
And  seem  most  holy,  we  must  cheat  the  most ; 
Work  the  best  miracles,  wrap  nonsense  round 
In  pomp  and  darkness,  till  it  seems  profound  ; 
Play  on  the  hopes,  the  terrors  of  mankind. 
With  changeful  skill  ;  and  make  the  human  mind 
Like  our  own  Sanctuary,  where  no  ray. 
But  by  the  Priest's  permission,  wins  its  way — 
Where  tiirough  the  gloom  as  wave  our  wizard-rods, 
Monsters,  at  will,  are  conjured  into  Gods  ; 
While  Reason,  like  a  grave-faced  mummy,  stands, 
With  her  arms  swathed  in  hieroglyphic  bands. 
But  chiefly  in  that  skill  with  which  we  use 
Man's  wildest  pas.sions  for  Religion's  views. 
Yoking  them  to  her  car  like  fiery  steeds, 
Lies  the  main  art  in  which  our  craft  succeeds. 
And  oh  !  be  blest,  ye  men  of  yore,  whose  toil 
Hath,  for  her  use,  scoop'd  out  from  Egypt's  soil 
This  hidden  Paradise,  this  mine  of  fanes. 
Gardens,  and  palaces,  where  Pleasure  reigns 
In  a  rich,  sunless  empire  of  her  own. 
With  all  earth's  luxuries  lighting  up  her  throne  ; — 
A  realm  for  mystery  made,  which  undermines 
The  Nile  itself,  and,  'iieath  the  Twelve  Great  Shrines 
That  keep  Initiation's  holy  rite. 
Spreads  its  long  labyrinths  of  imcurthly  light, 
A  light  that  knows  no  change — its  brooks  that  run 
Too  deep  for  day,  its  gaidens  without  sun. 
Where  soul  and  sense,  by  turns,  are  charm'd,  sur- 
prised, 
And  all  that  bard  or  prophet  e'er  devised 
For  man's  Elysium,  priests  hare  realized. 

Here,  at  this  moment — all  his  trials  past. 
And  heart  and  nerve  unshrinking  to  the  last — 
Our  new  Initiate  roves — as  yet  left  free 
To  wander  through  tliis  realm  of  mystery: 

9  Pythagoras. 


736 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Feeding  on  sneh  illusions  as  prepare 
The  soul,  like  mist  o'er  waterfalls,  to  wear 
All  shapes  and  hues,  at  Fancy's  varying  will, 
Throngli  every  shifting  aspect,  vapor  still  ;— 
Vague  glimpses  of  tlie  Future,  vistas  shown, 
By  scenic  skill,  into  that  world  nnknown, 
Which  saints  and  sinners  claim  alike  tlieir  own  ; 
And  all  those  other  witching,  wildering  arts, 
Illusions,  terrors,  that  make  human  hearts. 
Ay,  even  the  wisest  and  the  hardiest,  quail 
To  any  goblin  tiironed  behind  a  veil. 

Yes — such  the  spells  shall  haunt  his  eye,  his  ear. 
Mix  with  his  night-dreams,  form  his  atmosphere  ; 


Till,  if  our  Sage  be  not  tamed  down,  at  length, 

His  wit,  his  wisdom,  shorn  of  all  their  strength, 

Like  Phrygian  priests,  in  honor  of  the  shrine — 

If  he  become  not  absolutely  mine, 

Body  and  soul,  and,  like  the  tame  decoy 

Which  wary  hunters  of  wild  doves  employ. 

Draw  converts  also,  lure  his  brother  wits 

To  the  dark  cage  where  his  own  spirit  flits. 

And  give  us,  if  not  saints,  good  hypocrites— 

If  I  efl'ect  not  this,  then  bo  it  said 

The  ancient  spirit  of  our  craft  hath  fled, 

Gone  with  that  serpent-god  the  Cross  hath  chased 

To  hiss  its  soul  out  in  the  Theban  waste. 


INDEX 


Abdalla,,  King  of  the  Lesser  Bucha 
rin,  373,  &c.     See  Lalla  Rookh. 

AUiallah,  2!0.    His  Guzel,  211. 

AImIuI  Fazil,  453.  n. 

A  be.Tiii  of  tranquillity  smiled  in  the 
west,  163. 

A  broken  cake,  with  honey  sweet,  (Ode 
Lxx.  Anacreon,)  100. 

iEgeau  Sea,  the,  312.  315. 

Agnew,  Sir  Andrew,  G89,  590.  G46,  et 
passim. 

Ah !  where  are  they  who  heard  in  for- 
mer hours.  3*24. 

AlbeiHiirle,  Lord,  anecdote  of,  533. 

Album,  the,  131.  547. 

Alciphron,  Alhenian  Thilosopher,  an 
initiate  in  Egypti;m  Mysteries,  702. 
His  recognilion  by  the  Roman  tribune, 
731.  His  dariny,  722.  He  witnesses 
the  cleaih  of  the  Christian  martyr 
Alethe,  723.  Account  of  this  Epicu- 
rean philosopher,  723,  724. 

Alciphron ,  a  Fragment  of  '  The  Epicu- 
rean,' as  originally  conunenced  in 
verse,  724— 73G.  Epistle  1.  From  Al- 
ciphron al  Alexandria  to  Cleon  at 
Athens,  724.  H.  Front  Alciphron  to 
Cleon,  726.  HL  From  Alciphron  to 
Cleon,  728.  IV.  From  Orcus,  high 
priest  of  Memphis,  to  Decius,  tlie 
Praelorian  prefect,  734. 

Alethe,  Story  of  the  fliarlyi;  698—703, 
et  scq. 

Alexander.  Right  Hon.  H.,  212. 

Aliris,  Kinjr,  373.441.454.  His  nuptials 
with  Lalla  Rookh,  454. 

All  that's  bright  must  fade,  2.S0. 

Alia,  name  of  God  in  Mahometan  coun- 
tries, 378.  (yide  Lalla  Rookh,  522. 
532.)    The  throne  of  Alia,  525.  538. 

Alone  in  crowds  to  wander  on,  298. 

Alps,  Song  of  the,  372. 

America,  Poemi  relating  to.  Preface, 
ICO,  IGl.  Dedication  to  Francis,  Earl 
of  Moira.  Preface,  100.  The  Poems, 
liil— 1S7, 

Aniuiianus  speaking  of  Alexandria  in 
Egypt,  667,  n. 

Amra  tree,  350,  n. 

Amrita,  the  Immortal  tree,  3C5. 

Amystis,  the,  a  single  draught  of  wine, 
G»,  n. 

Anacreon,  Odes  of,  57. 

*,*  The  Odea  ere  given  in  this  In- 
dex in  the  order  of  the  initial  letter  of 
tacL  Ode. 


Anacreon.  Biographical  and  Critical 
Remarks,  59.  Additional  Lyrics,  at- 
tributed to  Anacreon,  101,  102.  Pan- 
egyrics in  the  Anthologia  on  Ana- 
creon, 102—104. 
Anacreontics,    modern,    110.   118.   120, 

121.219.221. 
And  doth  not  a  meeting  like  this  make 
amends,  203. 

And  hast  thou  mark'd  the  pensive 
stiade,  140. 

And  now  with  till  thy  pencil's  truth, 
(Ode  XVII.  Anacreon,)  73. 

An;;el3  and  archungels  of  the  celestial 
hierarchy  of  tiie  primeval  Syrians, 
521.  536. 

Angels,  the  Fallen,  451.  527.  537. 

Ani^erianus,  Latin  verses  of,  translated, 
G7,  n.,  75,  n. 

Anglesea,  Marquis  of,  lord-lieutenant, 
574. 

Animal  Magnetism,  G14. 

Annual  Pill,  the,  5S0. 

Antelope  of  Erac,  450.     See  also  720. 

Anthology,  the  Greek:  Translations  of 
some  Epigrams  of,  102.  104.  Songs 
from  the  Greek.  36&— 3G9. 

Antipaler.  epigram  of,  104. 

Antique,  a  Siudy  from  the,  173. 

Antiquity, a  Dream  of,  170. 

Apollo,  the  god  of  poetry,  292. 

Apollo,  the  hich-priest  of,  to  a  virgin 
of  Delphi,  13G. 

Apricots,  the  'Seed  of  the  Sun,*  450. 

Arab,  the  tyrant,  Al  Hassan,  {vide 
Lalla  Rookh,  the  Siory  of  the  Fire- 
worshippers,)  416,  ct  scq. 

AraO  Maid  the;  417.  449.  451. 

Arabia,  41G,  4^" 

Arabian  shepherd,  his  camel,  328,  71. 

Ararat,  Mount,  417. 

Archangels,  522.  527.  53G. 

Ariatlne,  dance  so  named,  329. 

Ariel,  170.  543.  558. 

Aribttppus,  to  a  Lamp  given  by  Lais. 
122. 

Arm'd  with  hyacinthine  rod,  (Ode 
xxxi.  Anacreon,)  81. 

Around  the  tomb,  O  bard  divine  I  (An- 
thologia,) KG. 

Arranmore  I  loved  Arranmore  !  269. 

Array  tbce,  love,  310. 

Art,  327. 

As  by  his  Lemnian  forge's  flame,  (Ode 
.\xviii.  Anacreon,)  79. 

As  by  l!ic  shore,  at  break  of  day,  323. 

As  down  ill  the  sunless  retreats,  301. 

Ask  not  if  still  I  love,  369. 


As  late  1  sought  the  spangled  bowers, 
(Ode  \i.  Anacreon,)  G6. 

As  o'er  the  lake,  in  evening's  glow, 
6G4. 

As  o'er  her  loom  theLesi  cji  maid,  320. 

As  once  a  Grecian  maiden  wove,  327. 

Aspasin.  144. 

Aspen-iree,  the,  4-13. 

As  slou'  our  sh^i    jG3. 

As  vanquish'd  Erin  wept,  2frk 

Atalanlis,  island  of,  609. 

Athens,  and  the  Sectaries  of  the  Gar- 
den, G62,  GG3.  Alciphron,  703.  724— 
736.  Pyrrho,  199,  ft  sej.  The  moth- 
er of  art.  327. 

Ath<.l,  Dukeof,  549, 71. 

Atkinson,  Joseph,  Epistle  to,  140.  Epis- 
tle Irorn  Bermuda  to,  174.  Tribute  to 
his  memory,  547. 

At  the  mid  hour  of  night,  244. 

At  length  thy  golden  hours  have  wing'd 
their  flight,  (Anthologia,)  104. 

At  night,  when  all  is  still  around.  658. 

Attar  Gul,  or  (vulgarly)  Otto  of  Roses, 
453. 

Augustine  to  his  Sister,  302. 

Aurora  Borealis,  453. 

Aurungzebe,  Mogul  Emperor  of  Delhi, 
373.  441. 

Austrians,  their  entr>'  into  Naples,  519. 

Autumn  and  Spring,  396. 

Avenging  and  bright  fall  the  swift 
sword  of  Erin,  243. 

Awake,  arise,  thy  light  is  come,  304. 

Awake  to  life,  my  sleeping  shell,  (Ode 
LX.  Anacreon,)  96. 

Away,  away,  ye  men  of  rules,  (Ode 
Lit.  Anacreon,)  91. 

Awful  event,  591. 

Awhile  1  bloom'd  a  happy  flower,  (Ode 
Lxxiii.  Anacreon.)  100. 

Azini,  vi.  80.     See  Lalla  Rookh. 

Azor,  idiils  of.  452. 

Azrael,  the  angel  of  death,  521. 

Azure  of  the  Chinese  pamling  of  por- 
celain, 452.  n. 

B 

Rabylon.  307. 

Ball  and  G;ila  described,  314.  Allusion 
to  Alniack's,  544.  See  Wallz,  &c.  et 
passim.    The  Romaika.  321. 

Ball,uls,  legendary,  345—366. 

Ballads,  miscellaneous,  345—366. 

Ballads,  occasional,  passim. 

Bank,  coquetr>'  of  the,  with  Govern 
uient,  548.     Notes,  549. 


738 


Bard,  the  Wanilering,  267. 
Bards,  of,  (M.  230.  292.  355.  302.  ct  pas- 
sim. 
Battle,  after  the,  238. 
Battle,  before  ihe,  239. 
Battle  eve,  Sony  of  the,  207. 
Battle,  the  parting  before  the,  344. 
Beaiijoliiis,  Count  lie,  45. 
Beauty  and  Song,  303. 
Beauty,  of,  181).  250.  205.  207.  231.  293. 

3!2.  3M.  373,  &c. 
Beckford,  to  Miss  Susan,  (now  Duchess 

of  Hamilton,)  151. 
Bee,  the,  243.  291. 
Behold  the  sun,  how  bright,  303. 
Behold   ihe    young,  the    rosy   Spring, 

(Ode  xLvi.  Anacreon,)  88. 
Believe  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young 

charms,  235. 
Bell,  the  silver,  292. 
Benab  Hasche,  or  daughters  of  God 

523. 
Benshee,  or  Banshe,  superstition  of  the, 

233. 
Bermuda,  farewell  to,  271.    Some  ac- 
count of  that  island,  174,  n. 
Big  Ben,  Epistle  from  Tom  Crib  to,  457. 
Bigotry,  triumph  of,  000. 
Bird,  let  loose  in  eastern  skies,  the,  298. 
Birthday,  my,  515. 
Birthday,  the,  140. 
Bishops,  the  dance  of,  a  dream,  590. 
Blackmore,  Sir  Richard,  590. 
Blue  Love  Song,  a,  590. 
Blue  Stocking,  the,  056 — 058. 
Boat  Glee,  057. 

Bohlen,  Professor  Von,  his  translation 
into  German  of  the  "Little  Man  and 
Little  Soul,"  28. 
Bowl,   the,   4.  230.  234.  245.  252.  203. 

207.  270.  290,  291.  293.  335.  343. 
Bride  of  the  Vale,  the,  299. 
Brien  the  Brave,  229. 
Boston  Frigate,  to  the:  On  leaving  Hal- 

ifa.x  for  England,  187. 
Boy  of  the  Alps,  the,  356. 
Bny  sitting  on  the  lotus  flower,  268.  681. 
Boy  statesman,  the,  610. 
Boy  with  a  watch,  to  a,  107. 
Boyle  Farm,  the  seat  of  Lord  llenrj- 
Fitzgerald,  Summer  Fiile  at,  38.  308. 
Boyne,  river,  204. 
Boi,  the  Song  of  the,  614. 
Bright  be  thy  dreams,  286. 
Bright  moon,  that  high  in  heaven  art 

shining,  372. 
Brighton,  the  Pavilion  at,  4,55. 
Bring  hither,  bring  thy  lute,  315. 
Bring  me  the  sluiubering  souls  of  flow- 
ers, 649. 
Bring  the  bright  garlands  hither,  293. 
Brougham,  Lord,  550. 
Er,:ce.  James,  Esq.,  the  traveller,  501. 
Brummel,  Beau,  218. 
Brunswick  Club,  the,  593. 
Brunswickers,"  Incantation  from  the 

Tragedy  of  "The,  585. 
Bucharia,  Abdalla,  king  of,    (in  LalK 

Rookh,)  373,  441.  452,  453,  &c. 
Buds  of  roses,    virgin   flowers,    (Ode 
XLiv.  Anacreon,)  87.  I 


INDEX. 


Bull,  John,  545.    A  Pastoral  Ballad  by 

509. 
Bunting,  Mr.  28.  30.  39,  ii.  108,  ti. 
Burns,  Robert,  37.  272. 
But  who  shall  see  the  glorious  day, 

301.  (Stevenson.) 
Butterflies  denominated  jjyin^  leavcsiti 

China,  449. 
Byron,  Lord,  his  love  of  music,  36.    Is 

visited   by  Mr.  Moore  at  Venice,  40. 

Dedication   to   him   of  Mr.   Moore's 

Fables  for  the  Holy  Alliance,  483.  On 

his  autobiography,  501.  His  "  Heaven 

and  Earth,"  51. 
By  that  lake  whose  gloomy  shore,  241. 


Cage,  the  Love,  289. 

Call  the  Loves  around,  317. 

Cambridge  Election,  Ballad  for  Ihe,  553. 

Canadian  Boat-song,  183. 

Candahar,  449. 

Canonization  of  the  Saint,  500. 

Canova,  his  Venere  Vincitrice,  47. 

Calm  as,  beneath  ita  mother's  eyes,  331. 

Calm  be  thy  sleep  as  infants'  slumbers, 

359. 
Cara,  to,  132. 
Care,  252. 
Case,  a  sad,  592. 

Cashmere,  nuptials  of  Lalla  Rookh  at, 
373.  "Cashmere,  the  Vale  ol,"  sung 
by  Ferainorz,  442.  The  lake  of,  and 
islets,  443,  ii.  Mountain  portal  to  Ihe 
lake,  443,  n.  Roses  of,  444.  The  Un- 
equalled Valley,  453,  Superstitions 
of,  453,  71.  A  holy  land,  453,  n.  The 
fountain  Tirnagh,  453,  n.  "Though 
sunny  the  lake  of  cool  Ca.shmcre°" 
406.  ' 

Castalia,  the  fountain,  337,  n. 
Casllereagh,  Lord,  satirized,  455.  458  ct 
seq.     {See  The  Fudge  Family,  458,'  tt 
passim.)    His  departure  for  the  Con- 
tinent, 611,  012.     See  Satirical  Poems, 
&c. 
Catholic  Question,  Ihe,  578.  580,  &c. 
Catholics,  the  Roman,  503.  052. 
Catullus,  138.  516. 
Caubul,  or  Cahoul,  gardens  of,  4.'i0. 
Cecilia,  Saint,  594. 
Cephalus  and  I'rocris,  338. 
Ceres,    Ode    to    the   goddess,    by   Sir 

Thomas  L.,  550. 
Chabuk,  the,  454. 
Chalda;ans,  astronomical  notions  of  Ihe 

ancient,  527,  n. 
Chantrey,  Sir  Francis.    His  admiration 

of  Canova,  47. 
Character,  a,  619. 
Charity,  Angel  of,  302.    (Handel.) 
Charles  X.,  king  of  France,  45. 
Chatsworth,  the  Derbyshire  ducal  man- 
sion of,  34. 
Cherries,  a  conserve  in  Ihe  East,  450. 
Cherries,  the,  577. 
Cherubim,  538. 
Child's  song ;  I  have  a  garden  of  my 

own,  361. 
China,  butterfly  of,  449. 


Chindara's  warbling  fount,  448. 
Chinese,  peculiar  porcelain  paintine  of 

the,  452. 
Chinese  Bird  of  Royalty,  the,  or  'Fnm,' 

455. 
Christ,  the  Saviour,  301.  303.  304.  306. 
Christianity,  and  the  Fathers,  0r»a 
Church  and  Stale,  489. 
Church  extension,  031.    Songs  of  the. 

62'2. 
Circassian  slaves,  the,  311. 
Clare,  Earl  of.  32. 
Cleopatra  of  Alexandria,  694. 
Clergy,  the  numbering  of  the,  a  Parodv 
591.  ^     " 

Cloe  and  S,isan,  289. 
Cloc,  to,  imitated  from  Martial,  146. 
Cloris  and  Fanny,  113. 
Clouds,  summer.  531. 
Cocker  on  Church  Reform,  008. 
College  E,\ercises,  Fragments  of,  107. 
Come,  chase  that  starting  tear  awav 
285.  '' 

Come  hither,  come  hither,  by  night  and 

by  day,  450. 
Come  not,  O  Lord,  in  the  dread  robe  of 

splendor,  301. 
Come  o'er  the  sea,  maiden,  with  me 

248. 
Come,  play  me  thai  simple  air  again, 

661. 
Come,  pray  with  me,  my  seraph  love, 

537. 
Come,  rest  in  this    bosom,    my  own 

stricken  deer,  251. 
Conie,  send  round  the  wine,  234. 
Come,  take  my  advice.  571. 
Come,  take  the  harp;  'lis  vain  to  nmse 

153. 
Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  you 

languish,  304. 
Comet,  poetically  described,  528.    The 

mad  Tory  and  the,  598. 
Conuuon  Sense  and  Genius,  284. 
Condolence,  Epistle  of:    From  a  Slave- 
Lord  to  a  Cotton-Lord,  586. 
Connor,  Phelim,  his  patriotic  Poetical 

Letters,  464.  470.  480. 
Consultation,  the,  004. 
Cookery,  art  of  domestic .  to  the  Reve- 
rend   ,  583. 

Coolburga,  or  Koolburga,  cily  of  the 

Deccan,  454. 
Corn  Question,  the,  52.  550.  563. 
Correspondence  between  a  Lady  and 

Gentleman  respecting  Law,  224. 
Corruption,  an  Epistle,  by  an  Irishman 

188—194. 
Corry,  Mr,,   his  merit  as  an  amateur 
comedian,  48.  512.    To  James  Cony, 
Esq.,  on  the  present  of  a  wine-strain- 
er, 512. 
Cotton  and  Corn,  a  dialogue,  559. 
Count  me,  on  the  summer  trees,  (Ode 

XIV.  Anacreon,)  70. 
Country  Dance  and  Quadrille,  544. 
Court  Journal,  the,  650. 
Cousins,  Country,  news  for,  557. 
Crabbe,  the  Poet,  Verses  on  the  Ink- 
stand of,  517. 
Crib,  Tom,  Epistle  from,  to  Big  Ben,  457. 


INDEX. 

739 

Critlas  of  Alhens,  his  verses  on  Ana- 

Desmond's  Song,  and  tradition  relating 

Emmett.  Robert;  his  eloquence, 29.  Ills 

creon,  104,  n. 

to  that  chieftain,  2r>4. 

enthusiasm,  30.    His  olfence,  32. 

Criticism,  the  genius  of,  546. 

Destiny,  the  Island  of,  208. 

Emmett,  Thomas  Addis.  'M). 

Cross,  the,  an  emblem  of  future  life  in 

Devil  among  the  Scholars,  the,  157. 

Enchanted  Tree,  the,  700. 

Egyptian  liieroglyphics,  G75.  70-^.  73i. 

Dewan  Khafs,  built  by  Shah  Allum,  its 

Enigma,  571. 

73-3. 

inscription,  449,  n. 

Epicure's  dream,  4,'iO. 

Crowe,  Rev.  William,  his  poetic  vein, 

Dialogue,  a  recent,  018. 

Epicurean,  the,  663. 

3(i.  ay. 

Dick ,  a  character,  590. 

Epicureans,  busts  of  the  most  celebrated 

Cronn    of  virgin    martyrs,    poisoned, 

Dictionary,   revolution  in  the,  headed 

philosophers  of  their  sect  at  Athens, 

'23,  71. 

by  Mr.  Gait,  588. 

titVl. 

Crystal  Hunters,  the,  287. 

Did  not,  110. 

Epicurus,  154.  170.  r.*'>4,  &c. 

Cupid  armed,  3t>4. 

DissoiLiiion  of  the   Holy  Alliance;   A 

Epigrams,  by  Mr.  Moore,  139.  220,  SSI. 

Cupid   once   upon  a   bed,    (Ode  xxxv. 

Dreim,  484. 

227.  542. 

Anacrenn.)  KJ. 

Doctors,  the  Three,  555. 

Epigrams  of  the  Anthologia  in  praise  of 

Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray, 

Dodsworth,  Mr.  Roger,  {ayino  1820,)  553. 

Anacreon,  102—104. 

(Anacreontic.)  101. 

Donegall,    Marchioness   of.    Letter   to. 

Epilogue,   Occasional,   spoken    by   Mr. 

Cupid,   poetical   allusions  to,  101.  150. 

273.    Poetical  Epistle  from  Bernmda 

Corryin^the  character  of  Vapid,  after 

lo7.  2S0.  353.  3G8.  370.     Fide  Love. 

to  her  Ladyship,  105.    Dedication  to, 

the  play  of  the  Dramatist,  at  the  Kil- 

Cupid, sale  of,  by  Meleager,  3tiG. 

2-28. 

kenny  theatre,  512.    To  the  tragedy 

Cupid's  Lottery,  G57. 

Donkey  and  Panniers,  562. 

of  Ina,  658. 

Curious  Fact,  a,  584. 

Dost  thou  remember,  282. 

Erasmus  on  earth,   to   Cicero  in  the 

Curran,  John  Philpot,  his  pleasantry, 

Dove,  the,  302. 

shades  :  An  Epistle,  010. 

45. 

Dove  of  Mahomet,  the,  535.  560. 

Erin,  oh  Erin,  2:J5. 

Curran,  Rliss,  30. 

Drama.  Sketch  of  the  First  Act  of  a  new 

Erin !  the  :tfci  and  the  smile  in  tL'-ne 

Romantic,  013. 

eyes,  239. 

D 

Dream  of  Hindostan,  a,  592. 

Erin,  poetical  allusions  to,  250,  251.264 

Dream  of  Home,  the,  358. 

267.  271. 

Dacre,  Lady,  Epilogue  to  her  Tragedy 

Dreaiu  of  the  Two  Sisters,  from  Dante, 

Erin,  some   political  allusions  to,  569. 

of  Ina,  i^oTi. 

661. 

See  Ireland,  et  passim. 

Datnascus,  the  Green  Mosque  at,  442,  n. 

Dream  of  those  days,  the,  271. 

Essex,  the  late  Earl  of,  38. 

Dan,  some  account  of  the  late  dinner 

Dream  of  Turtle,  by  Sir  fV.  CuTtis,  561. 

Eternal  life,  ancient  belief  of  an,  675. 

to,  627. 

Dream,  Sir  Andrew's,  589. 

679.  683. 

Dandies,  308.  311. 

Drean),  the  Limbo,  &c.,  575. 

Eve,  the  second  Angel  describes  her, 

Danes,  the,  234.  207.  270.    The  Scandi- 

Dreaming forever,  vainly  dreaming,  373. 

537.    Alluded  to  by  the  third  Angel, 

navian  poetry,  4Uli. 

Dreams,  poetical  mention  of,  114   286. 

540. 

Dante,  his  Inferno,   imitation  of,  576. 

291.  293.  596. 

Eveleen's  bower,  233. 

The  Dream  of  ihe  Two  Sisters,  6GJ. 

Drinking  Songs,  &c.,  230.233,234.245. 

Evenings  in  Greece.  First  Evening,  318. 

His  contrition  of  mind,  53. 

263.  267.  270,  &c. 

Second  Evening,  326. 

David,  the  harp  of,  304. 

Drink  of  this  cup,  25a 

Ex-t-r,  Henry  of,  to  John  of  Tuam,  623 

Davidson,  Lucretia,  34. 

Drink  of  this  cup,  Osiris  sips,  681. 

Exeter  Hall,  the  Reverends  of,  652.  655 

Davy,  Sir  Humphrey,  his  laniR  513. 

Drmk  to  her  who  long,  236. 

Exquisites,  308.  313. 

Dawn  is  breaking  o'er  us,  305. 

Druids,  and  Druidical  superstitions,  268, 

Exile,  the,  359. 

Day.  298.  310. 

269. 

Extinguishers,  the,  492. 

Day-dream,  the,  G50. 

Duigenan,  Doctor,  33. 

Deadman's  Isle:  Romance,  ISO. 

Duke  is  the  lad  to  frighten  a  lass,  the. 

F 

Dear  Fanny.  343. 

610. 

Dear  harp  of  my  country  !  in  darkness  I 

Fables  for  the  Holy  Alliance,  484. 

found  thee,  252. 

E 

Fadladeen,  great  Nazir  of  the  Haram, 

Dear?  Yes,  tho'  mine  no  more.  3fi9. 

(in  Lalla  Rookh,)  his  vanity,  375,  et 

Death,  emblem  of,  075.    Opening  of  the 

seq.  441,  443.    His  criticisms,  403. 412. 

gales  of  Oblivion,  070.    The  upright 

East,  poetical  romances  of  the,  (Lalla 

452.    His  recantation,  454. 

bodies  in  catacombs,  077. 

Rookh,)  375.  441—454. 

Fairest ;  put  on  awhile,  262. 

Death  and  the  dead,  allusiors  to,  299. 

Eblis,  the  evil  spirit,  378.  525. 

Fairy  boat,  the,  333. 

303.  530.  684. 

Echo.  260.  282.  315.  379.  Ml. 

Faith,  303.  305. 

Debt,  national,  600. 

Echoes,  new-fashioned,  584. 

Fall'n  is  thy  throne,  0  Israel !  298, 

Decius,  Prajtorian  prefect,  Orcus,  high- 

Eden,  some  allusions  to,  209,  270.  412. 

Family-way,  all  in  the ;  a  pastoral,  552. 

priest  of  Memphis,  to,  731. 

522.  527. 

Fancy,  515. 

Delalorian  Cohort,  the,  458. 

Egerton,  Lord  Francis,  308. 

Fancy,  prismatic  dyes  of,  499. 

Delhi,  visit  of  Abdalla  to  Aurungzebe, 

Egypt's  dark  sea,  300.    The  desolation 

Fancy,  various  allusions  to,  151.  164. 

at,  373.    Splendors  of  the  court  and 

of,  301. 

313. 

city,   374.    Mogul  emperors  of,   449, 

Egyptians,  the  ancient;  of  the  counte- 

Fancy Fair,  the,  359. 

notes. 

nance  of  the  women,  008,  n.    Their 

Fanny,  dearest  I  515. 

Delphi,  transport  of  laurel  to,  118.  The 

hieroglyphics,  581. 

Farce,  the  triumphs  of,  632. 

shrine,  363.    To  a  virgin  of,  130. 

Eldon,  Lord  Chancellor,  conservative 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one,  281. 

Deluge,  tablets  saved  by  Seth  from  the, 

tears  of,  554.  572.     Nightcap  of,  557. 

Fare  thee  well,  perfidious  maid,  (Ode 

.'5.38. 

A  wizard,  558.    His  hat  and  wig,  506. 

Lxxii.  Anacreon,)  100. 

DeluLT,   the,  Whiston's   notion   of  its 

His  Lordship  on  the  Umbrella  Ques- 

Farewell I  but  whenever  you  welcome 

being  caused  by  a  comet,  713. 

tion,  509.     His  consciaiitious  conser- 

the hour,  247. 

Den-.  Dr.cic:,  052.  eZ3. 

vatism,  y^cfter  Horace,  Ode  xx:i.  Lb.  i.) 

Farcwe'.l,  Theresa,  290. 

Derbyshire,  Mr.  Moore's  residence  in, 

223.     Hiswig,22L 

Fear  not,  that  while  around  thee,  295. 

5U. 

Eloquence  '.57. 

Feramorz  and  the   Princess,  375.  405. 

740 


INDEX. 


413.415.441.  His  song.  442.  DOnoue- 
ment  of  the  fiction  of  his  disguise, 
454. 

Ferdinand  VIT.,  Ode  to  King,  566. 

Fete,  the,  at  Boyle  Farm,  308.  See 
Summer  Fete. 

Fill  me.  boy,  iis  deep  a  dmuglit,  (Ode 
Lin.  Anucreon.)  97. 

Fill  the  bumper  fair,  25-2. 

Fin  M'<'umhal  iheFinians,  and  Fingal 
270. 

Fionnuala,  the  Song  of,  234. 

Fire-fty,  to  the,  175. 

Fire-flies,  165.  270.  457.  536. 

Fire-worship  of  Persia  and  the  East, 
415.  The  persecuted  Ghebers,  415. 
Story,  "  The  Fire-worshippers,"  415— 
441.     Vide  Lalla  Rookh. 

Fitzgerald,  the  late  Lord  Henry,  308. 

Fleetly  o'er  the  moonlight  snows,  373. 

Flow  on,  thou  shining  river.  230. 

Flowers,  the  language  of,  3f»5. 

Fly  and  the  bullock,  the,  488. 

Fly  from  the  world,  O  Bessy !  to  me, 
125. 

Fly  not  thus,  my  hrow  of  snow,  (Ode 
LI.  Anacreon.)  90. 

Fly  not  yet,  'tis  just  the  hour,  230. 

Fly  swift,  my  light  gazelle,  3(k). 

Fly  to  the  desert,  fly  with  me,  451. 

Flying  fish,  to  the,  1G3. 

Follies,  the  book  of:  an  album,  134. 

Fontenelle,  M.,  consistency  of,  515. 

Fool's  Paradise:  Dream  the  First,  606. 

For  thee  alone  I  hrave  the  boundless 
deep,  356. 

Forbes,  Lady  Adelaide,  portrait  of,  148. 
45. 

Forbes,  to  Lord,  from  the  city  of  Wash- 
ington, 175. 

Forget  not  the  field  where  they  per- 
ished, 250. 

Formosa,  Island  of,  500. 

Foriuiie-teller,  the,  250. 

Fo.'s,  Right  Hon.  Charles  James,  222. 

Fragment,  a,  137.  147. 

Fragment  of  a  Character,  513. 

Freedom,  312.  349,  350. 

Friend,  on  the  death  of  a,  542.  546. 

Friends,  on  leaving  some,  151. 

Friendship,  a  temple  to,  279- 

Friendship  and  Love,  296. 

From  dread  Leucadia's  frowning  steep, 
(Anacreontic)  102. 

From  the  land  beyond  the  sea,  184. 

From  this  hour  the  pledge  is  given,  271. 

Fruit,  varieties  of  eastern,  449. 

Fudge  Family  in  Paris,  the.  458. 

Fudges,  the.  in  England,  being  a  Sequel 
to  the  "  Fudge  Family  in  Paris."  037. 

Fudge,  Phi!..  Esq.,  his  political  conduct 
and  pencJiantt  458 — 183.  His  poetical 
letter  to  Lord  C— st— r— gh.  460.  To 
Tim.  Fudge.  Esq.,  407.  To  Viscount 
C — St — r — gh,  474.  His  Journal,  ad- 
dressed to  Lord  C  ,  475. 

Fudgj;,  Mr.  Bob.  his  Letters  to  Richard 

,  E^q..  4G2 — 172.     To  the  Rev. 

Mortimer  O'Mulligan.  650. 

Fudge,  Miss  Biddy,  her  poetical  letters 
ftom  Paris  to  Miss  Dorothy  ,  of 


Clonkilty  in   Ireland,   453.   465.     See 
also  478.  481.  637.  038.    , 

Fudge,  Mi<s  Fanny's,  E()isl!es,  641.649. 
Her  uncle's  bequest,  056. 
*»*    See    Connor,    O' Branigan,    and 
O"  Mull  iff  an,  in  this  Index. 

Fum  and  Hum,  the  two  Birds  of  Roy- 
alty, 455. 


Gayly  sounds  the  castinet,  285. 

Gait,  Mr.,  and  the  Dictionary,  568. 

Calaxy,  or  Milky  Way,  156. 

Ganges,  blue  current  of  the.  450. 

Garden,  the  dream  of  the,  063.  G65.  678. 
Festival  of  the,  664. 

Gazel  and  Maami,  545. 

Gazel,  by  Abdallah,  211. 

Gazelle,  the,  292. 

Genius,  poetical  allusions  to,  284 

Genius  and  Criticism,  547. 

George  HL,  King,  217,  et  passim. 

George  IV.,  (Prince  Regent  and  Kin^  ' 
Sec  Intercejiled  Letters,  205.216.  Par- 
ody of  a  celebrated  Letter.  217.  The 
Prince's  Plume,  219.  Ich  Dien,  219. 
The  Old  Yellow  Chariot,  219.  The 
Privy  Purse,  220.  King  Crack  and  liis 
Idols,  220.  Prince  of  Wales's  Feath- 
ers, 217.  457.  The  Prince's  Day,  240. 
Bird  of  Royalty.  53.  455. 

Georgian  Maid,  the,  451. 

Geramb,  Baron,  and  niustachios,  219. 

Gheber,  the,  420,  et  seg. 

Ghost  Story,  a.  620. 

Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song,  (Ode  it 
Anacreon,)  65. 

Glees,  set  of,  343—345. 

Gnomes,  doctrine  of,  532. 

Go  forth  to  the  mount,  307. 

Go,  let  me  weep,  there's  bliss  in  tears, 
300. 

Go  now,  and  dream,  290. 

Go,  then  1  'tis  vain  to  hover,  287. 

Go  where  glory  waits  thee,  238. 

Gondolas  and  gondoliers,  282.  287.  289. 
312. 

Goose  of  the  river  Nile,  693. 

Government,  financial.  548. 

Granunont,  Count  de.  156. 

Grattan,  on  the  death  of,  200. 

Grecian  girl's  dream  of  the  Blessed 
Islands;  to  her  lover,  144. 

Grecian  Maiden,  the:  Song. 327. 

Grecian  Youth,  the,  334,  et  seq. 

Greece,  isles  of.  312.  319.  Zcan  maids, 
59,  ct  scg.  Allusions  to  Greece  in 
LiiUa  Roukh,  377,  ct  srq^  Evenings 
in  Greece;  First  Evening,  Zea,  319. 
Second  Evening,  326. 

Greek  Ode,  prefixed  to  the  Translation 
of  Anacreon,  58.  Corrections  of  this 
Ode  by  an  eminent  scholar,  59. 

Greeks,  the  group  that  late  in  garb  of, 
315.     See  312. 

Grenada,  the  young  muleteers  of,  347. 

Guess,  guess  ;  the  lady  of  my  love,  370. 

Guidi,  sonnet  by.  with  a  translation,  75, 
n..  76.  Ode  by  Guidi  on  the  Arca- 
dians, 47. 


Guiwr  of  India,  the  Syrinda»  450. 
Gull  language,  translation    from    the. 

600. 
Gulliver,  Captnin  Lemuel,  547 
Gun,  the  Evening,  345. 
Gyna-ocracy,  proposals  for  a,  593. 

H 

Hafiz,  the  poet,  452,  n. 

Halcyon  hangs  o'er  ocean,  the  3GJ. 

Haram,  Jchanghir's,  4-13     Tne  Light 

of  the  Haram,  444. 
Hark  '.  the  vesper  hynm  is  stealing,  232. 
Hark  I  'tis  the  breeze  of  twilight  call.-^, 

306. 
Harmony,  the  genius  of,  133. 
Haroun-al-Ra^chid  the  Caliph,  442. 
Harp,  certain  of  the  poetical  allusions 

to  that  instrument,  125.  252.  260.  267. 

209.  283.  301. 
Harp  of  my  country  I    in  darkness  I 

found  thee,  152. 
Harp,  the  origin  of  the,  239. 
Harp,  farewell  to  the,  34. 
Harp  that  once  through  Tara's  balls, 

the,  230. 
Harut  and  Jlarnl,  the  Angels,  524. 
Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded.  248. 
Hassan,  AI,  the  Prophet  Chief  of  Ara- 
bia, 417.  426.  423.     See  Story  uf  the 

Fire-worshippers,  415,  et  seg. 
Haste  Ihee.  nymph,  whose  well-aim'd 

spear,  (Ode  lxiv.  Anacreon.)  98. 
Hastings,  Marquis  of,  (Earl  Moira.)  and 

visit  to  his  mansion  at  Doningion.  45. 

184.     His  library.  45.     Dedication  to 

Francis,  Earl  uf  Moira,  160 
Hat,  Ode  to  a,  556. 
Hal  versus  Wig,  SOd 
Have  you  not  seen  the  timid  tear,  1(19. 
He  who  instructs  the  youthful  crew, 

(Ode  Lvi.  Anacreon.)  93. 
Headfort,   filarchioncss  ot",   Dedication 

to.  278. 
Hear  me  but  once,  while  o'er  the  grave, 

286. 
Heard,  Sir  Isaac,  and  the  Peerage,  556. 
Heart  and  lute,  my.  354. 
Heart  to  rest.  No,  leave  my,  21>2. 
Ileathcote,  to  Lady :  On  a  ring  found  at 

Tunbridge  Wells,  156. 
Hebe,  the  Fall  of:  a  ditbyranibic  ode, 

148. 
Henley,  Lord,  and  St.  Cecilia,  594. 
Henry  to  Lady  Emma,  599. 
Her  last  words  at  parting,  how  can  I 

forget?  350. 
Hercules  to  his  daughter,  song  of,  357. 
Here,  lake  my  heart,  346. 
Here   recline   you.   gentle   maid,    (Ode 

XII.  Anacreon.)  75. 
Here   sleeps    Anacreon,   in    this    ivied 

shade,  (.\nthologia,)  103. 
Here  sleeps  the  bard.  21^2. 
Here,  while  the  moonlight  dim,  325. 
Here's  the  bower  she  loved  so  much, 

349. 
Hero  and  Leander,  337. 
High-born  Ladye,  the,  339. 


INDEX. 


741 


Ilinda,  Ihe  Arabinti  maid.  See  the  Story 
of  the  Fire- worshippers,  4X5,  et  seq. 

IliihiT,  gentle  muse  of  mine,  (Ode 
Lxxvi.  Anacreon,)  101. 

IlolUinJ,  I<ord.  regret  for  the  death  of, 
53.    TniTislations  hy,  53. 

IloUand,  to  Lady, on  a  legacy  by  Napo- 
leon, G53. 

Holy  Alliance,  Fiibles  for  the,  4?3. 

Hooker,  BUhop,  on  >s  and  ov,  55D 

Hope  conies  ajjnin,  to  this  heart  long  a 
stianger,  291. 

Hope,  poetical  allusions  to,  283.  291. 
307.  G5ti. 

■^loriice,  freQ  translations  of  some  Odes 
of:  Come,  Yarmouth,  my  boy,  never 
trouble  your  brains,  (Ode  xi.  lib.  2,) 
i21.  The  man  who  keeps  a  con- 
science pure,  (Ode  sxii.  lib.  1,)  122. 
I  hate  thee,  oh  Mob,  as  my  lady  hates 
delf,  (Ode  i.  lib.  3,)  127.  Boy,  tell 
the  cook  that  I  hate  all  nick-nacke- 
rics,  (Ode  xixviii.  lib.  1,)  127.  Paro- 
dy of  'Donee  gratus  eram  libi,*  or 
Horace's  retura  to  Lydia,  314. 

Horn,  the,  293. 

How  am  I  to  punish  thee,  (Ode  s.  An;i- 
creon,)  G8. 

How  dear  to  me  the  hour,  232. 

How  happy  once,  tho'  wing'd  with 
sighs,  353. 

How  I  love  the  festive  boy,  (Ode  xxxix. 
Anacreon,)  87. 

How  lightly  mounts  the  muse's  wing, 
30G. 

How  shall  I  woo?  296. 

How  sweetly  does  the  moonbeam 
smile,  418. 

Hudson,  Edward,  recollections  of  him 
and  of  his  musical  taste,  31.  34. 

Hume,  David,  History  of  England  by, 
202. 

Hume,  Joseph,  Esq.,  550,  551,  n.,  ct  pas- 
sim. 

Hume,  to  Thomas,  Esq.,  M.D. ;  written 
at  Washington,  178. 

Humorous  and  Satirical  Poems,  547 — 
G36. 

Hunt,  Henrj',  Esq.,  his  spurious  coffee, 
550. 

Hunter  hoy,  the,  285.  293. 

Hush,  hush  !— a  Glee,  343. 

Hush,  sweet  lu'e,  371. 

Hussiw  Abdai  valley  of,  441.  Royal 
gardens  near.  j42. 

Hymen,  poetical  allusions  to,  233. 

Hymn  of  a  Virgin  of  Delphi,  at  the  lonib 
of  her  mother,  113. 

Hypcrliorean,  song  of  a,  3G3. 


I  cjire  not  for  the  idle  state,  (Ode  viii. 
Anacreon,)  67. 

I  dreamt  that  in  the  Paphian  groves, 
115. 

I  had,  last  night,  a  dream  of  thee,  534, 

I  fear  that  love  disturbs  my  rest,  (Ana- 
creontic,) 101. 

1  foaud  her  not— the  chamber  seem'd, 
135. 


I  know  that  heaven  hath  sent  me  here, 
(Ode  XL.  Anacreon,)  80. 

I  know  thou  lr)v'st  a  brimming  meas- 
ure, (Auacrcontic)  101. 

I  often  wish  this  languid  lyre,  (Ode 
xxiii.  Anacreon,)  77. 

I  pray  thee,  hy  the  gods  above  I  (Ode 
II.  Anacreon,)  G7. 

I  pray  you,  let  us  roum  no  more,  1G9. 

I  sa-v,  from  yonder  silent  cave.  323. 

I  saw  from  tlie  beach,  when  the  morn- 
ing was  shining,  251. 

I  saw  (ho  moon  rise  clear,  249. 

I  saw  the  smiling  bard  of  pleasure,  (Ode 
I.  Anacreon,^  Gl. 

I  saw  thy  form  in  youthful  prime,  241. 

I  stole  along  the  flowery  banl\,  172. 

I  thought  this  heart  enkindled  lay,  118. 

I've  a  secret  to  tell  thee,  203. 

I  will,  I  will,  the  conflict's  past,  (Ode 
SHI.  Anacreon.)  09. 

I  wish  I  was  by  Ihiit  dim  lake,  2')5. 

lanthe,  308.    Befure  her  glass,  309. 

I'd  mourn  the  hoi>es  that  leave  me,  248. 

Idols  in  the  house  of  Azor,  452.  Of 
King  Crack,  220.    Of  Jaghernaut,375. 

If  hoarded  gold  posscss'd  the  power, 
(Ode  sxxvi.  Anacreon,)  84. 

If  I  swear  by  that  eye,  you'll  allow, 
107. 

If  I  were  yonder  wave,  my  dear,  171. 

If  in  loving,  singing,  night  and  day,  294. 

If  thou'lt  be  mine,  255. 

If  thou  wouldst  have  me  sing  and  play, 
3G0. 

If  to  sec  thee  he  to  love  tliee,  317. 

Ill  Omens  :  Young  l\ilty,  &c.,  237. 

Imagination,  312. 

Imitation,  from  the  French,  517.  Sec 
also  Anthologia,  Horace,  &.c. 

ljnniort;ility,  stars  the  beacons  of,  COG. 

Impromptu,  117.  151. 18G.  227. 

In  myrtle  wreaths  my  votive  sword, 
3G8. 

In  the  morning  of  life,  253. 

In  wedlock  a  species  of  lotterj-  lies,  117. 

Ina,  by  Lady  Dacre,  G5?. 

Incantation,  an,  5G1. 

Inconstancy,  IIG. 

India,  poetical  allusions  to,  373.  441. 
449,  450,  ct  sctj. 

Indian  boat,  the,  310. 

Indian  maid,  the  young,  2r>3. 

Indian  tree,  the,  519. 

Inkstand,  the  poet*s,  517. 

Innisfail,  song  of,  208. 

Innisfallen,  isle  of,  2G2. 

lusurrection  of  the  Papers ;  a  dream, 
210. 

Intercepted  Despatch,  Diabolo's,  554. 

Intercepted  Letters,  the,  of  the  Two- 
penny Post-bag,  205,  &:c. 

Intolerance,  a  Satire  :  Account  of  '  Cor- 
ruption' and  'Intolerance.'  See  25. 
Preface  to  Intolerance  and  Corrup- 
tion, 188,  189.    The  Satire,  198. 

Invisible  Girl,  Ib'J,    27. 

Invitation  to  dmn;r:  addressed  to  Lord 
Lansdowne,  517. 

Iran,  Land  of,  450.  See  Lalla  Rookh. 
passim. 


Ireland,  and  her  national  music,  29.  34. 

Ireland,  certain  traditions  and  romances 
respecting.  229.  234.  241.  2-13,  2.14.2*16 
259.  tC4.  205.  2G7,  208.  2G9,  270. 

Ireland,  politics  and  political  sensibility 
of  the  kingdom  of,  (seo  tho  Fudge 
Family,)  458-483.  039  The  iR-nal 
code,  554.  The  outbreak  of  1798.  21. 
ct  scq.  Romanism  in,  029.  Thoughts 
on  the  present  government  of,  (1828,) 
574. 

Irish  antiquities.  583. 

Irish  bed  of  roses,  an,  237,  n. 

Irishman,  Satires,  &,c.,  addressed  to  an 
Englishman  by  an,  189—198. 

Irish  Melodies,  2-^8.  Dedication  to  the 
Marchioness  Dowager  of  Donegal), 
228.  Preface,  228.  The  Melodies, 
228.  278.  Advertisements  to  the  first 
and  second  Nos.,  272;  to  the  third, 
272.  Letter  on  Irish  music.  273.  Ad- 
vertisements to  the  fourth,  fifth,  sixth, 
and  seventh  Nos.,  27G — 278.  Dcdica 
tion  to  the  Marchioness  of  Ileadfort, 
278.     See  National  Airs,  279,  et  scq. 

Irish  Peasant  to  his  Mistress,  238. 

Irish  Slave,  the,  5G5. 

Irving.  Washington,  57.  2C4. 

Is  it  not  sweet  to  think,  hereafter, 
(Haydn.)  307. 

Is  not  thy  mind  a  gentle  mind  ?  110. 

Israfil,  the  angel  of  music,  451.  521. 

It  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment  shed, 
239. 


Jeffrey,  Francis,  Lord,  the  author's  visit 
to  Craig  Crook.  37. 

Jchan  Gheer,  or  Jehanguire,  Emperor 
of  Delhi  and  Hindostan,  443.  His 
palace,  449,  n.  His  early  name  of  Se- 
lim,  440.    His  bride,  449.  452. 

Jerome's  love,  (St.,)  298.  St.  Jerome's 
first  visit  on  earth,  602.  His  second 
visit,  003. 

Jerusalem,  the  holy  city  of,  298. 

.Jessica,  young,  353. 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  on  Mallet,  e.54,  n 

Joy  alone  be  remcmber'd  now,  354. 

Joj's  of  youth,  how  fleeting!  285. 

Juan,  Don,  222. 

Jubal's  shell,  alluded  to,  310. 

Judgment  Day,  and  a  svpposed  wind 
from  Syria  Dainascena  to  announce 
it,  453,  71. 

Judgment,  the  day  of,  303. 

Julia,  to,  iu  allusion  to  some  illiberal 
criticisms,  111.  Mock  me  no  more 
with  love's  beguiling  dream.  111. 
Though  fate,  my  girl,  may  bid  us 
part,  112.  On  her  birthday,  113.  To 
Julia,  weeping,  114.  Inconstancy,  110. 
Elegiac  Stanzas,  supposed  to  be  writ- 
ten by  Julia,  on  the  death  of  her 
brother,  117.  I  saw  the  peasant's 
hand  unkind,  118     Sympathy,  119. 

Juvenile  Poems,  105 — 159.  Preface  by 
"  the  late  Thomas  Little,"  105.  Ded- 
ication to  Joseph  Atkinson,  Esq., 
lOG. 


742 


INDEX. 


K 

Kathleen,  1i3. 

Kcdcr  Khan  of  Turkistan,  374. 

Keninare,  Earl  of,  202. 

Kevin,  Saint,  tradition,  34*2. 

Khorassan,  the  Veiled  Prophet  of,  37G — 

403. 
Kilkenny  amateur  actors,  talent  of  the, 

48.   -lliD.      Extract  from  a   Prologue, 

&c.,  412. 
Killarncy,  lakes  and  traditions  of,  2J0. 

2C2. 
King,  Lord,  an  Expostulation  to,  549. 
Kishnia,  wine  of,  550. 
Kiss,  the,  J37.  1G7. 
Kublai  Khan,  450. 


Labyrinth,  in  E^-pt,  690,  Ji. 

Lahore,  descjfiplion  of  the  city  of,  and 
the  midland  districts  of  India,  414, 
&c. 

Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp,  lfi4. 

Lake  of  the  Temples,  0(J4. 

Lalla  Rookh,  an  Eastern  Romance: 
history  of  this  poem,  39.  ct  scq.  Rep- 
resentation of  it  as  a  dramatic  pageant 
at  the  Chateau  Royal,  Berlin,  in  1822, 
when  the  emperor  and  empress  of 
Russia  personated  Aliris  and  Lall; 
Rookh.  43.  'The  Veiled  Prophet  of 
Khfinissan,'  370— 403.  The  criticisms 
of  Fadladeen  upon  this  story,  403. 
Paradise  and  the  Peri,  400.  Fadla- 
deen renews  his  criticism,  412.  The 
Fire-worshippers,  415-441.  TheLiyht 
of  the  Haram,  442.  Design  of  this 
poetic  undertaking  related,  21.  50. 

Lania,  the  Little  Crand,  490. 

Lansdowne,  Lord,  invitation  to  dinner 
addressed  to,  517. 

Lawrence,  Dr.,  friend  of  Edmund 
Burke;  his  letter  to  Dr.  Hume  re- 
specting the  version  of  Anacreon  by 
Mr.  aioore,  20. 

Lay  his  sword  by  his  side,  270, 

Leaf  and  the  Fountain,  a  ballad,  337. 

Learning,  144.  • 

Lebanon,  Mount,  305. 

Legacy,  the,  232. 

Leila's  lute,  657. 

Les  hommes  automates,  GOO. 

Lesbia,  to,  516. 

Lesbia  hath  a  beaming  eye,  241. 

Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old,  234 

Let  me  resign  this  wretched  breath, 
(Anacreontic,)  101. 

liCt's  take  this  world  as  some  wide 
scene,  357. 

Let  us  drain  the  nectar'd  bowl,  (Ode 
xxxvin.  Anacreon,)  85. 

Leucadia,  legends  of,  320. 

LevOe  and  couchOe,  the,  317. 

Libel,  a  case  of,  563. 

Liberty,  235.  251.  270,  271.  291.  318.  323. 
658. 

Liberty,  the  torch  of,  487. 

lafe  is  waning,  Do  not  say  that,  292. 


Life  is  al!  checker'd  with  pleasures  and 

woes.  243. 
Life  for  me  hath  joy,  4tc..  355. 
Life  without  freedom.  349. 
Light  sounds  the  harp  when  the  com- 
bat is  over,  125. 
Like  morning,  when  her  early  breeze, 

304. 
Like  one  who  doom'd  o'er  distant  seas, 

295. 
Like  some  wanton  filly  sporting,  (Ode 

Lxv.  Anacreon.)  98. 
Like  the  bright  lamp  that  shone  in  Kil- 

dare's  holy  fane,  235. 
Li  lis,  535. 

Lily  of  the  Nile,  the  white.  672. 
Litiibo  of  lost  reputations,  574. 
Lion,  dead,  and  the  living  dog,  573. 
Lionardo  da  Vinci's  Mona  Lisa,  315. 
Listen  to  the  muse's  lyre,  (Ode  iii.  An- 
acreon.) 65. 
Literary  advertisement,  to  authors,  5G4. 
Literati,  sick,  028. 
Literature,  speed  of,  626. 
Little  Grand  Lama,  the,  490. 
Little  Man  and  Little  Soul,  a  ballad, 

particulars    respecting    it,    27.    The 

poem,  226. 
Lizard,  (Stcltio,)  account  of  the,  442,  n. 
Long  years   have    pass'd,   old    friend, 

since  we,  372. 
Looking-glasses,  the,  480. 
Lord,  who  shall  bear  that  day,  303. 
Lotus  wreath,  454. 
J,otus  branch,  and  the  bird  taking  flight, 

niythos  of  the,  076. 
Lotus  fiowcr.  150.  Statue  of  the  winged 

hoy  seated  on  a,  681.    The  spell,  C81. 

An  emblem  of  beauty,  417,  n. 
Louis    Philippe,   King,  an  account  of, 

when  at  Donington  Park,  45. 
Lonis  the  Fourteenth's  Wig,  493. 
Love,  a  tutor,  697. 
Love  alone.  297. 
Love,  all-defying  Love,  417. 
Love  and  Hope.  28^1.     (Swiss  Air-) 
Love  and  Marriage,  120. 
Love  came  by.  338. 
Love  resting  his  wing«,  4.'j0. 
Love  and  the  vine,  335. 
Love  a  sentinel :    Glee — Hush,  hush. 

343. 
Love,  one  summer  eve,  was  straying, 

331. 
Love  and  the  Novice.  243. 
Love  and  Hymen,  519. 
Love  is  tt  hunter  boy,  285. 
Love-knots,  who'll  buy  my,  283. 
Love,  a  few  allusions  to,  93.  100.  171. 

175.  2.38.  244,  245.  265,  266.  281.  283. 

236.288.  291,  292.  295.  306.  307.  311. 

317.  321.  327.  346.  352.  307.  369.  524. 

528.  532.  539.  542. 
I^ove,  mythological  hymn  to,  147. 
Love  and  learning,  144. 
Love  and  Reason.  143. 
Love  and  Time.  349. 
Love  and  the  Sun-dial,  349. 
Love  wandering  thro'  the  golden  maze, 

350. 
Love,  unbind  thee,  3G9. 


Love,  who  rnled  as  admiral  o'er,  370. 

Love  thee  T— so  well,  so  tenderly,  351 

Love  thee,  dearest?  354. 

Love  but  thee.  I,  353. 

Love's  day,  352. 

Love's  light  summer  clond,  350. 

Love's  victorj'.  357. 

Love's  young  dream.  240 

Lover,  the,  296.  310.  324.  337,  n.;  529. 
531. 

Lover,  the  Persian,  211. 

Lover,  the  Russian,  373. 

Loves  of  the  Angels,  51.  Preface  to  the 
poems.  520.  The  poem,  521.  First 
Angel's  Story,  522.  Second  Angel's 
Story,  527.    Third  Angel's  Story,  538. 

Ijoves,  the  sale  of,  115. 

Lowe,  Sir  Hudson,  to,  547. 

Lusitanian  War-song,  353. 

Lute,  the,  449.  657. 

Lying.  121. 

Lyre,  the  poet's.  295. 

Lyre,  the  tell-tale,  141. 

M 

Machiavelian  policy  condemned,  500 
Macrianus,  ]ir.Ttorian  prefect,  719. 
Magan.  Patrick,  Esq.,  his  Epistles  to  a 

Curate  in  Ireland,  637.  643.  655. 
Magic  Mirror,  the,  339. 
Magnet,  woman  a,  532. 
Mahomet,  religion  of,  (5ce  Lalla  Rookh,) 

378,  ct  seg.  • 

Mahomet,  the  S^a/ of  preceding  prophe- 
cy, 533.    The  familiar  dove  of,  535. 

561. 
Mahometans,  belief  ofthe.  521.523.,536. 

534.  538.    The  chief  angels,  521,  532. 

526.  527.  534. 
Miiliommed  Shaw,  feast  and  throne  of, 

454,  71. 
Maiden,  the  Sleeping,  293. 
Maidens  ofZea,  325,  ct  passim. 
Malthns,  allusions  to,  545.  548.  572. 
March  !  nor  heed  those  arms  that  hold 

thee,  334. 
Martyrs,  the,  306.  720,  721.  et  scg.  ;  the 

crown  tif  martyrdom,  723,  723. 
Mary.  241. 

Mary,  star  ofthe  sea,  326. 
Mary,  I  believed  thee  true,  140. 
Maihews,  Mr.  Charles,  616. 
Matriculation,  scene  from  a  play  acted 

at  Oxfiird,  called,  605. 
Mauri-ga-Sima,  or  the  sunken  island, 

450. 
May  inoon,  the  young,  245, 
Melanius  the  hermit,  711 — 714.717.7-22. 
Meleager: — Hcreal  thy  tomb  these  tears 

1  shed,  360.   Various  imitations  frum, 

125.  366.  368. 
Melodies,  Irish.  228—279.    Succeeded 

by  the  National  Airs.  279,  et  scq. 
Memorabilia  of  last  week,   (March  13, 

1826.)  5.52. 
Memory,  poetical  allusions  to,  282.  .'5^2 

538. 
Memphis,  on  the  Nile,  671 ;  sacred  col 

lege  of,  G84. 


INDEX. 


743 


Menage,  Anacreontic  in  Greek  hy,  with 

a  translation.  80,  n. 
Meron,  city  of  Klinrassan,  370.  39D. 
Meltiinks  tlie  pictured    buli  we    see, 

(Ode  Liv,  Anacreon.)  U2. 
Miguel,  Dun,  Ode  to,  573. 
Milesias  and  llic  Milesians,  268. 
Millennium,  the,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Ir- 
ving, 555. 
Miltiades,  the  Ghost  of,  5S". 
Minaret,  chants  from  an  illuminated, 

443,  n. 
Minerva,  or  Pallas,  and  Love,  331. 
Minerva's  thimble,  353. 
Ministers,  the  new  costume  of  the,  223. 

The  Sale  of  the  Tools,  223. 
Ministers,  wreaths  for  the,  221 
Minstrel  Boy,  the,  246. 
Miriam's  Song,  300. 
Miscellaneous  Poems,  512. 542.  C38. 
Mischief,  thoughts  on,  by  Lord  St— n- 

1— y,  his  first  attempt,  634. 
Missing.  Lord  de  *  *  *,  591. 
Mix  me,  child,  a  cup  divine,  (Anacre- 
ontic) 102. 
Moeris,  island  of  the  lake,  691. 
Mohawk   River,   lines   written  at   the 

Cohoes,  or  Falls  of  the,  130. 
Mokanna.  the  prophet-chief  of  Khoras- 

san,  376,  377,  et  at?. 
Monarch   Love,   resistless   boy,    (Ode 

LXXIV.  Anacreon.)  100 
Monopoly,  present  spirit  of,  551. 
Mont  Blanc,  sublime  prospect  of,  498. 
Montaigne  quoted.  496. 
Mimtpensicr,  Duke  of,  to  the,  148 
Moon,  poetical  mention  of  the,  324,  325. 

333.  H  passim. 
Moon,  that  high  in  heav'n  art  shining, 

372. 
Moore,  Mrs.  31.    To  my  Mother,  519. 
Moore,  to  Miss,  from  Norfolk  in  Virgi- 
nia, 163. 
Moral  positions,  a  dream,  598 
Morality,  an  epistle,  140. 
Morgan,  George,  Esq.,  (of  Norfolk.  Vir- 
ginia.) epistle  to,  from  Bermuda,  106. 
Morning,  251.  3U4. 
Morning  Herald,  the.  555. 
Morning  Post,  the,  050. 
Jlorris,  Capt..  his  song,  ■'  My  muse,  too, 

when  her  wings  are  dry,"  38. 
Moschus,  his  first  Idyl,  quoted,  70,  n. 
Moses,  304. 

Mountiiin  Sprite,  the,  264. 
"  Mum"  to  the  editor  of  the  Morning 

Chronicle,  455. 
Murray.  Mr. ;    his  contemplated   Mail- 
coach  edition  of  Rokeby,  209. 
Muse,  the,  317. 
Music,  Angel  of,  371,  n. 
Music  and  Melodies,  an  account  of  some 
of  our  modern  poets  who  had  a  taste 
for,  and  a  knowledge  of,  36,  et  seq. 
Music,  the  Prefatory  Letter  on  Irish, 

273. 
Music,  on  :— Song,  239.  305. 
Music,  poetical  allusions  to,  206.  27). 

292,  293.  541 . 
Music,  a  Melologue  upon  National,  341 
—343 


Music  of  the  spheres,  528. 

Musical  box,  the:— Rose  and  the  Poet, 

305. 
My  gentle  harp.  2.'i3. 
My  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme, 

283. 
Mythology,  Egyptian  and  Greek,  003, 

et  passim. 


Now  Neptune's  month  our  sky  deforms, 

(Ode  LVVllt.  Anacreon,)  99. 
Now  the  star  of  day  is  high  (Ode  xviil. 

Anaufc m.)  71. 
Nymph  of  a  fair  but  erring  line,  406. 
Nymphs  of  the  Nile,  097. 


,     N 


Nama,  538.  540. 

Nainouna,  the  enchantress,  440.    Calls 

down  sleep  on  Nourmahal,  447. 
Naples,  lines  on  the  entry  of  the  Aus- 

trians  into,  in  1821,  519. 
Nalioleon,   the  Emperor,  consigned  to 
the  rock  of  St.  Helena,  457.    Allu- 
sions to  his  fallen  fortunes,  218. 231, 
543.  058. 

Natal  Genius,  the,  a  Dream :  to  , 

the  morning  of  her  birthday,  116. 
National  Airs,  279,  &lc. 
National    Music,    a    Melologue   upon, 

341—343. 
Nature's  Labels,  a  fragment,  112. 
Nay,  do  not  weep,  njy  Fanny  dear,  143. 
Nay,  look  not  there,  my  love,  533. 
Nay,  tempt  me  not  to  love  again,  108. 
Nea,  Odes  to:— Written  at  Bermuda, 

108—174. 
Necropolis,  and  lake  near    Memphis, 

073,  et  seq. 
Nets  and  Cages,  2.S9. 
Ne'er  ask  the  hour,  what  is  it  to  lis  1 

257. 
Ne'er  tiilkof  Wisdom's  gloomy  schools, 

291. 
Never  mind  how  the  pedagogue  proses, 

110. 
Night  Dance,  the,  209. 
Night-thought,  a,  137. 
Nightingales,   song    of,   352,    359.  303. 

443. 
Nights,  such  as  Eden's  calm    recall, 

315. 
Nile,  river,  037  ;  the  Isle  of  Gardens,  or 

Anlirrhodus,  near  .Vlcxandria,  0S2. 
Nile,  navigation  of  the,  071.  692.  695. 

097. 
Nile,  nymphs  of  the,  097. 
Nile,  the  Garden  of  the,  449.    Sources 

of  the  river,  501. 
No  life  is  like  the  mountaineer's,  329. 
No,  not  more  welcome  the  fairy  num- 
bers, 249. 
Noble  and  illustrious  authors,  581.  585. 
Nonsense,  139. 
Nora  Creina,  241. 
Not  from  thee  the  wound  should  come, 

370. 
Nourjehan,  "  the  Light  of  the  World," 

442,  Ti. 
Nourmah.al,  the  Light  of  the  Haram, 
442.  444.  445.  Her  spells,  440.  Her 
sleep,  447.  She  is  regretted  by  Selim, 
44'J.  Her  disguise,  4.')0,  451.  The 
Georgi-v.  maid's  song.  4.50  l^ucceed- 
ed  by  that  of  Nourmahal  herself  451. 
Her  reconciliation  with  Selim,  452. 


O'Branignn,  Larry,  to  his  wife  ^lldy 
044.   052.    To  Murtagh    O'Muiligan, 
017. 
O'Connell,  his  election  for  Clire,  579. 
O'Connor,  Arthur,  Esq.,  30. 
O'Donohue's  Mistress,  259. 
O'Keefe's    song    for   the  character  of 

Spado,  38. 
O'Muiligan.  Mortimer,  his  epistle,  {vUe 

"  I    ige  Family  in  England,")  054. 
O'Rut.  k.  Prince  of  Breffni,  the  song  i.f, 

246. 
Oblivion,  the  fabled  gates  of,  676. 
Observe  when    mother  earth  is  diy, 

(Ode  XXI.  Anacreon.)  76, 
Oft,  in  the  stilly  night,  282. 
Oft,   when   the   watching    stars    grow 

pale,  290. 
Oh  !  Abyssinian  tree,  706. 
Oh!  breathe  not  his  name,  229. 
Oh  ;  banquet  not  in  those  shining  bow- 
ers, 200. 
Oh  !  blame  not  the  bard  if  he  fly  to  the 

bowers,  236. 
Oh  !  but  to  see  that  head  recline,  525 
Oh !  call  it  by  some  better  name,  346. 
Oh:  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets, 

282. 
Oh!  could  we  do  with  this  world  of 

ours ;  270. 
Oh  !  days  of  youth  and  joy  287. 
Oh,  do  not  look  so  bright  and  blest,  364 
Oh  !  doubt  me  not— the  season,  247 
Oh  fair !  oh  purest  1  be  thou  the  dove, 

302. 
Oh  for  the  swords  of  former  lime  !  257. 
Oh.  guard  our  affection.  293. 
Oh  1  had  we  some  bright  little  Isle  of 

our  own,  246. 
Oh!  hint  to  the  bard,  'tis  retirement 

alone,  57. 
Oh !  idol  of  my  dreams,  531. 
Oh  I  Love.  Religion,  Music,  all,  539. 
Oh,  Memory,  how  coldly,  324. 
Oh,  no !  not  ev'n  when  first  we  loved, 

283. 
Oh,  say,  thou  best  and  brightest,  295. 
Oh,  soon  return,  351. 
Oh,  stranger  !  if  Anacreon's  shell,  (An- 

thologia.)  103. 
Oh !  teach  me  to  love  thee,  303. 
Oh  !  the  sight  entrancing,  201. 
Oh  1  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as 

light,  230. 
Oh  think,  when  a  hero  la  sighing,  057. 
Oh  thou!    of  all  creation   blest,    (Ode 

xxxiv.  Anacreon,)  83. 
Oh  thou!   who  dryest  the  mourner's 

tenr,  259. 
Oh,  tidings  of  freedoin  !    Oh,  accents  of 
hope!  ,580. 


744 


INDEX. 


Oh.  where  art  thou  dreaming?  315. 

Oh !  Where's  the  slave  so  lowly,  250. 

Oh  woman,  if  through  sinful  wile,  139- 

Oh,  ye  dond  ;  259. 

Olden  time,  the  song  of  the.  355. 

Olympus,  liilest  accounts  from,  6'^2. 

One  dear  smile,  351. 

On  one  of  those  sweet  nighls  that  oft, 

315. 
Once  in  each  revolving  year,  (Ode  axv. 

Anacreon,)  78. 
One  bumper  at  parting,  245. 
One  day  the  Muses  twined  the  hands, 

(Ode  XX.  Anacreon,)  75. 
Oppression,  memory  and  record  of.  291. 
Orangemen  of  Ireland,   their   petition, 

558. 
Orcus,  the  heathen  priest,  721.  734. 
Orcus,  high  priest,  to  the  Prefect  De- 

cius,  734. 
Origen,  698.  714. 
Ormuzd.  of  the  ancient  Persians,  and 

his  angels,  521. 
Osiris,  or  Serapis,  681. 
Ossian,  allusions  to,  270.  27-2. 
Ossian,  fragments  in  imitation  of,  30. 
Our  home  is  on  the  sea,  boy,  312. 


Paddy's  Metamorphosis,  (J08. 

Painting,  165.  327.  371.  503. 

Palestine  and  the  river  Jordan,  410. 

Paradise  and  the  Peri,  40G — 412.  Criti- 
cisms of  Fadladeeu  on  this  romance, 
412. 

Paradise  of  Epicurus,  G81.  Of  Mahomet, 
52G. 

Parallel,  the,  258. 

Parliament,  the  recess  of,  a  hymn,  551. 
Occasional  address,  for  the  opening 
of  the  new  Theatre  of  St.  Stephen, 
(Nov.  '24,  1812,)  224.  Satirical  notice 
of  some  members  of  the  House  of 
Lords,  581—590.  595.  597.  Report  of 
speeches  relative  to  Maynooth  Col- 
lege, 625.  Exhibition  of  models  of 
the  two  Houses  of,  G25. 

Passion,  306.  34G.  371. 

Patrick's  Purgatory,  and  mysiic  lake  in 
Donegall,  265. 

Patrons  and  Puffs.  &c.,  633. 

Paul  the  Silenliary,  167.  366,  36* 

Peace,  712. 

Peace  and  glorj",  142. 

Peace  be  around  thee,  234. 

Peace  to  the  slumberers!  2S3. 

Peace,  peace  to  him  that's  gone,  .154. 

Pearls,  170.292.  532.  Mythosas  to  their 
production,  450,  n- 

Pearls,  Irish,  2G3. 

Peer,  how  to  make  one's  self  a,  609. 

Peers,  batch  the  first,  568. 

Perceval.  Right  Hon.  Spencer,  oa  the 
death  of,  455. 

Perfumes  for  the  hair  and  beard,  67,  n. 

Peri,  Paradise  and  the,  400— 41J. 

Peris  and  fairies,  449.  499.  ride  halla 
Ro<»kh,  tc. 

Periwinkles,  fiscal,  567. 


Periwinkles  and  Ijocusts,  567. 

Persecution,  the  Decian,  712. 

Persia  and  llie  Persians,  210,  211.  Tirfe 
Lalla  Rookh,  379.  453,  et  passim.  Su- 
perstitious notions  of  this  eastern  peo- 
ple, 520.  523,  n. 

Philadelphia  and  the  Schuylkill  river, 
179. 

Phillis.  10,  139. 

Philndrmus:— "My  Mopsa  is  little," 
309. 

Philosnp.iy,  a  visiun  of,  153.  yide  the 
clasi'cal  notes  lo  this  puuiii,  153 — 155. 

Philosophy,  poems  relative  to,  treating 
of  philosophers,  ancient  and  modern. 
122.244.527.  Aristotle,  154,  «.  Pytha- 
goras, 154.  Democritus,  154.  Plato, 
154, 71.  Epicurus,  664, «. ;  702,  ct  scq. 
Alciphron,  199,  ct  seg.  Pyrrho,  122. 
Aristippus,  141.  Zeno,  123.  Maoper- 
tuis,  n. 

Philostratus,  a  thought  of,  imi;;:.ted  by 
Ben  Jonson,  64,  n. 

Pictures,  Italian  galleries  of,  40 

Pigeons,  carrier,  298. 

Pilgrim,  man  a,  305. 

Pilgrim,  the,  328.  Still  thu--,  when  twi- 
light gleam'd,  339. 

Planets,  the,  527.  n. 

Plato,  epigram  of,  75,  n.  He  wrote  in 
bed.  502. 

Platonic  philosophy,  and  followers  of 
Plato,  153,  et  scg. 

Pleasure  contrasted  with  pain,  290. 

Plumassier,  to  a,  (Anacreontic,)  219. 

Poco-Curante  Society,  the,  495.  {See 
Rhymes  on  the  Road.)    Song  of,  660, 

Poesy,  267.  270. 

Poefs  dream:  Dinner  of  Type  and  Co., 
G30. 

Police  reports,  case  of  imposture,  634. 

Political  allusions,  by  the  author,  35,  ct 
scq. ;  and  Satirical  Poems.  271.  291. 
See  "  The  Fudge  Family,"  538,  ct  scq. ; 
637,  et  scq.  See  the  Satirical  Pot-nis, 
547,  &c.  See  also  .547 — 636.  et  passim. 
For  the  poet's  allusions  to  the  affairs 
of  N.  America  and  of  France,  see  161 
—187. 

PoUiical  and  Satirical  Poems.  455,  &c. 

Politician,  how  to  make  a  good,  5.S6. 

Politics,  Irish,  alUisitms  lo,  29  et  scg. 
Sf  c  547 — 636,  et  passim. 

Polycrates  of  Samos,  59- 

Poor  broken  flower,  346. 

Porcelain  and  China,  450.  452. 

Porte,  Ode  to  the  Sublime.  562. 

Power,  Mr.  Richard,  48. 

Prayer  of  Mahometans,  411. 

Press  the  grape,  and  let  it  pour,  110. 

"Press,  the,"  newspaper,  '.Hi. 

Priestess  of  the  Moon,  687. 

Prologue,  spoken  at  ihf>  opening  of  the 
Kilkenny  Theatre,  Octnl^r.  1809,  513. 

Proxy,  how  to  write  by,  .575. 

Psaphon,  his  birds  taught  to  pronounce 
his  name,  501. 

Ps^yche.  135.  147.  542. 

Pock,  song  of  old,  623. 

Puir,  proflignto  Londoners,  .">90. 

Purgatory,  532. 


Put  off  the  vestal  veil,  nor,  oh,  131. 
Pyramids  of  Memphis,  670.    Rhodope, 
the  Lady  of  the  Pyramid,  G76 


Quadrilles,  544.     Episcopal,  596. 

Quakers,  651. 

Quarterly  Review,  the,  588.  629.  Re- 
flections addressed  to  the  author  of 
the  article  of  "the  Church"  in  the, 
625. 

Quick !  we  have  but  a  second,  263. 

R 

Raise  the  buckler,  poise  the  lance,  321 

Raphael,  hi-j  Fornarina,  503. 

Rawdon,  to  liiu  L;idy  Charlotte,  from 
the  banks  of  the  Ht.  Lawrence,  184. 
Romance  of  the  Indian  Spirit,  185. 

Reason,  143.  247.  281.  348.  367. 

Reason,  Folly,  and  Beauty-,  281. 

Red  Fox,  the,  30. 

Redbreast,  the.  in  December,  281. 

Rector  and  his  curate,  the,  607. 

Reform,  notions  on,  601. 

Religion,  the  "  Sacred  Songs,"  297. 

Religion  and  trade,  628. 

Religion  in  the  East,  Brahma,  &.c.  777. 
(See  Lalla  Rookh.) 

Religious  emblems  and  types,  302.  "  In- 
tolerance" satirized,  194,  ct  scg.  On 
Toleration,  210,  ct  passim. 

Remember  him  thou  leav'st  behind, 
108. 

ReniemVer  the  time  in  La  Mancha'i 
shades,  351. 

Remember  thee !  254. 

Remonstrance,  addressed  to  Lord  John 
Russell,  after  a  conversation  in  which 
he  had  intimated  some  idea  of  giving 
up  all  political  pursuits,  514. 

Resemblance,  the;  Yes,  if  'twere  any 
common  love,  126. 

Reuben  and  Rose,  109. 

Revenue,  decimating,  and  decimal  arith- 
metic, 567. 

Reverend  Pamphleteer,  the,  618. 

Reverends  and  Right  Reverends,  reso- 
lutions passed  at  a  meeting  ol',  538. 

Reynolds,  Mr.  Thomas,  458. 

Rhodoiie.  670.  Fable  of  the  Lady  of 
the  Pyramid,  676. 

Rhymes  on  the  Road,  extracted  from 
the  journal  of  a  travelling  member  of 
the  Poco-Curanle  Society,  in  1819, 
495. 

Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore, 
231. 

Rich  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn,  (Ode 
Lxvii.  Anacreon.)  99. 

Ring,  the;  a  tale  of  Rupert,  123. 

Ring,  the:— The  happy  day  at  length 
arrived,  128. 

Ring,  the:— No,  Lady!  Lady  I  ketp 
the  ring,  126. 

Rings  and  Seals,  150. 

Ripeu'd  by  the  solar  Iwani,  ;Ode  Lix. 
Anacreon,)  95. 


Rival  Topics  ;— An  Extravagtvnzn,  CI6. 
Roche,  Sir  Unyle,  his  blunders,  SVi. 
Rock.  Captain,  his  epistle  lo  Lord  I.ynd- 
hurst,  01').    His  loiter  lo  Terry  Alt, 
Ci3S. 
Rogers,  51r.,  accompanied  by  the  author 
to  Paris,  44.     See  the  Dedications  to 
Samuel  Rogers,  Esq. 
Rome,    artists    at,    46.    The    Palatine 

Mount,  47. 
Rokcby,  allusions  to,  209.  213. 
Romaika,  the,  danced  in  Zea,  321,  et 

seq. 
Komaldkirk.  to  the  Curate  of,  605. 
Rondeau . — "  Good  night !  good  night ;" 

123. 
Rcsa,  to,  ]20. 

KosN,  10,  written  during  illness,  114. 
Rosa,  to,  124.  139. 
Rose  of  Cashmere,  442. 
Rose,  the  Alpine.  287. 
Rose,  the,  and  summer  bee,  291. 
Rose  of  the  desert  1  355. 
Rose  and  nightingale,  3C0. 
Rose,  the  young,  352. 
Rose-tree,  the  pretty,  347. 
Rose  in  nettles  hid,  the  :— Conundrum, 

156. 
Roses,  the,  Festival  of  the  Scattering  of, 
374.  443,  n.  453.    Of  the  garden  of  the 
Nile,  449.    Attar  Gul,  4.13. 
Roses,  political,  227,  n. 
Round  the  world   goes,   by  day   and 

night,  304. 
Row  gently  here,  9S7. 
Rubi,  the  second  Angel,  520.  His  Story, 

527. 
Ruby,  magnificent,  450. 
Russell,  Lord  John,  remonstrance  on 
his  intended  retirement  from  politics, 
514. 
Russian  lover,  the -.—Fleetly  o'er  the 
moonlit  snows.  373. 


INDEX. 


Sea,  tho  Old  Man  of  the,  .IlK.    A  Re- 
flection at,  113. 
See  yoa,  beneath  yon  cloud  so  dark 

leo. 

Seo  the  dawn  from  heaven,  2S9. 
Selim  and  Nourinahal,  44.-t — 1.V3. 
Sephiroths  or  Splendors  of  the  Cabala, 

540,  n. 
Sepulture,  ancient   Egyptian   mode  of, 

077. 
Seraphim,  538. 
Serapis,  tlie  god,  681. 
Seth,  traditions  relative  to  the  patri- 
arch, 538. 
Shaliinar  Palace,  the,  449.  453. 
Shall  tlie  harp  then  bo  silent,  260. 
Shamnick,  oh  the,  344. 
Shannon,  stanzas  from  the  banks  of 

the,  584 
She  is  far  from  the   (ind  where  her 

young  hero  sleeps,  i.-.  2. 
She  never  look'd  so  kind  before,  118. 
She  sung  of  love,  265. 
She  has  beauty,  but  still  you  must  keep 

your  heart  cool.  348. 
Sherid.in,  Right  Hon.  Richard  Brinsley, 
Lines  on  the  death  of,  456.  His  char- 
acter described,  457.    Intended  Life 
of,  50. 
Sheridan,  Mrs.,  air  composed  by,  297. 
Shield,  tho,  113. 
Shine  out,  stars,  347. 
Ship  a-lioy!— Song,  37. 
Ships  and  wrecks,  161.  J07,  108.  3-3. 

295.  305. 
Ships,  the  meeting  of  the,  343. 
Shiraz  wine,  450. 
Should  those  fond  hopes,  281. 
Shrine,  the.  111. 
Silence,  emblem  of,  268. 
Silence  is  in  our  festal  halls,  271. 
Silence,  chain  of,  253,  n. 
Siinonides,  epitaphs  on  Anacreon  by, 

103,  ji. 
Sin,  532.  535. 
Since  first  thy  word,  3D5. 
Sing,  sweet  harp,  267. 
Sing,  sing,  music  was  given,  206. 
Sinking  Fnnd  cried,  .550. 
Sinners,  306. 

Sirmio,  peninsula  of,  516. 
Slumber,  oh  slumber !  if  sleeping  thou 

mak'st,  293 
Slumber,  poetical  allusions  to.  282. 
Smile,  one  dear,  351. 
Smoothly    flowing    through    verdant 

vales,  313. 
Snake,  the,  119. 
Snow  Spirit,  the: — No,  ne'er  did  the 

wave  in  its  element  steep,  172. 
So  warmly  we  met,  2^. 
Soliman,  throne  of,  was  called  the  Star 

ofthe  Genii,  379. 
Some  mortals  there  may  be,  so  wise  or 
so  fine,  311. 


Sacred  Songs,  297.    Dedication  to  Ed- 
ward Tuite  Dalton,  Esq.,  297. 
Sail  on,  sail  on,  thou  fearless  bark.  2.i7. 
Sailor  boy,  'tis  day,  368. 
Salniagnndi,  367. 
Sannazaro,  his  Gallicio  nell'  Arcadia, 

quoted,  66,  n. 
Sappho,  lyre  of,  315.    Legends  of  Leu- 

cadia.  330. 
Sarpi,  Fra  Paolo,  500. 
Satirical  and  Political  Poeins,  455,  &c. 
Say,  what  shall  be  our  sport  to-day  1 

286. 
Say,  v\-hat  shall  we  dance  7  344. 
Skeptic,    the;    a  Philosophical  Satire, 
199.    The  prelace  on  ancient  philoso- 
phy, and  the  Pyrrhonists,  199.    The 
Satire,  200—203, 
Skepticisio.  542.  .       ,   ■   . 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  his  musical  taste,  36.  |  Songs,  some  of  the  occasional,  'nje'"^^ 
Interesting  scene  at  the  Edinburgh 
theatre,  37. 
Scriptures,  the  Holy,  302. 
Sculptor,  wouldsi  thon  glad  my  soul, 
(Ode  v.  Anacreon,)  66. 


vcn  in  Mr.  Moore's  poems  : — 107,  108, 
109.  115.  125,  &c.  Many  early  songs 
occur  from  p.  10.5—159.  028—378.  310, 
31 1. 313,  314,  315  316,  317,  &c.  Songs 
interspersed   in    the    "Evenings   in 


745 


Greece,"  300—335.    Songs  from  tho 
Greek  Anthology,  366— 3l'i9.    Unpub- 
lished  songs,  fcc,   369—373.    Occa- 
sional  songs,   614.  660.    Songs  from 
"  M.  P.,  or  the  Rluc  Stocking,"  656 — 
658.    Songs  of  the  Church,  No.  1 ,  022. 
Sovereign,  a  golden,  548. 
Sovereign  woman,  a  ballad,  061. 
Soul,  the,  685. 
Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's 

dark  sea,  300. 
Southey,  to  Robert,  Esq.,   Announce- 
ment of  a  new  Thalaba,  615. 
.Speculation,  a,  519. 
Speeches,  a  corrected  report  of  some 

late,  597. 
Spencer,  Hon.  W.  R.,  hties  addressed 
to  him  from  Bufllilo  and  Lake  Erie, 
in  N.  America,  181. 
Spirit  of  Joy,  thy  altar  lies,  650. 
Spirit,  the  Indian,  (or  N.  American,;  IS*. 
Spirit  of  Love,  whose  locks  unroU'd, 

(Ode  Lxxv.  Anacreon,)  101. 
Spirit  of  the  Woods,  the  Evil:— Song, 

180. 
Spring  and  Autumn,  296.  368. 
St.  Lawrence,  river,  183,  184 ;  the  Gulf 

of,  186. 
St.  Senanus  and  the  Lady,  257. 
Star  of  the  Waters,  Sothls,  090. 
Stars,  some  of  the  poet's  allusions  to 
the,  232.  289,  290.  30O.  3-20.  323.  331. 
373.  527.  533.  693. 
Steersman's  song,  the,  175. 
Stephens,  Henry,  wrote  on  horseback, 

496. 
Stevenson,  Sir  John,  poetical  tribute  to, 
271.    See  also  39,  ii.  273.  299,  300,  301. 
304.  307. 
Still,  like  dew  in  silence  falling,  308. 
Still  thou  fliest,  and  still  I  woo  thee, 

371. 
Still  when  daylight  o'er  the  wave,  360. 
Storm  at  sea,  lines  written  in  a,  168. 
Stranger,  the  heart-wounded,  340. 
Strangford,  to  Lord;  written  on  board 
the  Phaeton  frigate,  off  the  Azores, 
161. 
Strew  me  a  fragrant  bed  of  leaves,  (Ode 

XXXII.  Anacreon.)  81. 
Sublime  was  the  warning  that  liberty 

spoke,  235. 
Sulpicia,  TibuUus  to.  516. 
Summer  clouds,  531. 
Summer  Fete.  the.  308. 
Summer  webs  that  float  and  shine,  360. 
Sunday  Ethics,  a  Scotch  ode,  590. 
Surprise,  the,  121. 
Susan,  650. 
Swallow,  the,  713. 
Swans,  the  Wnse's,  317 
Sweet  is  your  kiss,  my  Lais  dear,  167. 
Sweet  lady,  look  not  thus  again,  112. 
Sweet  spirit )  if  thy  airy  sleep,  110. 
Sweet  Innlsfallen,  fare  thee  well,  202. 
Swings,  an  Eastern  pastime  and  exer- 
cise, 443. 
Sword,  the  warrior's,  257.  261  267.  270. 
Sylph's  Pall,  the,  513. 
Sylphs  and  Gnomes,  532,  n. 
Syra,  holy  fount  of,  325.. 


746                                                            INDEX. 

T 

Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues,  (Ode 

'Twas  in  a  mocking  dream  of  night, 

XVI.  Anacreon.)  72. 

(Ode  XXX.  Anacreon,)  81. 

Thou  bidd'st  me  sing  the  lay  I  sung  to 

'Twas  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl, 

•Jdbles  nf  Stone,  the  Seven.  687. 

thee,  363. 

(Ode  xxx\ii.  Anacreon.)  84. 

Take  hack  the  sigh,  14'2. 

Though  humble  the  banquet,  206. 

'Twas  noon  of  night,  when  round  the 

Take  k:i:k  the  virgin  page,  SJ32. 

Though  sacred  the  lie  that  our  country 

pole,  (Ode  xxxiu.  Anacreon,)  82 

Take  hence  the  bowl,  290. 

entwineth,  658. 

*Twas  one  of  those  dreams,  202. 

Tar  barrels,  thoughts  on,  601. 

Thfugh    sorrow  long   has    worn    my 

'Twas    when    the    world  was  in  Its 

Tiira,  the  halls  of,  230. 

heart,  117. 

prime,  522. 

Tear,  the,  119.229.239. 

Though  the  last  glimpse  of  Erin.  231. 

'Twas  hut  for  a  moutt  nt,  and  yet  in  that 

'    Tears,  301.  302.  347.  366. 

Though  'tis  all  but  a  dream  at  the  best. 

time,  166. 

Tears,  p<jetical  allusions  to,  285.  290. 

291. 

Twin'sl  thou  with  lofty  wreath  thy 

299.  306. 

Through  grief  and  through  danger,  238. 

brow  1  367. 

Teflis.  or  Tiflis.  brooks  of,  450. 

Thus  have  I  charm'd  with  visionary 

Twopenny  Post-bag,  by  Thomas  Brown 

Tell    me,  gentle  youth.  I  pray  thee, 

lay,  185. 

tho  Younger,  'J03.    Dedication  to  Ste- 

(Ode 51.  Anacroon.)  08. 

Thy  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms, 

phen  VVoolriche.  Esq..  203.    The  Pre- 

Tell nie  not  of  joys  above,  414. 

(Ode  xxvi.  Anacreon,)  79, 

face,  203.    The  Intercepted  Letters  : 

1    Tell  nie  why,  niy  sweetest  dove,  (Ode 

Thy  song  has  taught  my  heart  to  feel, 

■ — From    ^lie    Princess    Charlotte    of 

XV.  Anacreon.)  71. 

139. 

Wales  to  Lady  Barbara  Ashley,  Let- 

Temples. Lake  of  the,  C04. 

Tibullus  to  Sulpicia,  516. 

ter  I.,  205.    From  Col.  M'Mahnn  to  G. 

Thulaba,  announcement  of  a  new,  to 

Tighe,  to  Mrs.  Henry,  on  reading  her 

P    Leckie,  Esq.,  Letter  U„  206.    Its 

Mr.  Southey,  015. 

Psyche,  135. 

FcbAtrif.:.  207.     From  the  Regent  to 

That  wrinkle,  when  first  I  espied  it,  110. 

Time,  a  poet's  allusions  to  the  hand  of, 

Lord  Yarmouth.  Letter  III.,  207.  From 

Temple,  the.  at  Jerusalem,  302.  305. 

241.245.284.287.293.541. 

the  Rt.  Hon.  Patrick  Duigenan  to  the 

The  bird,  let  loose  in  Eastern  skies,  293. 

'Tis   gone,  and  forever,  the  light  we 

Rt.  Hon.  Sir  John  Nichol,  Letter  IV., 

The  garland  I  send  thee,  296. 

saw  breaking,  251. 

20e.     fEnclosing  an  'Unanswerable 

The  more  I  view'd  this  world,  515. 

'Tis  sweet  to  think,  that  where'er  we 

Argumeni  against  the  Papist.-,'  209,) 

The   Phrygian   rock    that    braves    the 

rove,  238- 

From  the  Countess  Dowager  of  Cork, 

storm,  (Ode  xxn.  Anacreon,)  76. 

"  'Tis  the  vine  !  'tis  the  vine  !"  said  the 

Letter  V.,  209.     Its   Postscript,  177. 

The  sky  is  bright,  the  breeze  is  fair, 

cup-loving  boy,  335. 

From  Abdallah  in  London,  to  Mohas- 

318. 

'Tis  true,  my  hiding  years  decline^  fOde 

san  in  Ispahan.  LetterXl.,  210.  From 

The  song  that  lightens  our  languid  way, 

XLVii.  Anacreon,)  89. 

Lackinglon  &  Co,  to ,  Esq.,  Let- 

657. 

'Tis  time,  I  feel,  to  leave  thee  now,  152. 

ter  Vil.,  211.    From  Col.  Thomas  to 

The  time  I've  lost  in  wooing,  250. 

'Tis  the  last  rose  of  summer,  245, 

Skeffington.  Esq.,  Letter  VHI., 

The  turf  shall  be  thy  fragrant  shrine, 

Tithe  case,  late,  606. 

212.    Appendix  to  these  Epistles,  213 

300. 

Tithe,  song  of  the  departing  Spirit  of, 

—210. 

The  women  tell  me  every  day,  (Ode 

5gl. 

Tyrolese  Song  of  Liberty ;— Merrily  ev- 

VII. Anacreon,)  07. 

To  all  that  breathe  the  air  of  heaven. 

ery  bosom  boundeth,350. 

The  world  had  just  begun  to  steal,  115. 

(Ode  xxiv.  Anacreon,)  78. 

The  world  was  hush'd,  361. 

To  ladies'  eyes  around,  255. 

u 

The  wreath  you  wove,  115. 

To  Love  and  Bacchus  ever  young,  01,  n. 

Thee.  thee,  only  thee,  260, 

To  Love,  the  soft,  and  blooming  child, 

Unbind  thee,  love.  369. 

Then  fare  thee  well,  284. 

(Ode  LXiii.  Anacreon,)  98. 

Up  and  march  !  the  timbrels  sound,  328. 

Then  first  from  love,  371. 

To  my  Shadow,  041. 

Up,  sailor  boy,  'tis  day,  308. 

Theocritus,  in  praise  of  Anacreon,  103, 

To  sigh,  yet  feel  no  pain.  050. 

Up  with  the  sparkling  brimmer,  333. 

n. 

To  thee,  the  queen  of  nymphs  divine, 

Theora  of  Alexandria,  and  her  daughter 

(Ode  Lxvi.  Anacreon,)  9S. 

Aleihe,  098.    Death  of  a  mother,  701. 

To-day,  dearest,  is  ours,  345. 

V 

There  are  sounds  of  mirth,  269. 

To  see  thee  everj'  day  that  came,  156, 

There  comes  a  time,  283. 

To  weave  a  garland  for  the  rose,  306. 

Valerian,  the  emperor.  719. 

There  is  a  bleak  desert,  305. 

Too  plain,  alas,   my  doom  is   spoken, 

Valletort,  to  Caroline  Viscountess,  writ- 

There's something  strange:  Buffo  Song, 

294. 

ten  at  Lacock  Abbey  in  the  year  1832, 

370. 

Torch  nf  liberty,  the,  487. 

518. 

They  know  not  my  heart,  265. 

Tories,  destructive  propositions  of  the, 

Valley  of  Visions,  687. 

They  may  rail  at  this  life,  250. 

620. 

Valley,  the  unequalled,  453. 

They  met  but  once  in  youth's  sweet 

Tortoise-shell  of  Pegu,  triple-colored, 

Van,  the  Euthanasia  of,  582. 

hour.  3111. 

453. 

Variety,  107. 

They  tell  how  Atys.  wild  with  love, 

Tory,  mad,  and  the  comet,  598. 

Veil,  the  silver,  377. 

(Ode  XII.  Anacreon.)  69. 

Tory  Pledges,  002. 

Veiled  Prophet  of  Khorassan,  376. 

They  tell  us  of  an  Indian  tree,  519. 

Tory,  Doctor,  and  Doctor  Whig.  004. 

Venice,   former  glory  of,    500.    Wars 

They  tell  me  t^iou'rt  the  favor'd  guest. 

Translations.    See  Horace,  Anthology, 

against  the  Turks,  500,     Her  tyranni- 

358. 

fee. 

cal  oligarchy,  500.  Tortures,  500.  Her 

They  wove  the  lotus  band  to  deck, 

Tribune,  the  young,  721.723. 

fall  a  retribution,  500. 

(Ode  Lxix.  Anacreon,)  99. 

Trinity  College,  Dublin,  an  examination 

Venus,  poetical  allusions  to  the  god- 

Think on  that  look  whose  melting  ray, 

political,  32,  et  scq. 

dess,  206. 

137. 

Tripe,  tout  pour  la,  571. 

Venus,  the  planet,  107.  256.  661. 

Those  evening  bells!  280. 

Truth.  2.'il.  303.  365. 

Venu?  Anadvomene,  503. 

Thou  art,  0  God,  the  life  and  light: 

Truth  characterized.  292.  305.  723. 

Venus  Pajiyn.  .MS 

211  ( . 

TucUt  Sjlin.an,  mo;mt,\in,  443,  n. 

Virgiikof  Delphi,  the.  IIR. 

Thou  art  not  dead,  330. 

Tulip,  said  to  be  of  Turkish  extraction. 

Virtue,  163.  170. 

Thou  lov'st  no  ipore,  294, 

377. 

Vishnu,  571. 

INDEX. 


747 


Vision,  a   by  the  author  of  Christabel, 

5oa 
V:Ue  the,  33G. 
Voituio  s  Kiss,  rendereil  by  Mrs. , 

123. 
Vulc:in  .  hear  your  glor'wus  task,  (Ode 

IV.  Anacreon,)  65- 

w 

Wake  thee,  my  dear— thy  dreaming, 
355. 

Wake  up,  sweet  melody  I  350. 

Wulcs,  Trincess  Charlotte  of,  205,  ct  seq. 

Walton,  Isaac,  443,  n. 

Waltz  Duet.  314. 

Wallzing,  545. 

Warning,  a,  152. 

War  against  Babylon:  307. 

War's  high-sounding  harp,  306 

Warrior,  the  dying,  338. 

Washington,  city  of,  and  the  American 
rivers,  &c.,  175. 178,  et  seg. 

AVatchman,  the  ;  a  Glee,  344. 

Waterloo  coin,  advertisement  of  a  miss- 
ing or  lost,  595. 

We  care  not ;  Song,  660. 

We  read  the  flying  courser's  name, 
(Ode  xxvii.  Anacreon,)  79. 

Weep,  children  of  Israel !  304. 

Weep  not  Ibr  those  whom  the  veil  of 
the  tomb,  299. 

Weep  on  !  weep  on  !  your  hour  is  past, 
244. 

Weeping  for  thee,  ray  love,  through  the 
long  day,  321. 

Welcome,  sweet  bird,  through  the  sun- 
ny air  winginp,  333. 

Well!  peace  to  thy  heart,  though  anoth- 
er's it  be,  171. 

Well,  the  Holy,  alleged  miraculous  ap- 
pearance of  the  moon  night  and  day 
in  the,  398. 

Wellington  Ppa,  the,  619. 

Wellington,  Field  Marshal  the  Duke  of. 
34.  Reinforcements  for  him,  2-26.  His 
Grace  and  the  Ministers,  227.  598. 

Wellington,  Napoleon,  and  Waterloo, 
543.  572. 

Were  not  the  sinful  Marj''s  tears,  301. 

What's  my  thought  like  ?  220. 

What  shall  1  sing  thee  ?  543. 

What  the  bee  is  to  the  floweret,  243. 

When  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy, 
(Ode  XLix.  Anacreon.)  89. 

When,  casting  many  a  look  behind.  111. 
When  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend 

thou  hast  loved,  254. 
When  Cupid  sees  how  thickly  now, 

(Ode  Lxxviii.  Anacreon,)  101. 
When  evening  shades  are  falling,  326. 
When  first  that  smile,  288. 
When  first  1  met  thee  warm  and  young, 

24.  249. 
When  gold,  as  fleet  as  -ephyr's  pinion, 

(Ode  Lviii.  Anacreon,)  05. 
>Vhen  he  who  adores  thee  has  left  but 
the  name,  229. 


When  I  behold  the  festive  train,  (Ode 

Lin.  Anacreon,)  01. 
When  I  loved  you,  I  can't  but  allow, 

111. 
When  Love  is  kind,  296. 
When  Love,  rock'd  hy  his  mother,  26G. 
When  nighl  brings  the  liour,  295. 
AVhen  Love  was  a  child,  286. 
When   my  thirsty  soul  I  steep,    (Ode 

xLvni.  Anacreon,)  89. 
When  t?pring  adorns  the  dewy  scene, 

(Ode  XLi.  Anacreon,)  86. 
When  o'er  the  silent  seas  alone.  343. 
When  the  first  summer  bee,  291. 
When  the  wine-cup  is  smiling  before 

us,  291. 
When  thou  shalt  wander,  288. 
When  the  sad  word  "  Adieu,"  3G7. 
When  thou  art  nigh,  it  seems,  363. 
When  to  sad  music  silent  you  listen, 

365. 
When  on  the  lip  the  sigh  delays,  345. 
When  through  life  unblest  we  rove, 

239. 
When  through  the  Piazzetta,  389. 
Wher.    Time,  who  steals    our   years 

away,  108. 
When  wearied  wretches  sink  to  sleep, 

120. 
When  wine  I  quatF,  before  my  eyes, 

(Ode  L.  Anacreon,)  90. 
Whene'er  I  see  those  smiling  eyes,  255. 
When  twilight  dews  are   falling  soft, 

353. 
When  'midst  the  pay  I  meet,  352 
Where  is  the  heart  that  would  not  give, 

660. 
Where  are  the  visions,  293. 
Where  is  your  dwelling,  ye  sainted, 

306. 
Where  shall  we  bury  our  shame?  291. 
Whig,  Dr.,  and  Dr.  Torj*,  their  consul- 
tation, 604. 
While  gazing  on  the  moon's  light,  237. 
While  our  rosy  fillets  shed,  (Ode  xLiii. 

Anacreon,)  87. 
While  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spring, 

(Ode  Lv.  Anacreon.)  92. 
Who  comes  so  gracefully,  332. 
Who  is  the  maid  my  spirit  seeks.  298. 
Who'll  buy  my  love  knots?  288. 
AVhoMl  buy?  'lis  Folly's  shop,  316. 
Whose  was  the  artist  hand  that  spread, 

(Ode  LVii.  Anacreon,)  94. 
Why  does  azure  deck  the  sky?  124. 
Why  does  she  so  long  delay  1  367. 
Wind  thy  horn,  my  hunter-boy,  293. 
Wine-cup  is  circling,  the,  270. 
Wine,  praise  of.  in   Lalla  Rookh,  450. 
452.     See  also  other  poems  and  songs, 
230.  234.  245.  2.)2.  263.  267.  270.  290, 
291.  293.      Wisdom,  244.  250.  291. 
Wit.  33.1.    The  quiver  of,  244. 
With  all  my  soul,  then,  let  us  part,  118. 
With  t%\'enty  chords  my  lyre  is  hung, 

(Ode  Lxxi.  Anacreon,)  100. 
Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep,  ;Ode 

XLV.  Anacreon,)  88- 
Wo,  wo  unto  him  !  571. 


Woman,  179.  260.  328.  522.527,  528,529. 

534.  561. 
Woman: — A  way,  away — you're  all  tho    [ 

same,  l.'i2. 
Wonder,  the,  121. 

Woods  and  Forests,  Ode  to  the,  5^9 
Woodpecker,  the:  I  knew  by  the  smoke 

that  so  gracefully  curl'd.  183. 
Word  awaked  my  heart,  thy,  305. 
World,  the  fashionable.  309. 
World  is  all  a  fleeting  show,  this,  299. 
World,  when  abroad  in  the,  204. 
Would  that  I  were  a  tuneful  lyre,  (Ode 

Lsxvii.  Anacreon.)  101. 
Wreath  the  bowl.  25-1. 
Wreath  and  the  Chain,  the,  146. 
Write  on,  write  on,  ye  Barons  dear,  581 . 


Y th,  Earl  of,  456.    Letter  addressed 

to,  by  Thomas  Brown  the  Younger, 
207.  Some  remarks  on  the  same,  217. 
221.  223,  224. 

Years  have  pass'd,  old  Iriend,  since  we, 
372. 

Yemen,  and  the  rest  of  Arabia,  alluded 
to,  417,  et  seg. 

Yes,  bo  the  glorious  revel  mine,  (Ode 
xLii.  Anacreon,)  86. 

Yes — loving  is  a  painful  thrill,  (Ode 
XXIX.  Anacreon.)  80. 

Yes,  sad  one  of  Zion,  if  closely  resem- 
bling, 258. 

Yes,  yes,  when  the  bloom  of  Love's 
boyhood  is  o'er,  352. 

You  read  it  in  these  spell-bound  eyes, 
169.  ] 

You  bid  me  explain,  my  dear  angry 
Ma'amselle,  599. 

You  remember  Ellen,  our  hamlet's 
pride,  247. 

You  who  would  try,  {vide  the  Epicu- 
rean,) 678. 

Young  Love,  296.  338. 

Young  Love  lived  once  in  an  humble 
shsu,  656. 

Youth,  poetical  allusions  to,  385.  287, 
313. 

Youth's  endearing  charms  are  fled,  fOde 
LXi.  Anacreon.)  07. 

Youth  and  Age,  338. 

Youth  and  Death,  676. 


Zaraph,539.    His  bride,  541. 

Zea,  or  Ceos,  island  of  the  Archipelago:    j 

Scene  of  the  First  Evening  in  Greece, 

318,  cKff?. 
Zeilan,  king  of,  his  ruby,  450.  ?i. 
Zelica,    see    "The  Veiled    Prophet  of 

Khorassan,"  379,  et  acq. 
Zinge,  and  the  Zingians,  44L 
Zion,  298.  301. 
Zodiac,  the,  533.  691. 
Zone  of  bells  of  an  Indian  dancing  girl, 

442. 


LIST  OF  THE  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PORTRAIT  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 

iTo  face  Tide.) 
BY  G.  RICHMOND 

SLOPERTON  COTTAGE. 

{Engraved  Title-page.) 
BY  T.  CRESWICK- 


PSYCHE. 

"  Sweet  Psyche,  many  a  charmed  hour, 
Through  many  a  wild  and  magic  waste, 
To  the  fair  fount  and  blissful  bower, 
Have  I,  in  dreams,  thy  light  foot  traced." 

p.  135. 

"I  SAW  FROM  THE  BEACH."" 

"  I  saw  from  the  beach,  when  the  morning  was  shining, 
A  bark  o'er  the  waters  move  gloriously  on." 

p.  251. 

HE  LOYES  NO  MORE. 

"Too  plain,  alas,  my  doom  is  spoken. 

Nor  canst  thou  veil  the  sad  truth  o'er — 
Thy  heart  is  changed,  thy  vow  is  broken ; 
Thou  lov'st  no  more — thou  lov'st  no  more." 

p.  294. 

THE  MAGIC  MIRROR. 

BY  MACLISE. 

"The  wizard  sliow'd  liim  his  lady  bright, 

Where  lone  and  pale  in  her  bow'r  she  lay ; 

•  True-hearted  maid,'  said  the  happy  knight, 

'  She's  thinking  of  one  who  is  far  away.' " 

p.  339. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE  PERI  AT  THE  GATE  OF  EDEN. 

BY  K.  MEADOWS. 

"  One  morn  a  Peri  at  the  gate 
Of  Eden  stood,  disconsolate." 

Paradise  and  the  Peri,  p.  406. 

THE  PERI'S  SECOND  PILGRIMAGE. 

BY  EDWAED  CORBOULD. 

"  Tlien  swift  his  haggard  brow  he  turn'd 
To  the  fair  child,  who  fearless  sat. 
Though  never  yet  hath  day-beam  burn'd 
Upon  a  brow  more  fierce  than  that." 

P.VRADISE  AND  THE   PEBI,   p.  411 

LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

BY  EDWAUD  coreould. 

"  Never  shall  I  forget  those  eyes  ! 
The  shame,  the  innocent  surprise 
Of  that  bright  face,  when  in  the  air 
Uplooking,  she  beheld  me  there." 

p.  523. 


THE  PRIESTESS  OF  THE  MOON. 

BY  K.  MEADOWS. 

"  In  another  minute  this  veil  had,  like  a  thin  mist,  melted  away,  and  the  young  priestess 
of  the  moon  stood,  for  the  third  time,  revealed  before  my  eyes." 

Ehcukean,  p  686. 


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